Carly Berg

C a r l y B e r g

Rorschach Beach             

Families are chaotic messes started by any old thing with a uterus and some nerve. I blame the women because, even in the best families, which men are guilty remains an educated guess.

Our family’s get-togethers were a day at the zoo on the wrong side of the enclosures. After one such trauma, I shivered in my bed, when a tiny-headed angel of questionable goodness came to me. Or perhaps only an ugly gift blouse on a hanger, but who’s to say what vision we’re entitled to?

I threw one of my family gift exchange uglies, a stuffed lobster-dog, at the vision. It said, “Come along. I will take you on an educational but fun trip."

I wanted to go on an educational but fun trip more than anything. I hopped out of bed like a frog happily pooping and followed the angel out the window.

“Whoa,” the dubious angel said. “You’re as uncouth as the rest of them. Your boobies remind me of two ponies on a carousel.”

What a bitch. I wanted to go somewhere, though, so I changed from my baby doll pajamas into proper underwear and a modest terrycloth short set.

I thought we were going someplace good but the dubious angel only took me to Rorschach Beach. We arrived as the sun rose. A giant squid flumped along on the sand rather than deep in the water. It made a glurp, glurp sound like my odd, moist uncle when he tipped up his Southern Comfort bottle. The cephalopod probably was him, since he wrote for a living and squid have ink too.

“Ah, the strange beauty of nature out of place. Wacky and wonderful!” The angel pointed out another sea animal on the shore. The fishy thing had wide-set eyes and mostly hid under sand, as sneaky as one of my sisters.

“This is supposed to be educational? I am already aware that my family members aren’t quite human.”

But the angel was busy jumping up and down, yelling, “Magnificent! Fabulous!” at a weird, bottom-heavy bird chasing a ball across the dunes.

“Watch it, dubious angel. I don’t care if she does like her Roulette too much. My mother is no big-butt seabird.”

“Oh, but I thought you didn’t care,” the angel said.

“Care, don’t care, whatever. There’s no lesson to be learned in having wild creatures for relatives.”

That’s enough lesson for now.” The dubious angel flew away. A smashed-flat turtle lay in the road. I walked in the direction it had been headed.

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