Imitation

by Michael D. Brooks

“Hey, Pop, what’s up?”

“Nothing. Just reading my book. You do know you’re interrupting my repose, don’t you?”

“Ooh, a new vocabulary word. Do you even know what it means?”

“More than you think, smart-ass. So why are you bothering me if you can see that I’m reading my book?”

“Because I took a look at it and read some of the short stories that are in it.”

“That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“That explains why my book wasn’t where I left it.”

“Sure, Pop. If I hadn’t said I looked at it, you wouldn’t have noticed a thing.”

“That’s what you think. So why is it that you’re bothering me now?”

“I just came to say you’re right.”

“I know that, son. Wait. About what?”

“About the book being a great read for the average Joe.”

“See, I told you. Do I know great literature or what?”

“Only if it fell on you.”

“Can we get back to the book? And about me being right?”

“Okay, okay.”

“Geez.”

“Anyway, I noticed there’re a couple of characters in some of the stories that reminded me of us.”

“Us? Like in you and me?”

“Yeah, Pop. There’s a father and son that have this quirky relationship that comes through in the conversations they have. Sort of like us.”

“I know the stories. I really like those. Thought they were funny, but I don’t think they sound anything like us.”

“What are you doing?”

“Grabbing the dictionary.”

“Why?”

“I want to check to make sure I wasn’t just insulted.”

“By what?”

“What you just said.”

“What did I just say that you thought might be an insult?”

“You said I was quirky.”

“Pop, quirky is not an insult. It just means we have what you would call a unique relationship the way the father and son in the story do. Their relationship reminds me of ours. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I don’t see the connection. Those two don’t sound anything like us.”

“What? I’m shocked. I think they sound just like us. It’s weird, really.”

“You’re weird.”

“Pop!”

“What?”

“I think maybe you should read them again.”

“I did. I didn’t see any resemblance between us and them. You’re seeing things.”

“You don’t see any resemblance?”

“Nope.”

“Then how come you read them again?”

“Because I liked them. Nothing more.”

“Oh, come on, Pop. Admit it. The way they act reminds you of us. They act just like us.”

“See, that’s the problem with people.”

“What?”

“Seeing more than what’s there in these stories. Next you’re going to tell me it’s life imitating art or art imitating life or something like that, right?”

“Well, I was until you pooped on my party. Man, now I can see why you had problems reading when you were in school.”

“Yep, like I told you before, it was the nuns. They ruined my love of literature.”

“Oh, yeah, I also notice now you call it literature.”

“Sure do, when I’m enjoying reading it.”

“You’re hopeless, Pop.”

“What was that, smart-ass?”

“Nothing, Pop. Read your book.”

“I could if you’d stop your yammering.”

“That's it. I'm leaving.”

“Don't forget to close the door on your way out. I need my ambiance.”

“Have it your way, you ornery old coot.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

“Oh, brother.”