Bob, Bab, Bib, Beb, and Bub

Bob, 37, is obsessive, but not compulsive. He thinks A LOT and gets nothing done. Bab, 29, makes French toast with peanut butter, maple syrup, and sliced banana, but not milk, eggs, or bread. Bab teaches Finishing School at a nursing home. “Having your back up against the wall means no one can surprise you from behind,” says Bub, 93.      

“Is there an ideal brain chemistry and should science provide it?” Bob asks the mirror.

Bob has large, spatulate thumbs. They stand out like sore thumbs. They feel fine.

“A dream is not real, but the memory of a dream is,” Bob tells the mirror.

Bob goes outside and comes inside.

When Bab serves breadless French Toast to Bob, she says, “There.”

When Bob starts to cry, Bab says, “There, there.”

“When we married,” Bab tells the marriage counselor, “I promised for richer, or for poorer, but this economic stability is maddening.”

Life is passing Bob by. He looks around. Life … off in the distance.

Bab tells the pharmacist she has a headache. He says, “Take some aspirin.” Not all pharmacists are so generous. Bab walks out without paying.

“Bottom feeder is an insult unless you live in a lake in which case it’s a classification,” Bib, 2, says. Where does he come up with these things?

“I cut the head off of a chicken once and watched it run around like a chicken with its head cut off,” Bub says to Beb, 102. Beb laughs and laughs.

“I feel like a chicken with its head cut off,” Bob says miles away.

“That’s how they come,” Bab says, meaning from the store.

“To reach puberty you need to be five-foot-tall, or stand on a stool,” Bib says.

(It’s like a family meeting in the kitchen.)

“When I put antifreeze in the ice-cube trays,” Bib, 2, says, “I should have left a note on the fridge. Sorry.  

“Birds weigh themselves by how far the branch moves when they land on it,” Beb, 102 says, looking out the window. There are no birds.

“How do birds tell time on a cloudy day?” Bub asks Beb.

“Who gives a shit?” Beb says.    

Bob thinks he’s deeply troubled, but Dr. Diamond, 72, reassures Bob that he’s not deeply anything. Bob thinks he’s hallucinating, but Dr. Dimond, 97, (the two Doctors Diamond share an office and there is only one desk) reassures Bob that his eyes are merely playing tricks on him.

When Bab complains about Bob’s fingertips being rough it’s a callous remark.

Bob is not afraid of death or dying. He’s afraid of being left for dead.

“Jiffy Pop should change its name to Way Slower than a Microwave Pop,” Bib says, shaking the throw-away pan, watching the aluminum foil slowly rise, and hinting about getting a microwave.

“A chipmunk and a squirrel can be friends, but will never visit each other’s homes,” Bid, 2, says. He has a bite of popcorn and WRITES IT DOWN!   

“If you swim like a fish, you’ll drown in a couple minutes.” Bib says, and lets it go at that.

That morning the fish in the tank have strings of excrement attached to their rear ends like it’s a contest or special day.

“Do goldfish in a bowl feel self-conscious? Bib says, not expecting an answer. Bob and Bab are still mad about the antifreeze.   

Dan Nielsen is a part-time standup comic. His least flavor of jelly is petroleum. Recent FLASH in: Connotation Press, Jellyfish Review, (mic)ro(mac), Necessary Fiction, The Cabinet of Heed, and Cheap Pop. Dan has a website: Preponderous, you can follow him @DanNielsenFIVES. He and Georgia Bellas are the post-minimalist art/folk band Sugar Whiskey.