Zoom Zoom

by Gerald Huckaby

here was a once a white frame cottage on a hill that was built so hurriedly it became confused and thought it was a Ford station wagon. A family of father, mother, son and daughter lived in it, and it thought it carried them through the night faster than the moon, which, it thought, did not move at all. "Zoom, zoom," it would whisper to itself when all were asleep, "Zoom, zoom," and go fast and faster west from where it had been built in Iowa City, Iowa, around the world and back to it's parking place before the sun came up. "Made it!" it would say delightedly at the dawn, "Made it again! Safe and sound!"
      The family living in the cottage that thought it was a Ford station wagon knew nothing about all this, of course, except for a certain tiredness each morning they couldn't account for, and a disturbing eccentricity of the hill they lived on, a certain lurch in the morning, always just at dawn, that would tumble them all out of bed onto the floor. Inevitably, though, one night while the cottage was going "Zoom, zoom," the husband arose to get a glass of water for his wife, and happened to look out of the window. "Migosh!" he exclaimed, "That looks like Salt Lake City!"
      He shook his head vigorously and stumbled back to bed, and his wife said, "Where's my water?"
      "Oh, yes," he said, and went back to the kitchen, and couldn't help but look out the window again, and saw Lake Tahoe passing by, and made a muffled sound, and ran back to his bed and covered his head with a green quilt.
      "Well, for . . .," his wife said, and arose herself with more noise and bustle than was really necessary, and went into the kitchen to get her own glass of water. And as she raised it to her lips with indignation in her eyes, she happened to look out of the window and notice a large steamship pass. She did nothing, then, but, holding the rim of the glass to her lips, watch the steamship pass until it was out of sight, and the Golden Gate Bridge, too. Then she carefully placed the glass of water, undrunk, back on the kitchen sink, and, thoughtfully, returned to bed. Silence. Then she articulately screamed, "A steamship just passed the house!" and was silent again.
      "Salt Lake City, too," her husband added helpfully.
      "What are we going to do?" she asked intently.
      "I don't know," her husband replied, "Put a bottled water dispenser here in the bedroom?"
      She wouldn't lower herself to reply to this; she thought a moment, then mused, aloud, "It all seems so real for a dream!"
      "Whose dream do you think it is?" asked her husband curiously.
      "Why, mine, of course, you nit," she replied rather testily, which, it must be admitted, was not like her.
      "We'll see," he said smugly; "We'll see - just wait until we wake up, and see who tells who the dream!"
      "Whom!" she corrected him sharply, "Yes, just wait!", and turned her back on him to go to sleep. And they both went back to sleep.
      "Zoom, zoom," said the cottage.
      But next morning, after the cottage had lurched to a stop just as the sun was about to rise, tumbling them all out of bed and onto the floor, what with cursing the eccentric hill and getting the kids off to school and all, neither of them mentioned the dream - perhaps both thought it was too silly, in the daylight, and weren't anxious to be laughed at by the other, or wanted a little time to think about it, you know.
      The very next day, however, the neighborhood was astonished to discover a vacant lot where the cottage had been. All the neighbors gathered in front of the emptiness and buzzed excitedly about the disappearance, what on earth could have happened, I didn't hear a thing, such a thing never happened in this town before, and so on. But then one old man just laughed and said it just goes to show how little people knew their own neighborhoods anymore, that there had never been a cottage there at all, that it was a vacant lot as long as he could remember. The others were stunned by this, and said they could swear there was a cottage there just yesterday - and they'd think of the family's name in a minute . . .
      And slowly everyone came to feel that perhaps they were wrong, and isn't it funny how all the houses seem strangely unfamiliar, when you think about it, even your own - and they all dropped the subject as if in agreement that reality was much too fragile to meddle with, and went on with as much of their lives as would stay put. Zoom, zoom.

THE END

Return to the Fables page

Return to the ElkArts page