The One Waving
Monologue
LAKE ONTARIO
(Fountain of the Great Lakes, Chicago)
LAKE ONTARIO
(Fountain of the Great Lakes, Chicago)
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Hello!
I’m down here. At the bottom. The one waving.
I’m not supposed to talk to mortals.
My oldest sister would have a fit. That’s her at the top. “Miss Superior.”
Don’t worry. She can’t hear. Too busy being “aloof.” I don’t even know what a loof is. But I bet she’s the snobbiest one ever.
She thinks she’s some ethereal spirit “presiding over this secluded domain.”
Actually, we’re just laborers. Water carriers. In some societies lugging water is the lowliest occupation. Even beggars turn their nose up at it. Don’t tell Big Sis. She’d freak out. Doesn’t bother me though. I’m used to being at the bottom of the heap.
I’m saddled with my sisters’ cast-offs. Every drop that comes my way passes through their hands first. Technically, I’m a freshwater lake. But by the time I get the water, it’s stale.
Know what bugs me? My sisters aren’t very efficient. They have one simple job. Guide the water down from one shell to the next. But even though they’ve been practicing for over a hundred years, they still haven’t got it right. Look at all the spillage!
I don’t mind an occasional shower. Very hygienic, I’m sure. I could do without the constant drenching though. Doesn’t do my patina any good.
Patina is the lovely green color we bronzes turn when we get on a bit. Unlike you mortals, we become better with age. At least, we would, if the natural oxidation process wasn’t disrupted by an unfortunate phenomenon called splashing.
Look at me. I’m a mess. Instead of being a nice even green all over, I’m half mud. I wouldn’t mind being one color or the other. But not both at the same time!
To fix this, we should start at the top. But how can I tell Miss Superior? She refuses to accept she’s part of the physical world.
What could I say? “Hey, Sis! Have you seen what’s happening to your left knee?”
She’d drop that dirty great shell. And with my luck it’d land on my head!
I’m down here. At the bottom. The one waving.
I’m not supposed to talk to mortals.
My oldest sister would have a fit. That’s her at the top. “Miss Superior.”
Don’t worry. She can’t hear. Too busy being “aloof.” I don’t even know what a loof is. But I bet she’s the snobbiest one ever.
She thinks she’s some ethereal spirit “presiding over this secluded domain.”
Actually, we’re just laborers. Water carriers. In some societies lugging water is the lowliest occupation. Even beggars turn their nose up at it. Don’t tell Big Sis. She’d freak out. Doesn’t bother me though. I’m used to being at the bottom of the heap.
I’m saddled with my sisters’ cast-offs. Every drop that comes my way passes through their hands first. Technically, I’m a freshwater lake. But by the time I get the water, it’s stale.
Know what bugs me? My sisters aren’t very efficient. They have one simple job. Guide the water down from one shell to the next. But even though they’ve been practicing for over a hundred years, they still haven’t got it right. Look at all the spillage!
I don’t mind an occasional shower. Very hygienic, I’m sure. I could do without the constant drenching though. Doesn’t do my patina any good.
Patina is the lovely green color we bronzes turn when we get on a bit. Unlike you mortals, we become better with age. At least, we would, if the natural oxidation process wasn’t disrupted by an unfortunate phenomenon called splashing.
Look at me. I’m a mess. Instead of being a nice even green all over, I’m half mud. I wouldn’t mind being one color or the other. But not both at the same time!
To fix this, we should start at the top. But how can I tell Miss Superior? She refuses to accept she’s part of the physical world.
What could I say? “Hey, Sis! Have you seen what’s happening to your left knee?”
She’d drop that dirty great shell. And with my luck it’d land on my head!
