The Incredible Transition of Dr. Queen

Did you ever want to go back to Jupiter, where you belonged? Yes, that’s it. Fiction readers always seem to want a certain couple where it belongs. Going to the moon you would put it. Or Mars.

My seemingly vicious father is dead, and my incredibly loving mother is catching up with me. She is dying of cancer, oh so slowly. She will take it because she’s part Native American from Montana, a Rosie the Riveter during WWII. My Dad was all American, a mighty man, had killed the Japanese who were trying to dominate the Chinese, and had to deal with that in his own way. He had high blood pressure, which was giving him psychological problems. He was my hero, the white man. Yet he tried to kill me several times.

I like to think it was due to his having been a chain smoker. He was often the sweetest, kindest, most loving man in the world. It still matters.

But I have to talk about my purple "godparents" now. I have to thank them, trust me. They are mysteriously appearing in a seedy, cheap hotel room somewhere. They are from the past, and they currently no longer exist.

They probably saved my life. It had to do with certain circumstances. How does one thank such people? How does one even attempt to know them?

May we enter their life story somehow, and be right there with them?


*******


One night, a celebrated chocolate man decided that something had gone wrong with his entire set of circumstances, and his wife did, too. Out of nowhere, they had melted into an extremely hot scenario - like unearthly large horizontal giants on a hotel bed. One of them, not being altogether fat, was also strikingly handsome with his little mustache - to the point where my mind was boggled. He was relaxing on never his own bed looking at the small black and white television, laying himself down prone and relaxed after a hard day of walking and interviews. He was sprawled but composed on top of the pilled and soiled covers.