Moony

“Herman Moony is a cool kid, I swear. He’s someone everyone wants to be friends with. You meet him and you instantly love him. For instance, right now, Herman is sitting behind his wooden lemonade stand in the front yard. This week’s setup is complete with a sign and bowl of free pretzels. He’s serving refreshments to people that walk by. He’s just like that, you know— thoughtful. Now some old man is strolling by with his dog. I think it’s that dachshund that keeps me up at night,” Gretchen Moony judged while squinting. She chuckled and caught herself. Letting go of the blinds, the plastic snapped closed.

The young mom of one stepped back from the kitchen window.

“Fretting too much again, Gretch?” She thought out loud. She retied her loose bathrobe and rearranged the phone from the left shoulder to the right.

“We haven’t even been here that long. Herman is adjusting. Some kids are gathering across the street. Really, oh god, I gotta call you back.”

Aunt Nancy’s garbled voice didn’t make it out of the receiver as the phone slammed down.

Gretchen rushed to the window and yanked open the chicken printed curtains, she grabbed the cord and drew up the blinds. Elbow down on the sink edge, the nosy mom propped her chin on her knuckle and furrowed her brows. She could tell some kind of show was about to happen but she wanted to let Herman have his space.

Sunshine beared down on the rows of rustling oaks. The street they lived on was idyllic. No cars were driving by, only parked SUVs. Out front of Gretchen Moony’s house, at the edge of the street, between two tall trees, sat the one and only: Herman Moony.

He waited patiently at his drink stand, minding his own business. Doodling ideas between customers.

A looming shadow appeared across the street.

His yellow flag with a puckered lemon face flapped in the wind. The flag was from when he tried selling lemonade but things didn’t work out.

The small crowd crossed the street. They rolled up and immediately surrounded the stand. One guy was obviously in his teens and was too tall to be hanging out with such a group of youngsters.

They had a reason to be there, Herman Moony said to himself. The lemonade stand sat on public property after all.

“They have a right to be here.” Moony repeated the mantra to himself.

He took a deep breath and braced for what he was in for. Herman looked down at his menu of syrups you could add to your iced tea to change the flavor and even sweeten it a little. These were free. He touched each syrup bottle top, pretending everything was fine. One, two…

He slowly raised his head.

Herman Moony could feel his face turn green as the crowd parted.

A rotund child with his belly hanging out sauntered up to the front of the stand. The kid could barely see through his curly red bangs.

“Hey there, Clarence,” Moony gulped. “How are you today?"

Clarence clenched his fists. Guess he’s not doing good today. The crowd slowly enclosed the stand. It was becoming hard to see out of the circle of bodies. There was an uncomfortable amount of time before anyone said anything.

“How’s it going, assface,” Clarence said calmly. He turned and looked at his entourage, seeking approval.

They laughed.

Then there was silence. The silence turned to prolonged staring. Moony could feel every eye on him. So he did what he does best in these situations.

”Would you like to try the raspberry iced tea? It’s the most popular and we do have a group rate.” He kindly pointed out. Moony poured the cold tea drink, then struggled with the pump of raspberry flavoring. Two squirts, one more, now stir, perfect, tap-tap, and finally he held out the tiny cup to Clarence.

His arm kept extending past where it was necessary, but that’s Herman, he’s a people pleaser.

“Free sample? Here you go?” His arm was max telescoped from his socket and his wrist was starting to shake.

“Clarence?”

A station wagon drove by and everyone stopped and watched.

After it passed, Clarence turned back around and slapped the cup out of Moony’s hand. It splashed a little on everyone and the styrofoam hit the soft grass. Several kids shielded themselves but got damp anyway.

“Holy shit!” Helicopter parent activated, mama bear Gretchen was on it. She couldn’t put her shoes on fast enough. Leave them, she decided. She yanked a coat over her robe and flew outside.

“Get away from him, you little b—”

Stopping short of leaving the cement stoop, Gretchen Moony froze. Her toes clung to the edge of the square porch. Her purple bathrobe flapped gently in the breeze.

Herman was teetering on the wooden booth, he was standing up and telling everyone to cease—

“People, calm down! Be still!” He made the group simmer, holding out his hands.

Gretchen froze. He was commanding the unruly crowd of children. What was her son doing up there?! The group of twelve year olds didn’t know what to make of it, either. Two twin girls declared they were definitely beating him up when they got him down from there.

He searched his brain for just the right answer as he kept balance on the platform.

Now’s your moment Moony.

He looked around for a second. The paper boy threw the daily newspaper into the yard and before he got dizzy he blurted out:

“Um, what’s black and white and red all over?”

“Oh, that does it,” the tall kid punched his palm while charging the stand.

“We’ve heard this one!”

Moony was sweating. The kids were menacing. He did a scan of all the beady eyes before he let the truth come ripping out of the most important place he could muster. His soul, he thinks, but he’s still not quite sure.

“A SKUNK IN A BLENDER!” He yelled out, totally proud of himself.

The kids looked around at each other. Everyone was stunned. No one could say for sure but the entire world definitely came to a stop—for, like, a whole second—even in New Zealand. Slowly, they started nodding in agreement. Hm, yes, a skunk. And it’s in a blender, three kids did the math.

The tickle slowly spread before the mob burst into a hearty laughter. One guy held on to a tree because he couldn’t breathe. A girl started texting the joke to her friend. Clarence’s temper was quelled.

Well, I’ll be darned, he did it. Gretchen let out an audible puff of air and laughed with herself. She knew he was well liked. Shaking her head, she turned and went back inside. The door slammed.

But the problem didn’t stay fixed. The spell on the mob didn’t last very long. The children quickly became bored and unruly again.

“Tell another one!” Someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

Moony didn’t have another one. He barely had the first one. He sized the audience. What do I do? He started to panic. A youngster had a really gross snot bubble coming out of his nose.

“Ew? Not now, Colin.” One twin played with her ponytail.

It seemed lightning could strike twice. He snapped his fingers.

“Why did the kid have green hair?” Moony looked around knowing he had a good one in the chamber, ready to fire off. He crossed his arms as the crowd tried to sort it out.

Hair? Why’s it green? Do we know this kid? The person is sick, obviously! Maybe the hair is dyed?

Moony wiped his nose and then slicked his hand back through his hair in one swift motion.

Nothing.

He made a snorting sound as he deliberately ran his hands past his nose and through his brown locks.

He waited patiently, trying not to laugh himself.

“Oh!” Clarence knew, and was totally with it. “Green hair! like, because, the snot!”

The pack burst into laughing fits and several people fell onto each other. They couldn’t keep it together.

“Good one, Moony!” The mob turned into a rumpus. He suddenly wasn’t sure what day it was. Everyone was laughing and having a great time.

“Wow. I did it,” Herman Moony whispered to himself. For the first time in his life he wasn’t just some assface.

He was funny.

Oh and the best part was he wasn’t about to get pummeled.

“Do more!”

“More! And funnier!”

But that was the end of his set, he declared.

“Thank you for coming.”

He stepped off the flimsy stand and the crowd slowly parted down the middle.

He peacefully strolled across his front lawn, head down, making a direct route to the stoop. Not turning to look, Moony slipped inside. He shut the door behind him and was about to throw up.

Everyone was silent. Two kids whispered to each other, "Where did he get that from?”

The next day at school word spread like chicken pox. People gathered under the stairwell between classes and listened to Moony do stand up.

“…And then the purple hippo said, ‘Get your hands off my skis!” There was a pregnant pause and then it was a jungle after that punchline. Kids practically swung from the ceiling.

“Epic, Moony,” A student sat with his skateboard on the staircase. The party reached new levels and it teetered on the brink of disruption.

“Tell another one!” Everyone got hyper. Someone’s backpack bumped a fire extinguisher and it fell off the wall. It loudly clinked to the floor and rolled. Everyone was sure it was going to explode so the audience screamed and scattered back into the hallways.

Well, that did it. The principal marched into the stairwell, fixing his tie and slicking his hair even though he was bald.

“What’s all this? You guys are right next to the main office,” He pointed out. Kind of reasonably, too.

He surveyed the area and it all came into focus. The only person just standing there was Herman Moony.

Mr. Stephens had been a principal for twenty years and he could tell who was and wasn’t up to no good.

“Herman, get to my office right now.” His mustache twitched.

The congregation of students slowly dispersed. Mostly saying, “Awww, lame.”

Timothy Crabtree said something worse and was immediately given detention.

One of the twins gulped and reassured Moony, “Good luck in there.”

“Moony, come in and close the door. Take a seat,” Mr. Stephens mumbled through his grey bushy mustache. He let out a long breath. Herman sat down and could tell he stepped in it big time. Mr. Stephens took a seat behind the desk.

“Herman, I want to show you something.”

He opened the drawer and produced a framed photo. It was of a teenager who happened to be wearing a very glittery suit. A big award ribbon was pinned on his chest. It was in black and white so it was hard to make out what was going on.

“This was me,” he reminisced, “boy howdy, did I have a lot of energy that I didn’t know what to do with.”

“You told jokes too?” Moony guessed enthusiastically.

“Hm? Jokes? No. No.” He leaned back in his chair.

“I’m not funny, no. Opera, though. I’m a soprano. Now that’s my forte,” Mr. Stephens smiled and twirled a finger in the air. His mustache tickled his own face a little. “I used to also be in a barber shop quartet but looking at me now you wouldn’t know it.” He clasped his hands on his large stomach.

“Anyway, I won the only invitational talent show for the state. How about that? It took everything I had to work my way up to such a challenge. I learned a lot and it really shaped who I became, you see.”

He smiled into the corner at nothing.

“Here, take this card. I’ll write someone’s number on the back, you give them a call and you’re in. Mr. Moony, this will be a perfect outlet for all your creative endeavors. I just know it.”

He scribbled with a fountain pen and Herman gently took the card.

“Now go back to class.” He promptly dismissed the troublemaker with a wink.

“Herman, hold still, these cuffs won’t stay rolled. Your show is in fifteen minutes, Hon.” Gretchen had a safety pin in her teeth.

“Mom, it’s not a show. It’s a contest.” He pulled his bowtie in the mirror’s reflection. This time it’ll sit straight.

Nope.

“Ah, do you have all your jokes prepared?” She rolled up his long pant leg and pinned it with a safety pin.

“Yes. Do I have to wear dad's old tuxedo? It doesn’t fit. It’s baggy and somehow riding up in the crotch at the same time.”

“Don’t say crotch, hon.” She rolled the long sleeves and patted him on the back.

She smiled proudly, taking one last look at him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome our next contestant— Herman Moony! With his, uh, comedy… talents.” The host fumbled and dropped a note card.

The spotlights danced around the stage.

Maybe you could blame it on a sudden burst of energy, maybe it was just too much sugar, but Moony bolted for centerstage like his career depended on it.

He tripped on his long pants and fell face first into the wooden floor. He slowly got up and brushed off. The lights swung around and encircled him. It was show time. The audience giggled nervously as he fixed his bow.

He told all new material to tepid applause. Gripping the microphone with both hands, he recited his set.

“What do you call a fake noodle? An impasta!”

It was a tough crowd.

Bowing, he left the stage. The audience politely clapped but Moony felt good about his standings.

“Next up with poetry we have Jenny Day. Reading ‘Laugh Now, Cry Never’ her own personal essay,” He paused while examining the card close to his face, ”it’s a thing she wrote.” The host smiled and waved his arm. “Without further ado…” The audience cheered.

After the show, Herman Moony and Jenny Day ate food at Burger World. Moony had just enough self esteem left in the tank to ask her if she’d like to hang out with him.

They talked about their favorite craft. Entertaining people.

He did mention Ninja Turtles but that conversation didn’t take off so he let it go. After the meal, the two killed time on the swings in the nearby playground. Their feet scraped the ground, getting sand in their shoes.

Jenny Day wore her gold medallion around her neck.

Herman Moony fanned himself with a participation certificate.

“What do you think you’re…” Herman was gonna ask something but was cut off.

“Hey Moony! You lost to a girl! Haw haw!” Clarence kicked sand at them and ran away to the distant hill. He doubled over with a couple of his friends. They all pointed in a mocking way. He probably thought he was safe over there.

“Whose that?” Jenny asked.

“Just some guy,” Moony said casually.

They both turned back around and kept swinging. The sun was purple and the lightning bugs were coming out.

Moony held out his hand. There was a pause.

She didn’t take it.

He pulled his hand back and placed it gingerly on his lap.

He blew pretend spearmint smoke rings because his breath was minty fresh.

The crickets chirped as they swung together. It was getting dark and they could feel the night coming to a close.

The budding comedian remembered what he wanted to ask.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Moony turned and asked the empty swing. Its chains still hopping around as Jenny darted toward an SUV.

She traipsed on some dandelions and maybe a spider. Jenny didn’t give Clarence or the bullies the time of day as she ran past.

Moony felt a surge of loneliness.

A cool dark swept over the field. Two dogs barked at each other in the distance. The grass crunched behind him but he didn’t turn around.

“Hey.” Someone said.

Jenny came back for a second. Her shoes were getting dirty.

“I want to be a writer," she said like he was silly, "anyway, we’ll catch up. See ya later.”

Jenny waved goodbye and left.

He sat on the swings by himself. The sunset was turning to dusk. The lightning bugs were doing a show of their own.

“Herman!” Gretchen Moony waved from their blueberry sedan.

He bolted to the car. Before he climbed in he looked back at the field— It had gone black.

“How was your day?” She mused. “You did great at your contest, hon. I was in the audience. I liked the one about the dragon not wanting you to call the fire department.”

“It was a good day,” He guessed.

“Hey mom, what’s black and white and red all over?” Moony figured he’d go for the jugular and hit her with his best material. She had never heard this one.

“Hmmm.” She buckled her seat belt and started the car.

“A skunk in a blender?” She answered without looking, a grin on her face.

Damn, how’d she know? Moony was thrown.

“How’d you know that?” Herman Moony asked about twenty times as they winded down side streets all the way home.