While Bill was fixing the sprinkler system, he thought about the heroic days when garden hoses were snakes. For a moment, as he wrestled to fix the hose so that it wasn't squirting all over the place, he wondered what things were like in the good old days, when there were real snakes. Would he feel more recognized by others to know that the snakes were actually really alive and real threats to the community?
As Bill quietly strolled into his house on a hot summer night, his wife Heidi stood in the door waiting for him. She tried to hide the smirk on her face as Bill hung up his coat and tried to hide the water stains on his shorts.
"Sir, you do look like you peed yourself," Heidi said demurely. She offered to take Bill's wet coat, but Bill shyly skittered back to the kitchen. He truly looked like a dog who had been spanked a few times for something, though he wasn't quite sure what it was. Was it the fact that he didn't operate the sprinkler properly, or that he had not sufficiently asked for help when he needed it? Or perhaps both?
"I know I am no so good at sprinklers and stuff, but I am trying," Bill said, softly. "And in any case, that's not exactly what I was thinking about anyway. I was thinking about the fact that here in the Canadian jungle of suburban To-ron-to, there is hardly any wild animal to fight or tame. I don't see snakes, I don't see rabbits, or even so much as a mosquito here. I am saying: the fact that there is nothing for me to tame means there is nothing so much as a challenge for me."
Heidi clucked her teeth in mild disdain. "Oh, is that what you think? Are you saying that the only way to prove that you are anything is to conquer something outside yourself? Such a strange attitude. And besides, your garden hose out there proves to be more of a challenge than you would ever expect."
Later that night, Bill pondered what his wife had said. Was the garden hose too much of a challenge or perhaps too little? If the garden hose was something threatening and fearful, would he have paid more attention to what he was doing to make sure it was doing what it should be doing?
Shortly after Bill fell asleep in front of the TV, he was awakened by an eerie tap. He peered down to see that a green slimy thing was crawling up his shirt sleeve and across his neck and shoulders. Bill groaned. Could this be...? He stifled a moan, for fear that Heidi would wake up and see that he was scared of a snake.
But was it a snake after all? Bill could feel the texture and he knew that something was not quite right. And he suddenly realized that it was not what he had originally thought after all. It was the familiar feel of the garden hose that he had come to know and despise after so many futile attempts to get it to work without wetting his pants.
But this time, the nozzle of the garden hose was starting to move up and down, as though it had possessed lips. Bill was amazed. Could this be the worst drug trip that he had never had, or was he perhaps only lucidly dreaming? Bill jumped up to grab the rake leaning against the far wall of the living room, but it was too late. The garden hose had by now insinuated itself around Bill's terrified body.
"Look, sir, uh---please don't eat me, or wet me, or whatever it is that you want to do with me."
The garden hose started to gyrate its nozzle, until golden spiked teeth started to form along its sides. The nozzle contorted into a kind of wide grin, as the water droplets inside formed tiny bits of foamy saliva. Overall, it gave the distinct impression of a rabid dog.
"You are quite pathetic, Bill, did you know that?" the garden hose shrieked, between tiny blasts of spray from its mouth. "You said you wanted something to conquer...and when the time comes for you to conquer a silly little garden hose, you whimper like a baby. What does that say, huh?"
"I guess my fear is bigger than my courage after all," Bill murmured. "And I can't believe that I just said that to you. Am I crazy or what?"
Bill suddenly waited for Heidi to peep up and say this was all a bad prank. Sadly, the garden hose continued between staccato spits and sprays.
"The biggest fear is the one that nobody knows how to conquer, after all the wild beasts have been conquered. It is the fear of what is inside you, that you can't define or can't measure."
Bill looked down at his chest, as though searching for that thing that nobody could define.
"I just don't get it. All I ever feel is bored and empty when I am trying to fix you. I don't even want to go to the garage and find the instruction manual for you."
The garden hose let out a raspy huckle- something midway between a hiss and a chuckle. "That is exactly the problem, isn't it Bill? The thing that weighs down on you, what is it? What is that thing that prevents you from going to find the manual? What is the root of that lethargy? What is the one elusive fear that keeps you petrified, when all the other fears have been taken away from your pretty suburban life?"
Just then Bill was awoken by Heidi.
"Wha-what's that?" Bill asked.
"What's what?" Heidi was holding the garden hose in her hand. "Looks like you were so tired last night that you had dragged the garden hose to bed with you. I would have thought that a teddy bear would have been sufficient, honey."
Bill stumbled outside and dragged the garden hose with him. He realized then and there what the garden hose had said to him. And he also came to understand that there are many, many things in the world that are very much present, which he did not take the chance to talk to yet: the birds, the trees, the sun, the house, the day. Where would he start?
Bill suddenly realized that his fear of death was unfounded, when everything he could see, feel, taste and hear around him and inside him was deeply, fully alive, only waiting to tell its story. And he didn't even need to get a manual to find out.
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