musings

The Loon

by James Tate

A loon woke me this morning. It was like waking up in another world. I had no idea what was expected of me. I waited for instructions. Someone called and asked me if I wanted a free trip to Florida. I said, "Sure. Can I go today?" A man in a uniform picked me up in a limousine, and the next thing I know I'm being chased by an alligator across a parking lot. A crowd gathers and cheers me on. Of course, none of this really happened. I'm still sleeping. I don't want to go to work. I want to know what the loon is saying. It sounds like ecstasy tinged with unfathomable terror. One thing is certain: at least they are not speaking of tax shelters. The phone rings. It's my boss. She says, "Where are you?" I say, "I don't know. I don't recognize my surroundings. I think I've been kidnapped. If they make demands of you, don't give in. That's my professional advice." Just then, the loon let out a tremendous looping, soaring, swirling, quadruple whoop. "My god, are you alright?" my boss said. "In case we do not meet again, I want you to know that I've always loved you, Agnes," I said. "What?" she said.
"What are you saying?" "Good-bye, my darling. Try to remember me
as your ever loyal servant," I said. "Did you say you loved
me?" she said. I said, "Yes," and hung up. I tried
to go back to sleep, but the idea of being kidnapped had me
quite worked up. I looked in the mirror for signs of torture.
Every time the loon cried, I screamed and contorted my face
in agony. They were going to cut off my head and place it on
a stake. I overheard them talking. They seemed like very
reasonable men, even, one might say, likeable.

"The Loon" by James Tate from Return to the City of White Donkeys. © Ecco Press, 2004.