Mysterious References to Avocados

A Sillyland story, by @27coding_crazy and @elvin_wonders (authors' note below)

— ♥ —

Let’s not bother with pleasantries. Things tend to get confusing that way.

Here’s what you need to know: people find their way to me when things get messy. I fix everything up for them, no strings attached. They’re always free to leave anytime they like. I only wish for them to lead happy lives, after all.

The two I mean to tell you about today? They had a falling out—lots of hypotheticals involved. They made their way here on what they thought was a whim, even though it was anything but. Then again, most other people rarely realise it either. Such is the thankless work that I do.

I like to think I do it for the avocados.

Love, it’s like an avocado.

Sort of.

— — —

An axe falls, she plunges it; she plunges with it. Emblazoned across her shirt in bold yellow capitals is the word, “UBERMENSCH”, and, in smaller letters beneath, “making a living out of scaring the living daylights out of ye olde pigeon eggs.” Turns out, she didn’t need a whole log of teak to carve herself a couple cufflinks.

No matter, the pleasant strain of tendons along her biceps more than makes up for the kazoo she can no longer bring herself to carve for her dullard girlfriend. Her girlfriend, who, for all her assumed empathy, had the gall to spout maxims in the face of her vulnerability. She’d asked her last night, feet askew, leaning forward, if she thought she knew her—knew her in entirety—and still loved her. To which Kate responded that she liked what she saw, but didn’t know what she knew. Besides, she added, in a poor attempt at wit, it was anybody’s guess if anybody could truly know anybody but themselves.

Steel-clad soles bear brutally on the occasional flower, almost out of habit. Philip pauses in her relentless woodwork to swing metal at a sunflower sticking out like a sore thumb sick of thumbing through volumes of tired emotion and misread signals and an irritable woman who seems to blame her for her maladies. Her aim falters, foothold flattening, face falling—unceremoniously, in fresh manure.

Before her stands a signboard: Oracle; this is not Delphi for gods’ sakes. Book an appointment like a normal person. And read the gosh darn rules.

The last time Philip was this shocked, her aunt had uprooted her entire herbarium of four leafed clovers and dared to call them weeds. She would have walked away without reading another word if her nietzsche-sized ego hadn’t got in the way.

All this to say that she picks herself up, and reads the gosh darn rules.

— — —

The rules, of course. They run as follows—

First: You may not, under any circumstances, reveal your name or any other incriminating details as to your identity to the Oracle. Failure to do so will result in extermination.

Second: As payment for advice, you must supply your data. Cookies thus obtained shall be fed into our eternal database, for the benefit of our other clients. Any personal questions asked must be answered. Failure to comply will result in extermination.

Last: Under no circumstances must you pose questions to the Oracle in regard to their identity. Violation of this condition will result in extermination.

Oh, alright, I was a little vague on details. My bad, I guess.

In my defence, it’s like guacamole: details can be as overpowering as garlic. Best to stick with good ol’ avocado.

— — —

Kate, I’m heading out. i could be a human motorcycle for all you care
Need to get a hold of myself. because you cut my brakes
Going to go fetch us something to eat. honey, you’re such a ham sometimes

Alright, then. What else am I supposed to say?
I’ll be heading out soon too. You’re impossible to be around.
See you later. I wish you weren’t so stubborn.

— — —

You probably have no idea what’s going on now, and I love that. Unfortunately, courtesy dictates I at least mysteriously hint at it.

There’s a curtain. There’s Philip. There’s an Oracle. There’s a mic. And you get life advice. Big deal. Back to the story.

— — —

Excuse me? Could you turn down the air conditioning please, it is scalding here. For your sake and mine, spare the formalities. Honestly. I thought I’d signed up for profound discourse but it appears my time is about to fly over to my partner holed up in the drain. Normally, I wouldn’t take too kindly to being blindfolded and possibly bugged but I—

—well, aren’t you delightful? Tell me, do you make it a habit of steamrolling over the people you’re talking with, or is that just a time-specific thing? It’s not like I dragged you here into this dingy little…whatever just so you can—

—steamroll over you? Is that a phrase you throw around often–to, I don’t know, conceal your own overbearing dynamism? Stonewalling your way through every conversation, playing sophist just so you can dribble around the truth, and resorting to half baked semantics when you cannot think up a suitable retort. That’s exactly the kind of pedantic maypole—

—I can’t believe I came here just to be dissed on. Why did you even show up in the first place if all you’re going to do is be cynical about everything? I thought we were supposed to be, I don’t know, talking through problems or something like that—

—Exactly. I didn’t come here to pick a fight. Shall we cooperate for a bit then?

—Well, forgive me if I find that hard to believe—

—And I believe you. But like you said, we’re here for a reason. Listen: I know you probably have someone back home who you care about a great deal. You’re too clever not to. Now, say a demon cropped up in your last hour and said you could and shall relive the entire gamut of your interpersonal affections and passions—all of it, the joys, the downs, the dark alleyways crowded with people you once knew— would you rejoice or—

—I would. I think. I’m not quite sure.

—I see. Not much of a talker, are you?

—I suppose you could say that. I’m not used to thinking about the finer details of all my interpersonal relations. That’s more of my partner’s job.

—Weird you brought it up, because—actually no, what was I thinking? Go ahead, fire away, spill the cat, tie up the beans, boil everything. Tell me exactly what you have in mind, it’s easier that way. I gather this is supposed to be a two-way street—

—It’s just that. Well. My partner, they’re so smart. And I love them, I really do, but sometimes it feels like a little much. They get all over in their head and it’s like they’re asking me for something I can’t give them. And that feels terrible. But I can’t tell what they’re asking me for, and it drives me crazy. Honestly, there are days I feel like throwing them out a window. But! I’m still trying my best. Because, well. I know they’re worth it. You know how it is.

—More than I’d like to admit. I haven’t really opened up with anyone before, you know, the usual thing. This really smart girl whom I’d admired for the longest time—she is intuitive with logic—the kind of logic that completely evades the likes of me. She has the greatest sense of humour and she’s usually reserved, but when she opens up to you to offer some brilliant insight, it’s- it’s like you’ve been handed the world. Except. She doesn’t. Not very often. I could never hope to match up to her. I’m not worth her time and she probably knows it, given that she doesn’t talk much. Only…I don’t know what she knows and I don’t know how to find out—

—Maybe you should just talk to her. Tell her what you feel. There have been loads of times I could’ve avoided another argument if I’d just…told them how I felt. Of course, they clam up just as much as I do. Even when they’re being open it’s like they’re actively avoiding the main problem. But yeah. Just talk to her.

—You should actually try walking the talk–get it? Sorry, ill-timed humour, my bad. The problem with conversation is that it has a mind of its own, you can’t direct its course singlehandedly; inevitably, you end up feeling utterly helpless. I’d say go confront your partner directly, but from your account, I don’t really see that working? Because if they’re being difficult, like you say they are, they are bound to skirt around any attempt at genuine openness and—

—No, you do have a point. I haven’t been nearly as honest with them as I should’ve been. And I’ve kept a lot of things to myself. Maybe we should both give it a shot and see how things turn out, huh?

—Not really, I’ve tried enough times. I think you should stop blaming yourself, for a start. I was there too; for what it’s worth, I’m there now. Sometimes I don’t know what to say but I know what I want. What else could you do? What would you do in my place?

—Oh. I’m not sure. I suppose if I were you, I’d try showing her that she’s appreciated. If you can’t get her to understand your words, then maybe she’d get your feelings through your actions, if that makes any sense. I’d probably get her some plushies, maybe a nice dinner. And flowers. Most girls love that sort of thing. I know I would; I’ve always loved roses. I saw a few pop up near the store the other day—they were wonderful. But I wouldn’t trust my choices. They’re not my girlfriend, after all. What would you get them?

—Roses! And nothing beats dinner unless you’re a prig– which my girlfriend is not, thankfully. But to answer your question, maybe a bouquet of orchids? Hardy plants; they flower well in the cold, but look stunning against wet sunrays.

— — —

It was quite an auspicious start, despite all pointless squabbling.

You know, funnily enough, by the time Philip got home after her whole debacle with the Oracle, she’d managed to pick up some very conveniently sprouted roses near the sidewalk.

I had nothing to do with it, of course.

She set up a pretty nice dinner for Kate. Went through the trouble to light candles and everything. Honestly, I was quite impressed. I didn’t really expect that from her. And I definitely didn’t get the birds to play some lovely jazz for better atmosphere after that.

And when Kate came home, carrying a hastily crafted bouquet of orchids and other miscellaneous weeds that I oh-so-very-innocently managed to place near her doorstep, she found Philip walking out of the kitchen like a deer in headlights.

I’m sure you can put together what happened next.

The illusion of the Oracle was exterminated, as per the rules, given bipartite realisation. It was one of my finer schemes. Normally, I wouldn’t go through so much subtlety. I prefer to keep changing my roads so people keep crashing into each other. Or getting people drenched in rain and staring into each other’s eyes. But the Oracle was perfect for these two.

Oh, it wasn’t a sure fix. But it got them talking even more than they were already.

That is to say, they had guacamole for dinner. For, when Philip, profoundly moved by situational epiphany, moved in for a hug, and Kate, realising, followed suit twice as rapidly, they came together with an intensity that caused the dinner table to topple right over. Thus encircled by fading light, broken wax, and soiled sandwiches, they, however momentarily, made their peace– with each other and themselves. As it were, both Kate and Philip were Background Characters, irrelevant in my Grand Scheme of Things, and yet it dawned upon them, as it did upon me, that well-garnished guacamole is a side-dish best served as a main.

— ♥ —

(edited a word to make it scratch appropriate is all)

insert authors note coming within the next hour hurry up elfie