Some of Las Lolitas’ least liked Experts disbelieve Long-legged Little Lindsay’s tale altogether—even suggesting she’s “looney as a tune.” (Parenthetically, The Narrator has no opinion. They never do. Everyone gets a “personhood,” if you will, except the Narrator. While we have First, Second and Third Persons, the Narrator is a hidden, ethereal voice, disenfranchised, whose mind is a blank sheet of paper represented by a body of words. A Narrator may argue that they are an articulation of that which hasn’t been said before, if they could argue, which they can’t, by definition, so it would have to be argued by a First, Second or Third person on the Narrator’s behalf. While “technically” a Third Person, the Narrator, quite simply put, just Is. Leave your opinions for the Experts, if you please. But all of this has nothing whatsoever to do with the tale of Long-legged Little Lindsay.)
“For instance…” the incredulous, disbelieving, and somewhat cynical Experts voiced, “…isn’t it all too coincidental that Little Lindsay landed in the lone clearing of the entire jungle—an unusually sandy area only big enough to accommodate one eight-year-old girl and a filly from Philly named Millie Tilly Dilly?” This Narrator (speaking Italic) might say Yes, one might think so. However, as Little Lindsay wisely says: “Seriously, you can’t argue with the truth.”
The Narrator will now articulate that which hasn’t been said before.
“Oh, my head…” Little Lindsay said out loud (to whom she didn’t know), while pressing her hands against her temples. She didn’t wish to open her eyes but didn’t like lying on the ground, so she moved her legs under her and started slowly, hesitatingly, cautiously (and a host of other —ly words), rising to her feet. Except this seemed different somehow. It felt like she had a long way to go. Was she still falling through the sky with the greatest unease? Was it a lingering woozy-dizziness? Or worse, a permanent dizzy-wooziness? Had gravity gone upside-down, or downside-up, or what? “Stupid gravity,” Little Lindsay moaned. “That ride was a dilly!”
“I beg your pardon?”
The voice, clear and strong, came from behind and below Little Lindsay and made her jump up another three feet in height. She looked down at her long, long legs, at the bottom of which stood a short horse. “Did you just say something?” she asked.
“If you’re referring to having taken a ride on me, well, I must confess I remember no such event.”
“But… but… You’re a talking horse!”
“Well I wouldn’t say that if I couldn’t say that, but since I can, I won’t, Little long-legged girl. I’ll let my talking speak for itself, or my speaking talk for itself if that’s what it takes—even if I have to talk to myself, which I’ve been at for some time now already. And what’s your name?”
“I’m Little Lindsay from Las Lolitas and I’m lost.”
“Well, Long-legged lost Little Lindsay from Las Lolitas, I’m Millie Tilly Dilly from Philly and the last thing I remember is being harnessed with a parachute and summarily chucked from a plane. I think I pissed off my owner when I told him his mother was a car. Did you know Mister Ed? He was my grandfather and—”
“My legs!” Little Lindsay interrupted. “They’re so long! What—?” Little Lindsay, feeling scared and lost and oh so incredibly tall, began to cry.
“Now, now, Long-legged Little Lindsay, don’t cry. I’ll help you find your way. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Pura Vita-HICKA-Veedaville. Oh no! Now I have the HICK-ICK-ups!”
“Pura Vita-Hicka-Veedaville? Never heard of it.” Millie Tilly Dilly looked at the dense jungle surrounding them. “But then, I’ve never heard of anything around here. My brother would know how to find it, if he were here.”
“You have a HIC brother?”
“Oh yes, but Willy Nilly is back in Philly.”
Little Lindsay couldn’t help herself and had to giggle a little between hiccups. “What a random name.”
“You think Willy Nilly is silly? My sister Lilly calls him Billy.”
“Rilly? I mean HIC really?”
“Yes. Lilly calls Willy Nilly Billy.”
At this, Little Lindsay began laughing and hiccuping and laughing and hiccuping until all of a sudden—
“What was that, Millie?” Little Lindsay asked, frightened by the loud sound coming from above.
“It’s one of those disgusting Belcher Monkeys,” Millie said with a twitch of her tail. “You can hear them for miles. Sometimes it sounds like they’re throwing up. It’s gross—”
“Oh HIC my! What should we do, Millie? Should we HIC run?”
“HIC! HIC! HIC!”
“BRA-A-A-A-A-P! BRA-A-A-A-A-P! BRA-A-A-A-A-P!”
“HIC! HIC! HIC!”
“Look, when you guys are done—”
“Who-who-who is making all that racket in my backyard? Can’t a monkey swing his banana in peace around here? What’s with all the ‘HIC! HIC! HIC!?’”
Little Lindsay held her breath, which caused her hiccups to go away, and tried to still her rapidly beating heart. She wanted to run like the proverbial wind but didn’t know where. At her current height, estimated by Experts as not quite precisely twenty-six feet and eight inches, she was trapped by the thick trees around her. She needed to be taller.
“Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Where in the forest art thou?” Millie Tilly’s voice grew fainter as Little Lindsay’s legs thrust the rest of her body up through the tree tops and into the canopy. As she pulled and pushed at the branches in her face, Little Lindsay didn’t notice the Belcher Monkey sitting on a limb no more than eleven inches from her right ear.
While the belch itself was abrupt and disturbing, it was the accompanying breath which nearly sent Little Lindsay back on her knees. “Ew?” she said, trying to brush the halitosis away. “Didn’t you brush your teeth this morning?”
“BRA-A-A-A-AP! Ahhhh… If you think I’m bad, don’t ever pull the finger of one of my southern cousins. Yucky doodle dandy!” Belcher Monkey stuck an entire banana in his mouth and swallowed it whole. “BRA-A-A-A-AP! What’s your name, blondie?”
“I’m Little Lindsay. What’s yours?”
Belcher cast a long look down, way down to where Little Lindsay’s feet ought to have been visible but looked more like two bananas to him. “You’re not standing on two bananas by any chance, are you?”
“Listen, Little Lindsay. If I might make a suggestion? When you’re as tall as you are, never wear a pink Princess/Ballerina outfit with a sparkly tiara that has two long antennae. It makes you look taller.”
“Yeah. Besides, most folk around here want to blend in. It’s safer. Pink is not the answer.”
Little Lindsay gulped. “Safer from wh—”
“Oh, gee-whiz, wow, yuck….”
“Honey, there’s much to be cautious of in the jungle.” The monkey with no name counted them off on his fingers. “Number six: You got wild cats sitting in trees with their arms crossed that don’t often look happy. They eat anything.” He stared into her eyes and paused for impact before proceeding. “Number three: You got pisottis with names like Bubba and Billy-Bob running around looking for a tattoo artist. Know of any?”
“Which, pisottis or—”
“I thought not. Number nine: You got batty bats. There’s all kinda crazy things flying around here. They’re everywhere and none of them have eyes. I get the feeling that even if they did they’d fly into your face anyway. They’re grumpy. Always keep your mouth closed. Number seven—”
Little Lindsay was confused. “Wait, you’re counting all wrong.”
“Whatever. Do I look like I care? I can belch the ABCs for you if you like?” Belcher smiled, showing banana-yellow teeth the size of small toucans.
“NO! Thanks I’d rather you—”
“Fine. Number seven, or is it five? You got beastly beetles, scary scorpions and kinky kinkajous.”
“That’s three things.”
“Exactly my point, grasshopper. You catch on quickly for an extremely tall little girl. Now where was I?”
“I have no—”
“Oh! Ugh. Phew!”
“Speaking of grasshoppers, there’s a little guy wearing shades down there—usually chomping on a cigar. We call him Dicey. If you see him, tell him One Son wants to chat a little about that rolling crap game he has going.”
“One Son is your name?”
“That’s me, though I have seven twin brothers with the same name. There’s a Two Son, but he’s in Arizona.”
“Oh, brother,” Milly called up from below. “The last time I heard that I fell off my dinosaur and broke my stone harness. It’s about as funny as a submarine with screen doors. A porcupine in a balloon factory, a ventriloquist on the radio, a—”
“Don’t listen to her. If there is another number to be wary of it’d be the sneaky snakes. Watch out for them. How many numbers was that?”
“Oh One Son, what am I to do?” Little Lindsay wrung her hands with worry. “I’m lost and scared and…” Growing again.
“Whoa!” One Son backed up further into the tree. “Where ya going? I was gonna dry some banana peels for us!”
“One Son, you have to help me find Pura Vita-Veedaville! I have to get home! Please help me!” Little Lindsay grew and grew, extending ever toward the heavens in a wild fit of uncontrollable, personal hyper-growth. Never before in recorded or unrecorded history has there been such an exhibition of stretching one’s boundaries as there was during those moments Little Lindsay got her legs under her.
One Son felt sorry for our helpless, lost heroine. “Okay I’ll try, but it’s gonna cost you!” he called after Little Lindsay’s receding head. “And not just chimp change, either!” he added, shaking a banana in her direction. “We’ll do bunch! BRA-A-A-A-AP!”
While the Experts in La-Lo Land remain divided as to the cause of Little Lindsay’s colossal leg growth, they collectively guffawed at her account of One Son the talking Belcher Monkey—declaring that there’s no such thing as Primate Change. It was a ridiculous notion that was, at best, impossibly, implausibly, and even likely to be unlikely. It’s perhaps interesting to note (or not) that Millie Tilly Dilly the talking filly from Philly was taken into stride as an articulating equine anomaly as descended from the famous Mister Ed personality on TeeVee. Since TeeVee is Gospel in Las Lolitas, the phenomenon of a horse who speaks English is widely accepted.
It’s also common knowledge that parrots can talk. Whether they think in metaphysical terms is an altogether different question posed by, frankly, not many Experts. But then, the Experts don’t know Swift.