A BEE IN THE BONNET
By NotTasha
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PART 16: PRUFROCK

Let us go then, you and I.
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Hmmm… there… that's right. Intriguing. I've always rather liked that particular poem. Probably because "Prufrock" isn't so easy to understand. One has to work a bit to get at what it truly means.

I know that feeling.

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

Deserted streets… It's all been rather deserted lately, hasn't it?

Depends on where you've been. Been pretty busy in some places.

All quiet and deserted and empty. Terribly lonely actually. The words create an excellent mood, don't you think?

Honestly, it's not the mood I'm looking for.

And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent

Tedious… tedious… tedious. Well, that describes me rather well, doesn't it? One long uninterrupted tedium. I guess that sums me up pretty well.

Not so much.

To lead you to that overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

People were always asking me questions, insisting on answers. Why?

Because you're the Answer Man. It's what you do. I think you kinda like it. I like it, too. I like having someone I can count on.

Yes, but it's damn tedious, isn't it? Always having to listen to me run off on some insane subject. I just don't know when to shut up.

Well, yeah, that's sometimes true. But I'll tell you to when it's time to shut your yap. Couple of times now, I wish you'd actually said something.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

I really wish I had some creativity, could create something magnificent like the Masters… like… well… Michelangelo. I'm not kidding myself of course, no one could match his mastery, but I don't even have the imaginative talent of a five-year-old. I don't have a creative bone in my body. I wish I did. I have no sense of Art.

There's more than one kind of creativity. More than one kind of Art.

The yellow smoke…
No, wait… it's the yellow fog…

Which comes first? Smoke or fog? The lines are so similar…

Does it matter?

Of course it matters! One is right and the other is completely wrong. One comes first. Everything must be done in the correct sequence. If the proper sequence isn't followed in all activities, there may be dire consequences.

You'll figure it out.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes.

That sounds right. Yes, that's it. That's the right order.

I knew you'd get it.

It goes on for a bit after that about the fog… comparing the fog to a cat. Do you think my cat's okay?

You have a cat?

Well, yes, I just said that, didn't I?

Hell, how am I supposed to know things like that?

He likes things done a certain way, and will let you know if it isn't right. He's very particular, but can be so patient. I left him with a neighbor.

I'm sure the cat's fine. Don't worry about it, okay?

Do you think she'll remember to leave a curtain open? He likes to sit in the window. He was always there, watching when I came home.

Sure… I'm sure she's doing that.

For I have known them all already, known them all…
Have known the evenings, mornings and afternoons,
I have measured out my life coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music of a farther room.
So how should I presume?

It seems I've lived my whole life that way – everything carefully measured and categorized. Pointless really. All of it is so pointless.

That's not what I've seen. Time to stop this, okay?

It wasn't even in the right order, was it? I left out a whole lot of it.

I don't know. I've never heard the poem before.

I just can't remember all of it now. I think I got it all wrong.

It doesn't matter. Can you just let this go?

Of course it matters! It must be perfect. I must remember the entire thing.

Why?

Because I have to know everything, don't I? If I'm wrong, people may be hurt. I have to always be right.

Right now, you just have to quiet down and rest, okay?

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one who will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed almost ridiculous –
Almost, at times, the Fool.

There, that's my favorite stanza.

I don't know. I didn't care for that one so much

Why?

Well, it didn't really ring true, did it?

I got it wrong then? I can't get it wrong. I must always be right, because if I'm wrong people may die.

Nobody's... oh come on...You really have to stop this.

Why, am I tedious?

For the love of… no, you're not tedious. You're just wearing yourself out. Come on already, your voice is almost gone. You got to let this be.

But there's so much that needs to be done. There's always... something that needs to be done.

Not right now. Nothing needs to be done. There's nothing for you to solve right now.

There's always… something…

Just go back to sleep. Okay?

But I have to finish it. I can't… can't leave it… undone.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed …with seaweed red and … and brown
Till human …

Come on…please?

…Till human voices wake us
…wake us…

Rodney… don't do this…. Becket, get over here, he's doing it again.

… and we drown.

"Beckett!"

TBC - eeep... almost done
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A/N: The verse used above is from "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot. A poem that I found rather suited for our lovely Rodney. You should go out and read the whole thing.