In Conversation
A word is said to be worth less than a nickel, even in this economy. Then again, the tallest pile of bank notes may not amount to a sentence that’s been armed with thought and intricacy. Matters such as this have never been strangers to Mehmet Ribbons, who from a young age has been a student of the colloquy. His father, Rob Ribbons, would make him read about the interpersonal formation of the many European treaties, and the stature and the arcane quirks of Napoleon. Mehmet would just as readily have to listen to anecdotes about LA mob deals and tribulations.
“I haven’t heard a single one!” shouted Mehmet, unprompted. “And what’s this dad business? It is he who’s Turkish, he who took the Anglo-surname from mother! Mo Ribbons was his name!” irritated, he continued.
Mehmet is old enough to have stopped buying positive propaganda, and now buys it exclusively negative. Years of ill-founded criticism of the self and the rampant resentment toward others once had him hitting his son. Whether his own father used to hit him, he cannot remember.
“What’s this now?!” he inquired, tabulating elements from the surroundings in his head. “Who dares spout such disgusting lies?! Who, I ask you?”
The farm he lived on was host to an entire world of animals and insects native to the state of Montana. Not even the most advanced animator could pull off a depiction of such earthly heavens.
“I live in New York City!” Mehmet shouted, perhaps at a herd of sheep, likely practicing for his play that was to be held in the nearby parish town where he was an avid helper.
It is a starry evening on the farm. The chickens have been locked for the night, and the cows have moved across the field for their slumber.
“Cows don’t simply move somewhere for the night. Or schedule sleep! What in the fu…”
May, the wife of Mehmet, has just returned from the field after a long day of planting beets, and is getting ready to collect some eggs. What’s waiting for her is even more exciting; she is going to tend to the wine she’s making, out of the wildest berries Montana allows. Together, they are prepared for any consequence the modern world may throw at itself, or at them.
“So! I suppose, there was no divorce! Good for me! Good for us! It’s Debby, by the way. She’s a journalist for the New Yorker. Or, maybe, not anymore!” he commented.
“And who collects eggs at night?”
Those green fields have begun attracting outside interest; little do the farmers know. Today, construction begins, of resorts and homes of the city man, right across the grove bordering Mehmet’s own land.
“I don’t own a square foot of my apartment!”
The flashing lights and jarring sounds of machinery are continuing into the night. Mehmet sticks his head outside to verify the extremity of the disturbance, and begins walking toward the lights, determined.
“Oh, yeah, I would go and argue with the whole congregation of builders, alone, in the dead of night! I cannot believe this!”
He steps into the grove, where lights strike him with the lights reflecting, bouncing between the leaves. Beginning to comfort his eyes by partly covering them, he continues walking toward the construction site and exits the grove. He says to excuse him, and asks what the hell is going on here, and that it’s nighttime. The crew responds by saying that they’re sorry, and that they’ve been ordered to continue the work into the night, as it is an intense project.
“The hell is it with you?”
They said they would leave in the morning, but that an identical crew would return at the same time for the daytime work. Mehmet asks if he can see the manager. They point to manager Albert, who is in a business suit and a helmet. Mehmet asks Albert the same questions, and receives the same response the crew gave him.
Irate, he walks back in the direction of his farm. The lights cast his shadow onto the grove, and, as he enters it again, his shadow scatters between the trees. With the lights flashing ever so intensely and the shadows drowning his vision, Mehmet cannot seem to find an exit from the forest. It also seems that his leg is trapped.
“I am frankly appalled by the indecency and the nonsense of this. What the hell is this stupid exercise? I will not take this, I will not take this anymore!”
One could only wonder, where is Mehmet?
“None of your business!”, he continued.