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Fiction. © Copyright 1999, Jim Loy
"Daddy, there's a boy I'd like to invite over for dinner."
"A boy?" Mr. Doyle was thinking that Suzanne was kind of young, at thirteen, to be thinking of boys. Plenty of time after she's out of high school for that.
She continued, "He's wonderful. He's very funny. His sense of humor is a lot like yours."
"Hm. Maybe there's hope for the kids of today, after all. He's funny, is he?"
"Oh yes. We laugh all the time. He can fart with the best of them"
It was as if a brick had fallen from the sky, and hit him on the head. He was stunned, absolutely senseless. Then he began to notice that thoughts were running around his head. "Was there any meaning to life? To my life? I've tried to be a good person. I thought I was intelligent, more than average. But someone in this room equates my sense of humor with that of a boy who farts ... with the best of them! The best of who? The best of whom? No. Whom do not fart, certainly not the best of whom. Maybe the worst of whom. The best of people who fart, perhaps. Take all of the people who fart, a sad group who must be pitied, certainly. Of this sad group, take the best one or two percent. And this young man is among those best one or two percent. Ah, a fine young man, with a sad affliction. I can accept that. My daughter, bless her, has pity for his sad affliction. And she is sharp enough to realize that he is in the top two percentile of this group of people who fart."
"No." He shook his head. He could see his daughter looking at him with concern.
His thoughts continued, "No. Suzanne seems to admire this farting ... talent. She equates it with my sense of humor. Do I fart? No, not really. Maybe once or twice a year, more often if we have beans. But no one has ever noticed. And I've never joked about it. No one could associate it with my sense of humor."
He thought some more, "There is a mystery here. Suzanne equates the young man's farts with my sense of humor. This does not make sense. I must observe this boy, and see if there are any clues to this mystery."
He said, "Yes. I think I would like to meet this humorous young man."
The date and time rolled around. And they found themselves at the dinner table, eating dinner. The boy, named Marvin, was sitting next to Suzanne. Mr. Doyle was sitting at the head of the table, or the foot, depending on which way you were facing. Mrs. Doyle and Jeff, Suzanne's younger brother, were seated opposite the young couple.
Mr. Doyle was observing the young man, as they ate. He thought, "He looks normal enough, except that he's got an earring in one ear. Probably has a tatoo somewhere. Sure is quiet. He hasn't said a dozen words since he arrived. Called me 'Sir.' Probably an example of his famous sense of humor. He seems nervous."
Out loud, Mr. Doyle said, "So, Marvin."
The boy turned to look at Mr. Doyle. His mouth was full of lemonade.
Mr. Doyle continued, "My daughter tells me that you can fart with the best of them."
There was an explosion of lemonade, all over the walls, all over Mr. Doyle, all over Mrs. Doyle, all over Jeff Doyle, all over the table, all over the food. Marvin rushed from the room, choking and coughing.
Jeff was laughing so hard he fell out of his chair onto the floor. Mrs. Doyle did not understand what had just happened. She was trying to recreate the events in her mind. Maybe it all made sense.
Suzanne's mouth hung open, in shock, as she seemed to be counting lemonade drops on the opposite wall. Then she rushed from the room.
The coughing in the bathroom slowly subsided.
Mr. Doyle never saw Marvin again. "Maybe," he thought, "nobody has seen Marvin again. Maybe Suzanne has reassessed Marvin's sense of humor ... More likely, she has reassessed mine."
"Too bad. I was just beginning to see what she saw in him. He can certainly spray lemonade with the best of them."