The
bookstore cogs were obviously curious, but that interest quickly waned from his
bland scraps detailing where they’d gone and what eaten, until at the decisive
fork of discussion and self-preserving silence he mentioned antler, the
complexity of which he chose here to couch in hypothesis , that if she were to have a child she would call it antler.
cog:
antler? What kind of name is that?
cog
(mocking): “What kind of name is that?” You sound like your mother.
cog:
No antler... what kind of name is that?
Skunk:
What kind of name is Wendy?
cog:
Well it’s better than antler
laughing,
Skunk too.
Skunk:
Who, who was the first child called We- nah come on, hey HEY... Who was the
first child called Wendy?
cog:
Well I don’t know, but there are
Skunk:
The first child called Wendy was in J. M. Barrie’s “Peter Pan”, it was a name
he made up
cog:
Right.
Skunk:
and now you wouldn’t even question it in the streets.
cog:
Well there aren’t very many Wendys.
Skunk:
There are loads of Wendys.
cog:
But there are antlers already.
cog:
yeah, I mean, antler’s a word already, I mean, why not call it horsebox?
Laughter.
cog:
Why not call it hoof?
Skunk:
antler is a really nice name.
cog:
No it’s not.
cog:
it’s a hard word to pronounce.
Skunk:
Whaaaat?
cog:
If you call a child antler that child would have such a pain in growing
Skunk:
Crap. It’s a cool name.
cog:
You could not call a child antler.
Skunk:
Yes you could.
cog:
You could not... It’s a nice word, I
like the word, but not for the name of a child.
Skunk:
Why not?
cog:
Because you’re imposing that on a child.
cog:
I mean, it’s the child who has to grow up with it after all.
Skunk:
It’s not a foolish name.
cog:
But you’d spend your lifetime repeating it to people when you gave your name.
cog:
yeah, that’s right, filling out forms.
cog
(mimicing clerk): “antler? How do you spell that?”
cog:
“I’m sorry?”
cog:
“antler?”
cogs
(together): “As in...?”
their
hands up beside their heads, their fingers mock-horns.
Laughter.
cog:
Visual joke.
