“Dorfy Tinkgltop Esperanza here, reporting live on the scene.” She looked at the nervous banker. “Sir, could you tell us what happened here?”
“I was locking the bank up real nice and tight, like I always do on a full moon, when I was attacked!”
Glass shattered somewhere off-camera. The banker started looking around in a panic. Dorfy soothed him.
“Shh,” she said, giving him a soda. “Be calm. No harm will come to you. See?”
The banker shoved his hand in her face. It was bandaged and leaked gore.
“Look what that bastid did to me! I'm screwed. I have a tennis match on Monday. I'll look like an idiot!”
“Who did this to you?”
“A werewolf.”
Something like a dozen cameras flashed in his face. He went on, staring and pointing into my TV.
“Damn werewolves! I know you're watching! I can smell your stink! Get off our island, you fiends! You rapscallions!”
I was getting the sweats watching this. I leaned over my seat, biting my nails. There was blood. I drank more beer and ate more blocks of cheese.
“Stupid werewolves,” I mumbled.
I couldn't take them anymore. I couldn't remember a time when they weren't around. Robbing banks, stealing expensive cars, pestering people. I got scared. I didn't want to go outside. A calming thought: I wanted to just stay home forever. Be reclusive. Turn into a hermit. Forget the world. Just wither up and die. Don't go out. Who needs dance clubs? Who needs movie theaters? Who needs work? Just stay home and shrivel. Better than being on the job only to have your hand deleted by a wolfman.
The banker drank his soda.
“If it wasn't for that angel, I wouldn't be here right now.”
Dorfy squinted at him.
“Excuse me. I thought I heard you say 'angel'?”
“I was saved by an angel. It was a special angel. My dolphin friend. A dolphin angel.”
My mind was aroused then. Dorfy turned to the camera operator and made the universal 'cut the signal' sign by slicing her neck with her hand. Paramedics ran to the man and stuck a thermometer in his mouth and checked his pulse. The banker was irked.
“Get away from me, you irksome lummoxes!” He looked at the camera. “I know what I saw, dammit. I was saved by an angelic dolphin.”
A woman somewhere screamed for help. The cameraman and that banker and those cops rushed toward a nearby building. Something awful was going on inside. A woman on fire flew out a window and landed in a large garbage bin, the lid closing on her. The cops circled the warehouse, guns aimed at a window. The room was on fire. Two silhouettes wrestled and fought, trading big blows. Much growling; much breaking of sensitive objects. One of them cops got out a bullhorn and spat demands through it.
“Come out with your hands up! We have the place surrounded!”
The window exploded – and the bipedal figures flew out, arms wrapped around each other. They landed on a police car. One of them was a werewolf in a business suit. It jumped off the wreckage and ran toward the cops, growling and furry. It had a bag with a dollar sign on it. Bills flew out. The wolfman tore through the cops, tossing them here and there – into cars, into buildings. One went straight up into the air and didn't come back down. Some police officers screamed for attention and ran off, weeping. Dorfy yelled into the camera.
“More action on the scene! Remember, folks: You saw it all here first!”
The other figure that fell out the window picked up a tire and held it up high.
Dorfy screamed out, “What in God's name is THAT?!
I jumped up.
“Beth!”
She threw the tire and hit the werewolf on the back. It cried out and took a mean tumble into some garbage cans filled with rats. Drooling and paralyzed from the waist down, the werewolf crawled toward the bag of money. Beth strolled up to the monster and stomped on its head and turned her heel three times, turning brain to mush. The cameraman calmed down, telling himself that everything was going to be okay, and steadied his hands and adjusted his focus. He zoomed in on the rats nibbling on the dead werewolf. Its arm twitched and kicked up flies.
Beth picked up the bag of money and gave it to the banker. Everyone hollered and complained and backed away, shivering in fright. The banker wasn't afraid.
“Thank you!” he said, hugging Beth.
“I have one more gift,” she said. Beth went back to the werewolf and ran her hand into its stomach, pulled something out, and walked back to the banker. She gave him his missing hand. He cried...shaking his head...smiling...so grateful. I think I heard someone playing inspiring piano music somewhere. Maybe the news station was trying to milk the scene. A paramedic took the hand and put it in a jar of ice.
“Quick! There's still time to save it!”
They threw the banker into an ambulance. He yelled out to Beth.
“Get the other werewolves! Eat them out! Make'em pay dearly!”
The ambulance drove off. Cops and onlookers surrounded Beth, shaking her hand, thanking her for saving their lives. Some put flower leis over her head. Dorfy walked up to Beth, shoving a mike in her face.
“Who are you? What do you want with us humans? Are you a real angel?”
Many cameras flashed. Beth looked around, confused.
“I just want Hawaii to be safe again, that's all.”
Her voice was monstrous. Still, people cheered and praised this savior.
Dorfy was giddy.
“Amazing! Oahu's very own hero! Tell us, what are you?”
“A woman.”
“But how are you so strong? Why do you have the head of a dolphin?”
Beth thought for a second....
“I'm a transdolphin.”
Cameras flashed, sounding like gunshots.
“I understand,” Dorfy said. “I'm a transsexual.”
More cheers. Confetti was thrown into the air. More bright flashes. Beth looked shy.
“Excuse me. I have to go now.”
Dorfy chased after her.
“What are you going to do?”
Beth turned around, took the microphone, and looked into the camera.
“KILL SOME DAMN WEREWOLVES.”
More cheers. Confetti was thrown into the air. More bright flashes. And then she was off. A string of cops pushed the crowd back.
“Let her go,” said a police officer. “Can't you see she's got amazing work to do?”
The mob applauded and threw firecrackers into the air. Dorfy stood in front of her cameraman and smiled in a crazy way.
“Astounding information! You saw it all here first, folks. Hawaii has a new hero: The Transdolphin. It's mission? Total werewolf annihilation. Sleep well tonight, Oahu. I know I will.”
I turned the television off and sat there in the dark for a long time. Where was my confetti?
Why wasn't I applauded for my efforts?
Why couldn't I get that kind of praise?
It came hard: I felt useless.
BETH
I felt like a winner. Being a transdolphin was empowering. Real strength was within. I had unraveled it. I could be, do, have whatever I wanted. I ran and jumped from rooftop to rooftop, scanning the streets. Werewolves were all over the place, breaking into cars, smashing store windows and running out with armfuls of rice and beer and money and potato chips. Some banks had their windows covered in steel. Smart, but not smart enough. These werewolves knew what they were doing. I saw one take a blowtorch to a bank window. I jumped down and gave the criminal a visit. Tore her head off and threw the mess into a window. I knew it was a female because her breasts were out. How immoral. Pity the werewolf hippie.
Some of her pals came charging at me, showing their teeth and snarling and swinging baseball bats, so I ran off. Better to play it smart, I thought. Divide and conquer. And that's what I did. One by one, as they looked around for me and sniffed at the Moon, I attacked and got all up in them – ripping out intestines and tearing off meat. I just couldn't help m
yself from killing these crooks. Felt marvelous. Is that weird? Enjoying slaughtering bad guys? Inspiring ideas: I had this image in my mind – of a better future for Oahu. No more felons. No more fear. Just peace.
The whole time I was out, this news vans kept following me around. Can't be helped, I thought. I'm a celebrity now. A damn national treasure. Later...I walked a few old ladies across the street, then I got a cat out of a tree for a little girl, then I got a dog out of a tree for a little boy. After that, I stood outside a busy grocery store called Food Island and pushed people's carts to their cars. Everyone cheered when they saw me.
“Transdolphin!” they chanted. “Transdolphin! Transdolphin!”
Employees looked at me all funny. One of them young boys even approached me.
“Stop pushing them carts,” he said. “That's our job, Transdolphin. Our money. Beat it!”
I growled and shook my fist at his face. It shut him up right quick. He backed away, hands held out in front of him, eyes full of tears.
“I ain't afraid of you,” he stuttered. “Dolphin head or not, you're still a girl.”
I growled again and took a threatening step forward. He yelped and ran off, and I think he pissed himself. I hope he did. That tit. I turned my attention back to helping people with their groceries. Some of those shoppers gave me money. I never asked. They just gave – forcing much into my pockets. One guy shoved a hundred dollar bill down my torn shirt. Realizing that my clothes could no longer contain my massive beef and were coming apart and my goods were close to being exposed, I went into the store and bought new clothes – extra, extra large. Then I carried more groceries for my human friends – bags of food, television sets, refrigerators....
I was feeling quite proud of myself doing all these good deeds. It was the new me. A better me. The real me. Let me tell you something I never told anyone for fear of ridicule. I never felt right in a human body. Even as a wee girl, I've always felt close to dolphins. I always knew I was one of them.
It's the new Beth. A better Beth. The real Beth.
I was going to give myself to Oahu. It was my true calling – to be of service – to give back! I felt pure. Could I get more pure? Maybe I'd stop drinking. Yes! Brilliant! I'd do it. What next? No more soda. No more fatty foods. Drink more water. Strengthen my pineal gland. What next? Go to church more often. Brilliant! Then what?
What next?
How far would this go?
Days went by....
I found some good humans at church. They said I inspired them.
“We want to help clean the island, too,” said a nun. “We want to be like you. We want to do good. We want to give more of ourselves. We want to be holy.”
Fantastic! Great minds do think alike. An interesting side effect happened. The more I hung around my new friends, the more I thought about Lars. I saw a lost soul in him. I believed I could help him. All he did was sleep all day and get drunk all night and wait for people to call and ask if he'd kill a few zombies here and there. Work was little. I was paying much of the bills. Nine out of ten times, I'd walk in and see him standing there staring at his phone, wishing it would ring – willing it to ring with his mind. You should've seen his eyes. He'd sit there with a blanket wrapped around him. Sometimes I'd see him shaking and mouthing words. I never spoke to him when he got like that. What to say? Nothing to do then. It was all too sad. All too weird.
One night, I got home and found him on the floor in a pool of his own puke and other bodily liquids. It was a real stink. To this day, I still don't know what happened to him. I panicked and ran to him and held him in my arms. He was drowsy and kept mumbling for help...something about his soul going to his feet. I cried for Lars. What a pathetic man. I felt like a real ass. My fault, I kept thinking. All my fault. I've neglected you. After I cleaned Lars up with a rag, I put him to bed and went to the bathroom and got on my knees and prayed for guidance. How to help poor Lars?
I was on my knees for an hour, and I didn't get an answer. Why? Did God give up on him?
In the morning, I asked Lars if he would be interested in joining me.
“We can help strangers and fight criminals and do other neighborly things. We can be together all the time. Like a real couple.”
He seemed excited by it.
“You're right. I need to get out more, get some exercise, get some fresh air – get my life together! Thank you, Beth. This is just what I needed. Let's have sex.”
“Only if you promise to be nice to everyone and do your best to help them.”
“I promise you no bullshit,” he smiled. “Now kiss me, lover.”
It was all bullshit.
It was awkward working with him...because he was always drunk and dizzy and regurgitating on passing school kids. He was useless, and I regretted asking him to tag along. The last straw was with this one elderly fellow with a cane that needed help crossing the street. Grateful for the help, he gave Lars twenty bucks and off they walked. Taking a swig of beer, Lars led him right into an open manhole. I was embarrassed. They had to call the ambulance for the old man because he broke his eyes. He was furious. Lucky for Lars, my quick tongue saved him from having to go to court. Lars just shrugged it off and ran into a liquor store. He was giggling in thirsty anticipation. Amazing....
When he wobbled out of the store, he was already drinking and cross-eyed. People walking by laughed at him, pointing. A mom told her daughter:
“See, Magilla? See what the Devil's Piss does to you? Look long and hard at this jag-off. Let his depressing, stink sight sink into your young, impressionable mind.”
Lars growled at them.
“It's my right. It's my right!”
“Don't squawk at my daughter that way, heathen!”
Lars made an angry face and snarled and threw up, on purpose, in their general direction. They screeched and ran off. Lars started crying – “I'm sorry; I'm so sorry” – and sat on the side of the road. He had those dead eyes again, just staring into nothingness as cars whizzed by, honking and throwing cans and half-eaten hamburgers at his head. He didn't seem to care. It broke my heart. I picked him up by the back of his shirt.
“Time to go to church, Lars. Unleash your woes there. It will help.”
He slapped my hand away.
“Bah! I don't want to go to church anymore.”
“Keep your voice down,” I said. “He'll hear you.”
“It's just all so boring. Let's go home and make whoopee.”
“That reminds me,” I said. “I've decided to quit sex. I want to be clean.”
His face exploded. He jumped up and down in a panic.
“You've gone bonkers! I feared this day would come. That polluted cave mucus hasn't just corrupted your body, it's corrupted your mind. You're not thinking right. Let's go to the hospital. They can fix you.”
He had my arm. I yanked it away.
“We're done. You're cut!”
I turned to walk, and he had my arm again.
“Beth,” he begged. “I love you.”
He was trying to smile. It looked painful. I shook my arm free.
“I love me, too. I win.”
I ran and jumped onto a rooftop. Lars yelled after me, begging me to come back, declaring that he loved me – that he needed me. For a split second, I felt a little tug in my heart, and I was tempted to go to him. I fought it.
Block him out, I thought as I ran across rooftops. Block him out. Easy, right? Just block him out.
It was going to be a full moon that night. Criminals would be in action.
I had to get a grip. I was too much of a mess. I couldn't stop crying over Lars. I was getting killed with guilt. No going back. I had made my choice. We were over.
Sitting there in the woods, on a stump, I kept weeping into my palms. I felt pathetic. I was losing again. This isn't the way a hero acts, I thought. A winner doesn't run off to the woods to be depressed. That reporter once called me an angel. Last I heard, angels didn't hate themselves. They're posit
ive beings. I tried to gather my senses. Lars kept invading my mind: He was crying, naked, begging, pleading, looking so helpless.
The wind stirred.
I looked up at the full moon.
It was time.
I swung my head back and sang to the sky and ran through the woods. I found myself on a busy freeway. There was an accident. People gathered around a truck that was upside down, trying to free the old man inside. When I showed up, everyone clapped and smiled and knelt before me. Many started praying.
“No, no,” I said. “Get up, please. I'm no god.”
But they didn't listen. Even more people got down and knelt and prayed and threw offerings at my feet, like dollar bills and coins and grapes and bananas and flowers and little statues of Jesus.
“It is the Chosen One!” they cried out. “Here to save us! HURRAY!”
I walked to the truck and told the noisy old man inside not to worry. It took every muscle in me to roll the truck off him. I pushed it down a hill, into a stream. Bums rushed out from the woods and fought over who was going to make the truck their new home. I helped the old man to his feet as the people behind me danced around in celebration. Someone played the flute. I didn't question it.
The old man hugged me.
“I can't believe it's you! I feel like I'm meeting Tom Cruise!”
“You're disturbed. Do you need me to carry you to the hospital?”
“I feel nauseous. It's normal,” he said. “How can I ever repay you for rolling a truck off of me?”
“Just be careful next time, old timer. Driving is a responsibility.”
“But it wasn't my fault. Those werewolves were drunk driving!”
“Who were doing what?”
“They don't care about me,” he said, getting mad. “They don't care about us elderly folk. They don't care about no one. They just went around banging into people. Drivers yelled at them to be reasonable and get off the road. Those monsters just stuck their tongues out and made devil horns and spat all over those poor people. It was unnecessary! Damn werewolves – I pulled up next to those ruffians and showed them my shotgun. 'I ain't afraid of you hooligans!' I growled. 'Get off the road before you kill us all with your drunken ways!' The werewolves just laughed. The one at the wheel, wearing shades, gave me the finger. Can you believe it? One of them (I think it was a woman because she had long, blond hair and makeup and a pretty red dress) threw a whole chocolate cake at my face. I lost control of my truck and screeched for mercy. Now here I am. A scared old man. I'm going to have nightmares for a week.”