The Brave Rescue of Sir Jeff

Here's how it's going to work. I'm outlining some of my biology book for my summer Anatomy assignment. I can't read too much about the circulatory system in one sitting or I'll get nauseous, so I'll save Jeff between sections or when I'm about to faint. If my rescue seems a little disjointed or involves too many references to blood vessels, how the floor and the ceiling have switched places, or being drawn into the light, that's why.

Now, then.

First things first, I have to find the Land of the Dead. To find a guide to take me there, I must kill something, and then follow it. Feeling very badly, I hang around in the yard after the sun goes down. Knowing I am condemning the innocent, I call, "Andrew, Jimmy! There are lightning bugs out here!" At first I think they have not heard, but soon enough there comes the stomping of heavy feet in the garage. Jimmy holds one of Jack's many pet wiffle bats, all named Batty, and Andrew clutches a tennis racket. They grin a little bit to each other, and lope into the yard, Jimmy spouting throaty giggles. I stand on the porch, unable to tear my eyes away from the carnage. Whap! Two fireflies go down with Batty. Whoosh! Andrew swings the racket wildly, hitting only air. Through the sickening "tap... tap-tap," of bugs hitting plastic, I run to one as it plummets into the grass.

After my brothers have had their fun and go back to the basement to play videogames, I continue to wait with the lightning bug. It is late, and most of the other fireflies have found places to rest for the night. The only light comes from the windows behind me. Just as I am about to give up (just because the fireflies have gone to bed, doesn't mean the mosquitoes have!), I notice something strange. The lightning bug is having a conversation with itself.

"...Nerve of those humans! All a body is trying to do is look flashy for the ladies, and they come barging out here with their hard things and it's lights-out! Oh, yes. Now that I'm dead, I'm witty. Where was that when I was trying to get that pretty firefly's attention last night? Not that it matters now, I guess. Well, there's nothing to do now but go off to the Land of the Dead. I hope they have nice grass there."

The insect looks in all directions to make sure that nobody will watch its departure, when it spots me.

"Excuse me, but I'm going to die properly, now. Would you mind leaving? It's sort of a private affair."

"Not at all. Have a nice trip."

I get up to hide behind the porch. The lightning bug seems not to notice. There is a pathetic flash of light, and a noise like a soggy foot pulling out of a soggy boot. The bug is gone, and there is a little bug-shaped hole cut out of the fabric of space where the bug had been. I rush over, and, without thinking, stick my finger into it.

The soggy sound comes again, this time amplified, and I suddenly cease to be. This might have worried me if there was any of me to worry with. My predicament ends, and I fall on cold, dead rock with a sound like a soggy boot and a soggy foot slapping a soggy cow. I know I have come to the right place as I look around me. Some curious ghosts and zombies are peering at me strangely, and some of them take off their heads to see better. Seizing my chance, I ask boldly,

"Do any of you fine fellows know a boy named Jeff? Just got in a week or so ago? He's about yea tall, brown hair, brown eyes, plays a mean "Rhapsody in Blue."

A zombie dragged himself forward.

"I know the guy. Caught him trying to play da boss's piano. He's down at cell block #43."

"Cell block?!"

"Why, sure. Them Warm Fleshes is always a problem. A little time in the box is good fur da unruly 'uns."

"Will you take me to him, please?"

"What, you think I got time to la-la around? I don't have all the time in the world to make little side-trips."

"Um... don't you sorta... y'know, have eternity?"

"Smarty, huh? Okay, fine."

As we walk (actually, I walk. The zombie staggers along in a disturbing manner), I take in the scenery. Dead trees, a dead path, a dead cave... Then I remember Markus' prophecy! If I remember correctly, Jeff has to use his religion to get out of here, in the form of a key! I try to keep down my excitement at my revelation by making small talk with the zombie.

"So, I haven't heard you groan in torment at all. Aren't zombies supposed to do that?"

"No, that's just a stereotype that the living have. 'S annoying, really. Ya go tah murder 'n scare the bejezus outa people in the Land of the Living, and they're all expectin' ya to groan in torment. It's embarrassin'!"

"Sorry I brought it up."

"Well, we're here, anyways."

We are standing in front of a row of cells, all of which look very dead. I turn to thank the zombie cop, but he is already staggering off, talking on his cell phone. A wonder, since it is dead. I hurry along the line of cells, trying not to look at their occupants. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of one, anyway, with exposed bones or a rotting face. I watch the 30s go past, and slow as I see #43 up ahead. Preparing myself for the shock of seeing Jeff dead, I send a whisper ahead of me.

"...Jeff?"

There is no response. I take a deep breath (something I'm sure a lot of people around here would envy me for), and peer inside.

Jeff is sitting in a corner, mouthing something to himself. His hair is a bit more tousled than usual, but he looks otherwise the same. Not wanting to intrude on his soliloquy, I stand by to let him see me first. I can hear little drifts of what he whispers.

"A tousand bucks! A tousand bucks. Rehearsing. Rehoising. hoising."

I cough lightly.

"Maeve! I knew you'd come! Do you have a plan?"

"Why, of course I do! Now, listen here..."

Here we have one of those annoying moments where the two main characters whisper and the audience can't hear what they're saying.

Using my incredible strength and stronger intellect (aka, I find the dog with the keys), I spring Jeff from the cell and we sneak sneakily along the Niagara River, which is dead. A huge, dead fortress sits atop a dead hill nearby, and we make for it. It has a pirate-looking flag flying from the parapets, with a bone symbol on it.

"That's it up there," Jeff points out needlessly, "That's the fortress of the King of the Dead!"

"Hades?"

"No, no. Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III."

We are silent for a time, struggling to keep out of sight on our way to the fortress. There are skeleton guards at the portcullis, so we go around to the back door. Jeff, who can now jump long distances and fly, lifts me over the moat and through the door that leads to the kitchens. Luckily for us, His Majesty Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III is there, chewing his dinner in an annoying manner while shooting the breeze with the chef.

"Whatchoo want, foo's?"

"His Royal Highness Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III, I believe?" I pipe up bravely.

"Owta sight! You 'live!"

"Yes," I say, now self-conscious.

"We came here to challenge you to... a round of bowling!" Jeff looks impressively up at Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III, but the moment is not as heroic as it might be. Jeff has accidentally gotten some of his more-willful-than-usual-because-it's-dead hair in his mouth as he speaks, and has to fish around to get it out.

"Bowlin'?" Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III seems bored.

"Yes! If we win, you have to give Jeff a shiny Jewish key. If you win, I'll teach you to do a Brooklyn accent. Deal?"

"Hell, yeah! I've always wanned ta do dat!"

"Great! We'll meet you at the lanes at dawn." This time nothing spoils Jeff's dramatic moment. There is even a little thunder in the background.

Dawn comes, and Jeff and I have our strategy all worked out. Neither of us will bowl, because we figure we'll get more points that way. We hope Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III isn't much of a bowler. The king arrives, fashionably late, in a fashionable bowling shirt and shiny white shoes. The shoes are so shiny, in fact, that it takes me a while to notice the brilliant key tucked neatly in Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III's afro, Davy Jones-style.

"There it is!" I whisper to Jeff.

"Good work, Scooby."

I wish I had on my Obvious Girl costume to justify my comment.

The King has set up some femurs to serve as pins. The owners of the bones stand idly by, some popping their heads on and off to pass the time. The dawn is cloudy, and I can feel death all around. I think this is some sort of evil omen, and then remember where I am. The 'fro-ed king takes his head off by the frizzy top, and grins at us.

"How cliché," grumbles Jeff. With a glance at me, he removes his head, too.

"I thought we weren't going to bowl!" I hissed urgently.

"We're not. I'm just playing the game."

"But we decided we weren't going to play the game!"

"No... I mean I'm just making it seem like we're going to bowl."

"Oh. 'Kay, then."

His Royal Majesty Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III takes the first turn, since he is the king. Some of the skeletons turn to watch, but most just chew dead bubble gum or run their fingers over their ribcages absently. A clap of thunder accompanies the king's head down the lane, and the sky turns a menacing green. He throws a gutter ball. None of the skeletons seem surprised. As his head comes up the ball return, Jeff puts our plan into action.

"Let me get your head for you, Highness." Jeff bends down and nimbly plucks the key, which is attached to an afro pick, out of Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III's hair. The king does not notice the key's disappearance as he receives the head, and takes his second turn. While he is doing his complex pre-roll dance ritual (I for one can say they don't work so well), Jeff and I bolt away.

Jeff has picked up enough speed to miss the ground and fly by the time Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III notices our disappearance. He sends the skeletons after us, who have a hard time flying without their femurs. It is a little-known fact that the femur is the key bone of flight. Anyyaw, the king is too outraged and headless to follow us himself, so we make off quickly for the cave while the skeletons drop one-by-one from the sky.

It is not dark inside the cave. Jeff holds the key in front of him, looking for nothing in particular. I follow a few paces behind, still within the halo of light cast by the Key of Judaism. At last, when I must have thought of the scene with Tom, Huck, and Becky in the cave with the murderer twenty times, we come upon a little rip in space, just like the one the lightning bug left in my yard at home. In fact, it was lightning bug-shaped. Maybe he didn’t like the dead grass here, I think.

“Put your finger in it, Jeff.”

He looks at me nervously for a second, and then puts the key in his pocket. The cave is dark, as a cave should be, except for the pulsing little rip in space. I take his hand, and we plunge away across the nothingness, and back home.