Drawing
Broken Wheelster made a drawing today because he’s not in a good space and needs to express himself.
Too Much
Sometimes Mermy talks too much. Sadly, she wears her friends out at times like this. Though she also wears herself out. Even if she’s sorry the morning after, by then it’s too late. Everyone is already too tired and slightly miffed.
Saturn
Mermy and Wheelster share a secret love for the planet Saturn. Not for the real planet, but the one they used to read about in the Magic School Bus books. The picture books with the redheaded frizzy haired teacher who took kids to space in a magic bus and showed them Saturn floating in a bathtub (because it is gaseous and lighter than water). Go figure. Mermy was very tickled by this as a second-grader.
Night
Broken Wheelster feels wistful tonight. He sighs and remembers how, as a young bike, he liked sneaking up to the observatory with his sweet and slightly raucous friends. Lying on the grass at the foot of the old building, on dark nights they would see the Milky Way overhead. On those nights, Wheelster would wish to outgrow his awkward, twisted frame and groaning single gear.
But he was wrong back then. The awkward twistedness never went away, and in his own resigned sort of way, Wheelster made a reluctant kind of peace with it.
These days Wheelster still sneaks up to the observatory from time to time, but now when he looks up at our galaxy, he wishes instead for the wherewithal to live exquisitely despite it all.
Obsession
Broken Wheelster is obsessed with William Herschel’s monstrous 40-foot telescope. Night after night, he sleeps and dreams of ladders and stairs that lead up to the eyepiece, an eyepiece that would reveal oh such delicious tidbits about the solar system. And Wheelster’s heart pounds as he dreams of artisans in a cold foundry, polishing the telescope’s giant mirror, night after night, after night. Night after night for two long years. Two long years spent polishing an optical fantasy. Wheelster awakes from this dream feeling a bit elated.
