Norman: Chronicles of a Curiosity Seeker

Chapter One

I Put Two and Two Together

Now many years ago—when I was very young—I came across a guy named Norman who had a secret. I knew he had a secret because it was the very first thing he ever said to me. He just slid on over to me at my friend’s birthday party and said, "I've got a secret!"

Plus, he had a very peculiar gleam in his eyes, and a slight tip to his head, when he did it....

Yes, I'd never seen him before—he hadn't even told me his name; yet still, he walks right up to me and says—with that peculiar gleam—I've got a secret!

A curious incident, to be sure; while I figured it must be a pretty good secret, so I asked.

"You bet it is!" Norman replied, taking an enormous bite out of a cookie....

When he finished chewing, I asked him if it was a big secret as well.

"You know it!" he once again cried emphatically, pointing at me with his half-eaten snack; and then he just turned and walked away toward the punch and goodie table, where he proceeded to wrap up some more things in napkins—stuffing them into his pockets....

Well of course, the whole thing just blew my mind. I can't remember exactly how old I was, which is funny—now that I think about it—because you'd expect that when something changes your whole life you'd be able to remember everything about it, but no luck. I remember that my friend got a Blaster game I wanted so badly I thought I'd die, and that there was a tremendous storm....

Yes, that's right!

We were all outside at the pool, when the wind picked up, and big black clouds came from out of nowhere, forcing us to flee indoors. Soon there was plenty of thunder and lightning, and all the grownups were running around bringing in the party stuff, while the really little kids were all flipping out!

It was great! As a matter of fact—now that I think about it—I can almost remember it like it was yesterday....

***

And so there I was at this already-weird party, when a complete stranger suddenly comes up to me, tells me he's got a Great Big Secret, and then just walks away!

Of course I started watching him.

Who wouldn't?

Over at the punch table he started talking to my friend's mother, who was busy cleaning up a mess. She looked partied-out, as I recall—polite, but not really listening all that closely to him until he made a strange request.

I'd like to sleep in your pool tonight, he asked, if you don't mind?

Excuse me? she replied, looking him straight in the eye for what began to seem like a very long time—trying, I think, to remember just exactly who he was, but it still shouldn’t have taken her that long....

Well, you see, Norman finally continued, leaning across the punch table, closer into her face, I just got here, and I need a place to sleep, and your pool seems like such a pleasant spot....

Help yourself, answered my friend's mother in a strangely even tone, her gaze still frozen on his.

Oh thank you, so very much! the object of her fascination concluded with genuine depth of gratitude, nodding slowly, with a little bow; and then he moved on, punch and another cookie in hand, while I followed.

Now, being such a little kid, the fact that my friend's mother had so easily said yes to his bizarre request didn't seem all that odd to me at the time, but it sure does today. I think he must have hypnotized her, or put her under some kind of spell or something. I remember seeing my friend's parents having an argument toward the end of the party, and it might’ve been over Norman. I imagine her telling him that this person had asked to sleep in the pool, and he was probably saying something like: "What did you do that for? We don't even know him!"

Or perhaps exclaiming, wide-eyed, under his breath: "What do you mean: in the pool?"

While I might’ve actually started the whole thing, because—after I'd followed this mysterious stranger around for about an hour—I managed to get the birthday boy alone and ask him if the guy was his uncle or something. He didn't know, so we went and asked his Dad, who also had no idea. I realize now that nobody knew him!

Norman, among many other things, is a party-crasher.

***

Plus, now let me tell you what else I think he is.

No—not think: I know he is!

But first I should probably tell you how I found out: I went home that night after the pool party and told my big sister, Martha, all about him—about his Great Big Secret and the peculiar gleam in his eyes; and then when she doubted my story, I began to doubt it too—not really thinking much about him after a time, until about six months later when I saw him again at a baseball game. He was sitting three rows behind me to the left, but I didn't even notice him until a foul ball came at us and I turned around to see where it was going....

And then our eyes met—and yes: his had that peculiar gleam in them again—and it was as though he was telepathically daring me to tug at my sister's sleeve, point at him, and say, Look! There's that weird guy I told you about!

But I didn't.

I couldn't even look at him again. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there, and I'll tell you why: because I was scared.

Really, really, scared.

Yes, I was more terrified than I’d ever been in my life, because when I looked into those mesmerizing eyes of his I put two and two together. Sitting there next to Martha, totally whacked out, I remembered the birthday boy telling me the suddenly ominous story of going outside the morning after his party, only to find a walrus sunning itself by the pool....

So, you see: not only is Norman a party-crasher, I knew right then and there that he’s some sort of freaky thing that can change itself into a walrus!

Stay tuned!

Chapter Two

The Windows of the Soul

You know, after I told you all about the mind-blowing walrus episode, one thing really started to bother me, so the other day I took the trouble to check out the encyclopedia, which soon told me that the walrus is indeed the largest of the fin-footed marine mammals; so I guess Norman couldn't have actually slept in my friend's pool. He must have either said it wrong when he was asking permission from his entranced hostess, or have changed into a walrus after he woke up. I figure he might've been a shark or something if he was asleep in the pool.

I wonder if sharks actually sleep?

I suppose they must….

I'll try to find out and let you know.

Plus, I think that this whatever-he-is has a thing for heavy mammals with tusks, because the next time I saw him after the baseball game he was an elephant.

No lie!

I knew it was him—and not just because of the peculiar gleam in his eyes, but because he ambled right up to the fence and said, plain as day, "I've still got a secret!" Then he winked at me and wandered off, munching on a face-full of hay.

I repeat: no lie!

And I'm not crazy either! This was shortly after the baseball game you see, and I was on the lookout for him then. I imagine he knew I was wise to him, which is why he spoke to me even though he was an elephant.

I have his picture! I took it before he spoke, because he came right up to the fence in what was any kid’s photo-op dream. Then he blew my mind again and I fainted. They told me it was mild heat stroke.

I'm not making this up!

Go ask Martha! She didn't believe me at first either, but she sure does now. This story about Norman is the real stuff, and pretty soon I'm going to show my photos of him to the right people.

Just lately I've been able to prove it!

Ever since that day I've carried a camera with me everywhere I go. I tell people that I'm a camera nut, that I'm interested in photography as an art form, blah, blah, etc. etc.

Let's face it: I'm just stalking Norman.

I suspect you've heard of Matthew Brady, who became famous as the man who documented the United States' Civil War with his trusty camera? Well, I plan to become the Matthew Brady of the alien, supernatural, divine, or whatever-Norman-is. I've snapped him at least fifty times. He even poses for them!

For instance, the first time I took his picture after the elephant caper, he was a cat, and he paused while cleaning his tail to raise both of his front paws into the air and look straight at the camera, with a big Cheshire grin on his face.

Happy now? he meowed, dripping sarcasm.

Yes! I retorted. "Now maybe someone will finally believe me when I tell them about you!"

Fat chance! he shouted with a self-satisfied smirk on his furry little face as he scampered off. I'm surprised he didn't just dissolve into thin air like Alice’s tormentor he so closely resembled.

***

As a matter of fact, I told him so one day last spring, when I caught him waiting at the bus stop.

"Why, I really should’ve done that! he exclaimed. What a creative type you are! So full of good ideas and imagination!"

"Oh, thank you, I said, laying on the same kind of sarcasm I so frequently get from him. Thank you so much!"

While my mysterious tormentor now seemed correspondingly, melodramatically wounded. "Now don't be that way! What have I ever done to you?" he cried, feigning ignorance.

"What have you done?" I blurted out, so loudly that he looked around and shushed me. By the way, in case you're wondering, he was human this time—dressed as a security guard.

"What have you done? I cried again, louder still. You've only been driving me crazy for years! Who are you? What are you? What's this stupid Great Big Secret of yours? Tell me or I'll freak!" I actually screamed, while Norman looked at me with genuine sympathy, slowly shaking his head....

Don't you see? he explained, paternally resting his hand upon my shoulder. "Who I am, and what I am, is the secret!"

And then he vanished—just like that!

Just like that....

***

While now you be may asking yourself: what's the point of my taking all these photos when they're really just pictures of a guy, a cat, a moose, and so forth; but I think I've finally found a way to make people pay attention.

Yes, just like Louis Jacques Daguerre, the man who figured out how to put a photographic image on a silver plate, I’m not content to just take pictures. I've also been fooling around with them—performing experiments. All these years I've been taking these photos of Norman and exposing them to heat and cold and light and dark and all the chemicals I could safely put my hands on; and do you know what happens to an ordinary photograph—just like the ones you, the average amateur, make with your own humble little camera—when it’s been soaked overnight in the juice of the equally humble lemon?

Nothing: absolutely nothing! Well, it darkens a little from the outside in, and after a while it’ll turn to mush, but that's all—unless it happens to be a photograph of Norman. If it's a photograph of him, eventually his eyes—with their peculiar gleam—start to turn a lovely shade of luminous green!

Yes, they say that the eyes are the windows of the soul, and Norman’s appear to be a lovely shade of luminous green....

Chapter Three

Way Too Creepy

News Flash!

Martha has seen Norman just now at the Post Office. She went inside to buy stamps, slapped a few on her letters, and noticed him through this kind of half-door that was right next to the mail slot. He was down in there—in the bin at the bottom of the slot—wading around in everybody's mail.

She said he was Norman the Human, but only about eight inches tall—still heavy enough to do some serious damage, if you ask me, with those big feet of his. Even when he was a squirrel he had really big feet.

"What on Earth are you doing?" my sister demanded.

Wouldn't you like to know! he snapped, not even bothering to look at her. Now go away! I'm in a hurry here, and I don't have time for it!

However, Martha did not go away. She made, as a matter of fact, the mistake of laughing at him. Pointing at him with a giggle, she observed that he looked cute down in there being so little, loosing his balance among the envelopes….

Now Norman is not necessarily a rude or nasty whatever-he-is, but he has his moments of pique, and this was one of them. You know, if you weren't so important to my experiment I'd be tempted to wipe your memory as clean as a whistle! he suddenly shouted. Now pipe down and beat it!

And just as suddenly, Martha found herself physically unable to speak until she left the Post Office. When she worked up the courage to go back in five minutes later, he was gone.

"His what?" I shrieked, having heard her story.

That's what he said, replied Martha. You, evidently, are some sort of experiment.

Unbelievable….

I still can't get over it!

I had to sit down; and then I hung my head and moaned. There are moments in life where you realize just how breathtakingly stupid you can be and—well, it's embarrassing.

"So all this time you think you've been watching him, he's been watching you, suggested Martha. It's no accident that you keep running into him, is it?"

It was obvious, once you thought about it.

"But why me?" was my next, inevitable, question.

Well, of course, neither of us had an answer to that....

***

For the record: Martha finally met the object of my fascination and torment about a year ago. She and I were alone on the beach, watching the waves and having a picnic, when a pelican began to circle over us, getting lower and lower until it dropped a cold, slimy fish right on top of my head!

Tora, Tora, Tora! screeched Norman the Pelican, which I assume he got from watching that movie about Pearl Harbor. The Japanese were supposed to have shouted Tora, Tora, Tora! when dropping bombs on the naval base there during the attack that officially brought the United States into World War II. The difference here was that the Navy was apparently caught by surprise by the Japanese, but by the time that pelican had circled a few times I knew darn well it was Norman.

Howdy, partner! he squawked, landing in front of us. Picking up the wriggling fish in his beak, he waddled on over to the water, and threw it back in.

Thanks for the fish! I replied, once again dripping sarcasm as well as fish slime, wiping off my hair with a napkin, while he flew over to rifle through the contents of our picnic basket.

"Who's this?" he asked, gesturing with his beak toward Martha who sat, understandably, slack-jawed, pale, and bug-eyed; and—now that I think about it--why did he ask me that? I know he was already well aware of who she was. Of course he was! If he's been watching me all this time, he might know everything about me....

Wait a minute: maybe he's in this room right now—invisible or something—watching everything I do, everything I....

No way!

I can't think about that!

Way too creepy!

I'd know he was here!

I'm pretty sure I would....

Chapter Four

I Can Only Speculate

Whew!

Sorry to run off so fast like that, but the sudden notion that Norman could actually be lurking about undetected just threw me into a tailspin. It's been over a week now since I wrote those last words in the preceding chapter, and plenty of interesting things have been happening.

First off, I spent a couple of days wandering around in a sort of paranoid haze. I began wondering crazy things like: could Norman get as small as a germ or something? Or: could I actually be breathing him in right now? You know: the sort of thoughts that make you feel like a victim of creeping insanity....

Eventually of course I managed to calm down, tried to reason it out, and ended up deciding that—even if he could get that small—he’d probably be afraid to do it, because when you're that small it must be really easy to get creamed. Still, from now on, whenever a bug starts buzzing me I'm going to give it a second look, and pretend to try to catch it. If it is him, I want him to be worried.

I mean, enough's enough!

Plus, even though he can vanish, I figure he can't just turn invisible—for two reasons. First: he's still hamming it up for my camera, which probably means he doesn't know about the lemon-juice thing, because he hasn't been lurking around invisibly while I've been doing my experiments.

And second: I know a thing or two about Norman, and one thing I've noticed over the years is that he always has to have the last word, and that he seldom misses an opportunity to disconcert you; so, I started testing the air, so to speak. I began saying things about him at random, loudly—much to the dismay of Martha—waiting to see if he'd talk back. Things like:

"What do walruses, moose, and pelicans have in common? I'll tell you what they have in common! They're all dumb as dirt!"

While I really don't know if they are or not, but of course, that's not the point.

"How about something interesting for a change—like a T-Rex? I suddenly shouted this morning over the breakfast table. How about it? Or is that too tough for ya?" I went on as though possessed, until my long-suffering sister begged me to stop.

However, when I think about it, if Norman were to change into a dinosaur, it probably wouldn't be a T-Rex. I think it’s too fierce for his personality. I mean, all he’d have to do to give Martha a heart attack would be to slither in as a rattlesnake; while if he appeared as a T-Rex, the whole neighborhood might keel over….

Also, I imagine he’d feel far too visible, since I begin to suspect that he