But you were different, Bert. It was much more difficult for
me to get my hand into your head far enough to move your mouth
than it was when I manipulated your good friend. I wanted only
you as my puppet, though, for I longed for your reasoned
eloquence. I hoped to gain some of the strength I saw in you
every day when I turned to see you encourage the world. You'd
often lie in your tiny twin-sized bed and listen to the
gargling voice in the small adjoining room as you clenched your
sewn cotton gums, enduring the inconvenience. At other times,
you would find some inspiration and invent an imaginary glass
of water to help you quiet him down so you could roll over
and try to dream, only to soon pop up and jump from the bed for
the need of your own thirst.
Much like a football, wide with an everpresent grin, his
head reflected delight, but you Bert, you with your long thin
face, bald save for the tiny square of hair on top and the
solid line of eyebrow over your eyes, you were always working
to make our street a better place to live. I often sat
watching and wondering how you made it from day to day--so much
burden to live with. He had his magic, speedy, room-cleaning
methods and his incisive imagination, but even though he was
your close friend, you never acquired any of his wondrous
comedian's abilities. I can turn to see you still, and you
seem as young as ever, only you are alone, for Ernie's now a
senator. When I was only eight myself and worshipped your
patience, I didn't understand all the signals you were giving
to indicate your permanent youth. I should have guessed you
wouldn't grow up, for you never learned to close the bathroom
door when you were trying to sleep and Ernie was gargling.
