“Voices, Part Two”

c. 2019 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-19)

The wee hours.

Something about working overnight has always seemed proper in the Ice household. We are a flock of ‘night owls’ by nature. But as I moved into permanent retirement in 2016, this method of living became more than a tendency. After a brief period of readjustment, it developed into a habit of consequence. One that ruled my moods and motions with little mercy.

Often, this has yielded lots of useful prose when at my desk, after hours.

But a recent night offered something more. While working on a project for the Geauga Independent, my online newspaper, voices began to chatter from a Silvertone transistor radio on the bookcase. Pondering my coffee cup, I wondered if too much caffeine had created some sort of hallucination. One founded on childhood horseplay imitating Mel Blanc in classic Warner Brothers cartoons. Or my later affinity for driving home from work, long after dark, with the Phil Hendrie Show via WKBN in Youngstown. Yet the visitation of vocal spirits was something more. Something undeniably real.

I peered at the radio relic in disbelief. Breaking the stillness, voices began to echo as I wished for something stronger than my coffee:

“Boys, my name is Rascal T. Pettibone,” a wild, southern character spoke. “And the ‘T’ stands for Texas!”

“Well, I’m Dudley Perks,” a second voice interjected,in the raspy tone of an irritated nerd. “You
 sound like a hillbilly with a mouth full of mashed potatoes!”

“Look here, boy,” the country cowpoke growled. “I don’t care for the tone of your talk. Do you hear me?”

“Whaaat? All I hear is a hick trying to sound impressive,” Perks replied.

“THAT’S EEEEEE-NOUGH!” Pettibone exploded. “I’ve had enough of your attitude. And when I say I’ve had enough, I mean that I’ve had EEEEEE-NOUGH!”

“Enough is what I’ve had of you, hayseed!” Perks snickered. “Finish those mashed potatoes before you go on a rant!”

Four-letter words flew from the tinny, tiny radio speaker with abandon. Finally, I slammed my coffee cup on the desk. “That’s enough from both of you!”

There was a silent pause. Then Pettibone apologized.

“Boy, I didn’t mean to get you all riled up...”

Perks agreed. “Whaaat? Who are you out there? A thin-skinned whiner?”

I shook my head. “What?”

“The kid’s right, dammit,” Pettibone observed. “I’d say it’s time to toughen up a bit there, pardner.”

I picked up the radio to make sure there was no battery in the case. Puzzled and pondering, I turned the knob for a different station. But the voices continued to sound.

“Look boy,” Pettibone growled. “Playin’ with the damn dial won’t make us shut up, okay?”

“I ain’t shutting up for this hayseed!” Perks exclaimed.

“Hey, watch your tone, junior!” Pettibone thundered. “Are you dumb or deaf?”

“I’m not in the mood to hear the same boring scheiss,” Perks chortled. “Blah, blah, blah, the same patter about having enough of whatever you’ve had enough of… the same old same old… BOOOOORING!”

“I reckon it’s about time for some fistichoppin’ boy!” Pettibone threatened.

“Fisti-whatting?” Perks said in disbelief.

“MY FIST, BUSTIN’ YOU IN THE DAMN CHOPS!” Pettibone yelled.

“Ooooh, I’m scared now,” Perks squealed. “The big, tough redneck is going to lose an argument by using his knuckles because his brain can’t do the job.”

I was baffled and out of breath. “ENOUGH!”

“That’s my line, pardner!” Pettibone thundered.

“True story,” Perks agreed. “It’s his line, he said it first.”

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I pleaded. “Things were great here until you two decided to haunt my transistor radio. I was about to finish a manuscript.

“Go ahead, don’t mind us one bit,” Perks laughed.

“Get your jollies, pardner!” Pettibone said sarcastically. “Don’t mind us, we’re just hanging around the superhetrodyne stratosphere.”

“What??” I shouted.

“The word ‘what’ is my line,” Perks teased. “This big sack of equestrian poop makes me say it all the time. Whaaaaaat?”

“Fistichoppin’ my boy!” Pettibone roared. “Get yourself ready! TEETH ARE GONNA FLY!”

“Stop it!” I commanded. “Stop it now!”

Another silent pause took hold. Then, Perks whispered from the speaker.

“You are kinda edgy,” he said. “I hate to agree with mister-mashed-potato-eater here, but I think you need some Prozac or something.”

Pettibone chuckled to himself. “Prozac or a stiff shot of whiskey!”

“How about both?” Perks wondered out loud.

“STOP IT!” I demanded. “STOP RIGHT NOW!”

Perks grew quiet again. “Geez mister, you know this is all in your head. You can turn it off just like turning off the radio. Just twist your switch.”

“What?” I said while gasping for air.

“Turn the damn switch, boy!” Pettibone laughed. “This is all in your head. Ain’t you figured that out yet? We... do... not... exist.”

“Me?” I coughed with frustration. “This is all because of me?”

“Wow, that’s a revelation, right?” Perks sneered. “You imagine stuff and it happens. Just like when your brain thinks of other stuff and it ends up on paper, through your fingers.”

“Paper, hell!” Pettibone declared. “Writers don’t use paper no more! It’s all on a damn computer screen now, junior!”

“He knows what I meant!” Perks complained.

“You mean this is all in my head?” I said quizzically.

“Of course it is!” Perks guffawed. “What, you think Silvertone made radios that run without a battery?”

“Sears did it all,” Pettibone reflected. “But they didn’t do that!”

“Soooooo,” I interrupted. “If I just put you two out of my mind, it will end this verbal altercation like Phil Hendrie finishing one of his netcast episodes?”

“You are brilliant,” Perks taunted.

“Damn, the boy figured it out!” Pettibone huffed.

“Okay,” I sighed. “Here we go… tuning out out… turning you off… off off off...”

A third pause elapsed. Then, the radio speaker nearly burst with amplified hilarity.

“You can’t turn us off, boy!” Pettibone cheered. “We’re with you, forever!”

“Forever!” Perks repeated. “Forever, forever, forever!”

It was 3:00 in the morning. The windows were still dark. My coffee cup was empty. My belly had twisted itself into a knot. My head ached, But the screen of my PC was full. At last, I could go to bed.

“Good night, Rascal. Good night, Dudley.”

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