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It was not something at first.
It was funny even.
His neighbor would be over there talking or laughing or conversing with another, the next they would be right here, looking at him, asking him a question or pointing out some observation.
Talking over there, calling his name over here.
It happened a few times. Several times? How many numbers does it take for a few to become several?
Wally did not know what to make of it, other than it was something different. Though not so different where nothing else was the same. His neighbors went about business as usual. They did not say a word about the differences. Maybe there was no difference at all. Maybe everything was the same as it had always been and he just never noticed this non-difference before. Or maybe his neighbors learned to walk without moving their legs. Yes, that must be it. He thought to ask them how they learned to do that, but they were engaged in their own conversations and topics. It would have been rude to interject.
There was nothing to think about. The differences in his day flitted about his noggin without perch to rest on since everything was fine and there was no need to dwell on it. Everything was the same. Everything was not different. Like his easel in front of him. Like the colors red and white gracing his canvas. Like white swirling into red to make pink. White swirling, swirling, swirling… swirling…
… into…
… pink.
What a pretty color.
Such a pretty color.
Such a… happy… pretty… color…
…
“…!”
It was a strange little happening.
“…? …? …?”
Just a funny something.
“… Wally?”
Until Wally saw something different in Barnaby’s eyes.
Wally’s eyes fluttered a moment, adjusting from the glare of the white canvas to the big blue sky and the big blue dog in front of it grasping his shoulder with a paw. It was his friend. He was right next to him. Wally smiled. “Yes, Barnaby?”
“Just askin’ if you’re ok, heh. … You ok?”
Wally nodded. “Yes, Barnaby. I’m ok. I’m also wonderful. How are you?”
“Eh, always about one bad joke away from losin’ my marbles. But, yeah! I’m ok.” He chuckled and removed his top his hat, smoothing out a tuft of fur. “Boy, ya had me there a second! Thought you were givin’ me the silent treatment. Or that I’d up and turned invisible. You almost got me takin’ my clothes off and running around stark naked with all that freedom I thought I had, heh heh heh! Heh heh! Just kiddin’!” He patted Wally on the back. Wally continued to smile.
Home, Wally’s little red house, rattled its windows and swung open its door. Barnaby threw a thumb over to Home. “Ya sure scared Home, though. Nearly shook the shingles off itself with all that racket. Then where would we go to play checkers the next time it rains?”
Wally cocked his head. “I… scared Home?”
“Warn us next time before you go spacin’ out like that! Heh!”
Wally looked down at the paintbrush in his hand and rolled it between his fingers. There was no paint on the end. He must have missed the canvas. He should fix that, he thought.
Barnaby scratched his chin. “Now, uh. What was I, uh, sayin’…?”
A creak seeped out from inside Home. Barnaby snapped his fingers.
“Oh, yeah! Thanks for the reminder, you distinguished house, you! You ain’t off the hook yet, Wally,” Barnaby said, wagging a finger at him. “So go on, kid. Tell Home!”
Wally looked at Home and thought. What to tell Home about? Maybe the weather. Maybe the new play Sally was making. Howdy had some new items for sale. So many things to talk about. He could not decide, so he looked back at Barnaby. “What should I tell Home about, Barnaby?
“Y’know! About what I was saying to Home earlier. Back me up here, buddy!”
Wally stared at the gentle, black eyes of his dear friend. He wondered if a memory would come back of what Barnaby had said to Home, but nothing could be remembered. Barnaby was over there waving to Home, and now he was over here, waiting for Wally to answer. Wally shook his head.
… What was that that flew past Barnaby’s face? A shadow? Wally’s eyes glanced up. No bug or bird. Then what was it? Barnaby’s eyes had drooped a little and his grin had softened. Was he sleepy?
Barnaby rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, I see. Didn’t hear none of it, huh?” Then the shadow disappeared, and Barnaby laughed again. “Wow! You were out a while!” He knelt down by Wally with tail wagging, voice down to a low whisper. “Share your secret, Wally! I wanna go where you went the next time Frank prattles on about petunias and posies. You’d save me an earful! Ha ha heh!!”
But Wally’s heart sank, expressed only by his sagging shoulders. How terrible that he did not hear what his friend said. He loved his friend and he loved his words. “I didn’t go anywhere. I was right here.”
Barnaby snorted, wiping a tear from his eye. “I know that, Wally. I was just saying—"
“I was rude, Barnaby. Forgive me. And forgive me for interrupting. I didn’t hear you. I… was painting.”
Something made Barnaby laugh even harder. “Paintin’? Is that what the kids are callin’ that nowadays? Heck, if that’s the case, then I’m the world’s greatest artist! Think I’ll pull up a lawn chair later and ‘paint’ with my eyes closed! Heh heh heh!” Barnaby laughed, but it faded as quick as it came, something Barnaby rarely ever did. Something was on his mind.
“But, uh. Seriously, Wally. I saw you. You weren’t paintin’. You were just… sittin’. Just… bein’ real still. Not that I’m against a good think ‘n rest, but I don’t think ya even blinked! I came over here to try to get your attention.”
Wally perked up. Barnaby reminded him of his question. “Oh. You mean when you walked without moving your legs.”
Barnaby quirked an eyebrow. “Wh… come again?”
Wally returned to his painting, suddenly finding new inspiration through his excitement. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Everyone has learned such a wonderful talent. Being over there, then over here, then on that side and the other. All without moving. First it was Poppy, then Howdy, then Frank. Then Julie, then Eddie. Then Eddie again, then both Frank and Poppy again, then Sally—"
“Wait, sorry, Wally. You’re saying this has been going on all day?”
“— then Julie again, then you, then Howdy again—"
Barnaby took a hold of Wally’s shoulder. “Woah, wait! Wally! Wally. Back up a sec. Has this been going on all day?”
Barnaby’s smile was gone. Where had Barnaby’s smile gone?
Wally tilted his head. “Has what been going on all day?”
“You spacin’ out, kid,” Barnaby said.
Wally shook his head. Barnaby had said that phrase before. He did not understand what it meant, though Wally always made sure to space out his clouds so the sun could fit on his canvas, and space out the blades of grass so it did not become a clumpy mess. Maybe that was what Barnaby meant.
Barnaby clarified. “You know, looking at nothing. Having a blank stare. Not respondin’. How long has that been going on for? ‘Cause… as far as I know, none of us are doin’ anything different. Believe me. I ain’t doin’ no trick without a treat first, heh. You’d be the first to know if I learned somethin’ cool. So it ain’t us, pal. It’s… it’s you, I think.”
“It’s… me?” Wally put down his paintbrush, very confused. No one had learned a new talent? What was happening then?
His friend placed a paw over Wally’s forehead. “You sure you’re alright, pal? Maybe you’re comin’ down with somethin’. … You feel alright. Heh, not that I can tell the difference between my furry paw and your fuzzy skin. But your face is still yellow. Eyes are still round. Hair’s as poofy as always. You’re in great shape and color! Picture perfect!”
Picture…
Wally remembered how excited Sally was when Eddie delivered an “especially rare find”, as Howdy had put it when he promoted it to her. An old film camera with a crank handle on its side and a tripod to sit on. She bounded from house to house all day with that camera in her hands. “Ah! No more one hit wonders! No more forgotten beauties! The time has come to record! To see! To remember! These pictures will hit a new level of life!” And the first thing she filmed was her own rendition of Romeo and Juliet. Julie was Juliet. Eddie was Romeo. Everyone else took on varying roles as was needed with Sally remaining director and camerawoman (unless there was an angle Sally could not reach. Then she gave Poppy the privilege).
After the first day of filming, Wally wandered over to Sally’s house, checking on her and wondering what the light was coming from her windows. He came in to find her watching the scenes from earlier on a projector. One scene saw Eddie running across the grass with cardboard sword in tow towards a small paper town. Wally remembered seeing it in person. It was a long stretch of field and Eddie had tripped twice before picking himself back up. Wally thought it was a very good scene about not giving up. But as it played out on the projector, Eddie suddenly moved from the start of the field to the town, talking to Frank. No tripping or anything. Wally gasped softly in surprise and wonder. “Sally, how did Eddie go from there to all the way over there without moving? I don’t remember him doing that.”
“It’s called trimming the fat, Walliford. Trimming the fat,” she said. “Cutting out what you don’t need to make for a more poignant film. Who would want to trudge through a slog about Juliet listing the various flavors of ice cream, or Romeo tying his shoelaces with triple knots. Or, in one particularly infuriating case, Mercutio giving an unsolicited advert on mouthwash and hair gel. You cut it out, you throw it away, and it’s no more!”
Wally put a finger to his chin. “Oh. Like cutting out shapes from a drawing? Except I like to keep all the pieces.”
“Yes, yes, somewhat,” Sally said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I must tend to some unseemly centerpieces and carry on with the show!”
He still did not understand, but maybe what was happening was a little like that. A camera is kind of like an eye, but on the outside. Film is like memories. What your eyes see, they keep as memories inside your head. Though could memories be cut? Sliced into like a pie? Films and paper could be trimmed, but could memories? Maybe they could. Maybe they could. He always learned something new every day. Yet he could not imagine what parts of his memory would be unneeded. He loved everything his neighbors did. He loved staring at everything he could and remembering everything he could. Life was in the details. If there was a button he could press to cut out pieces of his memory, he was sure it would be somewhere far away, collecting dust.
The curiosity remained, though— his memories were being trimmed. Since he was not the one trimming… who was?
Wally looked to his friend once again. And seeing it for the second time, he recognized what that shadow was.
Worry. That was it. That was the word. He had only seen it a few times on other neighbors’ faces, like Frank’s and Poppy’s. Never Barnaby. Never Barnaby.
“Barnaby… did I do something wrong?”
His friend took a step back, ears up in attention. “What? Nah! You didn’t do anything wrong! I’m sure this is nothin’ ta lose sleep over. Every dog has its daze! Heck, ‘nless I’m in it, you can always catch me dozin’ off on one of Sally’s plays. Don’t tell her I said that, though. I might lose my big break in Cinderella! Then who else is gonna be funny enough to get that poor lil’ Cindy outta her funk!”
He wrapped an arm around Wally and gave his friend a reassuring squeeze. “Yer good, Wally. Yer good.”
Before Wally could process his friend’s words, Barnaby hoisted him out of his stool and onto his shoulders, leading the way to Home.
“Now about that discussion! Home! Gotta catch ol’ Rip Van Winkle here with our most important conversatory discourse. Not ta tamper with the jury, Wally, but I think you’ll find yourself on my side long before Home even opens its shutters.”
Home belted out a seemingly indignant squeak.
Barnaby laughed. “Keep ya dry wall on! Don’t you know the B in Barnaby B. Beagle stands for unBiased? The ‘un’ is just silent, heh! Anyways, Wally, as I was sayin’ to Home here…”
Wally tried to listen this time. He really did. But his head hurt a little. His eyes not quite focused. Yet he could see that shadow coming back on Barnaby’s face. It would not leave.
… Could Barnaby be fibbing? Was everything not all right?
Silly, silly thought. Of course not. Because everything was fine. Everything was the same. Nothing was different. Like the bones on Barnaby’s tie. Or the clouds in the sky. Or the swirling dew on Home’s windows. Dripping, swirling… swirling… swirling…