And then it appeared.
Small ringlets of matted fur tangled into a single clump of dirt. Knot upon knot tangling into something that couldn’t have been done intentionally.
At first I thought it to be a discarded scrap of hessian, maybe half a bag of potatoes that someone left out in the sun. But as it moved, clumsily lumbering along to my side, I became fully unsure of what it could be. I’d never seen a sack like this move and I had certainly never been confronted by one with such a friendly disposition.
Surprising myself with a smile, I quickly decided against patting the docile looking lump. Then craning my neck with a curious kind of confusion, I crouched down to get a better look.
The fur was thick, it was dirty as I already mentioned but also naturally course in the way that ropes get when left in the ocean for a few months. That’s what it most reminded me of, rope, impossibly knotted and improbably ambulatory. The happily panting coil had managed to give the impression of sitting down and then watched me with a patience, pure and in earnest.
‘Well, are you waiting for someone little fella’ I said hoping to my core that it didn’t reply. ‘You, ah-, waiting for someone to eat?’ my joke failed to ignite a murderous twinkle in its eye…-good.
Standing back up to the sound of my knees clicking I scratched my head not knowing what to make of the pile before me. I walked, it followed. I paused, it sat down. A frayed strand on its flank flopped about merrily almost saying that it was loving every second of our walk.
With a shrug I kept walking, my new friend bundling alongside me constantly tripping over itself but never appearing to actually fall and as it enthusiastically trotted along, a small cloud of dust billowed outward following each of the tangles steps, giving the path behind us a trail of haze that hung in the air for a moment before dissipating.
Already dreading how often I might have to clean my carpet from now on, I let these absent thoughts take over as I wandered through the town park not really caring if I was walking the right way home.
Almost forgetting that my new friend was still degrading the air quality by my side, I took a seat at an old bench and lit a cigarette –
– It ate the cigarette… I double checked my packet to convince myself that this definitely had just happened. I’d lowered the smoke to my knee and on bringing my hand back up it was gone. The smell of wet cloth burning wafted gently upward.
I was surprised but only for a moment. Upon regarding the little fella again I came to the opinion that it was either a dog crossbreed with a mop or a fever dream; either way, the ground seemed to be visibly wilting underneath it. Standing up and coughing nervously, I tossed my scarf back over my shoulder and whistled a let’s go to the tangle.
We walked onwards, over the hill that Balendup shops had been defensively built on, across the historic wooden footbridge and then past the community garden, taking great care as to not let the leaves catch our scent. As we walked I began to notice the tangle was beginning to look smaller. In his canter small scraps of what looked to be cloth flicked off and were carried away in the drifting breeze of mid morning. A gust of wind, unexpected and heady, blew past, picking up almost half of my new friend and tore the scraps away like a stolen kite.
Bundling the rest of the tangle in my scarf I hurried home, worried that the wind may steal him completely.
By the time I got home the tangle was quite small, almost just a fist sized bundle of twine that seemed, thankfully, much cleaner than his outer layers. Setting the tangle down he quickly darted into the safety of a sock I had left on the floor, coddling himself within the warmth that the old work sock provided.
Wondering what had happened to the second of the pair I put the kettle on the stove and tried googling ‘Ambulatory knot’ while a soft snoring rose and fell under the kettle’s slow boil.
In the morning the tangle was gone, Seeing that the sock was still on the floor I flipped it inside out in hopes that some trace remained of the tangle, but he was gone. Cleaning the apartment failed to find anything and in retracing my steps back to where I had met the knot was greeted by the same result.
I rested against the brick wall of Balendup library and looked up to the morning sky overhead; beside me the auto-doors failed to open for a sad looking girl as she approached them -they do that sometimes. Lighting a cigarette I felt an odd pang of loss as I wondered what had happened to the tangle. Putting my hands into my coat I headed in the direction of a new cafe I had heard of named ‘Bean Drinking’ to get a coffee for the way back home.
Never did see that tangle again.
I wonder what happened to him.
Jacob McCray
-2019
Sunday Short Stories 