Mom was not right after losing her bees. She'd wander around her Beeviary and I'd ask "What's wrong?” “None of my bees wax!" was her reply.
By day she's physically in the Beeviary, but mentally elsewhere. Each night she goes out, muttering to herself about her missing brood.
When Mom lost her swarm. I lost her. So I lost Dad and Mom at the same time, one to a brutal murder, the other to a "broodal" murmur.
Now I've lost Uncle Farley, Dad's ne'er-do-well twin brother. Well, I actually didn't lose him. I know where he is. I just don't know how.
Farley was vaporized. I'm a second semester medical student. What happened can't be explained by anything I learned in my first semester.
Who killed Farley and why? These cops are too busy playing "Who's Got the Biggest Dick" to solve this crime. Looks like it's up to me—again.
Last time I played detective with Arkaby it sent a chill down my spine. The killer shut us up the freezer where we almost became corpsicles.
Lesson learned: Leave the crime solving to the professionals. If only I could find some. If I didn't have Arkaby I don't know what I'd do.
It occurs to me I don't actually have Arkaby. By now he's been processed, booked and is cooling his heels in a cell. I better go get him.
I realize that while tweeting I have been continuously circling the Body Parts R Us corridors. I thought I was going out to call a cab.
How does Arkaby do it? While I'm writing this stuff I get distracted and bump into things. Tweeting isn't multitasking, it's multi-ignoring.
I've watched Arkaby conduct a full bore physical confrontation while his thumbs are working the cellphone keyboard. He never misses a tweet.
What else should I say about Arkaby? When I first saw him on TV I thought he was a joke. Then when I met him I finally got the punch line.
On first our encounter I immediately had second thoughts. He wasn't much to look at, his bandaged head swollen like a blister about to pop.
Unrecognizable, he was more interested in watching cartoons than solving Dad's murder. He got with the program once I yanked his catheter.
By "yanked his catheter" I mean just that. I yanked out his catheter. And I pulled his IV line. I freed him to continue his investigation.
As we wandered around Body Parts R Us, my first thought was he didn't have a clue. As I spent time with him I saw a method to his madness.
Arkaby is a subconscious sleuth, solving cases in spite of himself. In his own mind he's Batman. In reality he's more of a "reverse" Joker.
I've circled the entire BP R U corridor again. This continuous tweeting is distracting! How much time has passed? How does Arkaby do it?
In prison by now, he'll never know if I put it aside for awhile. Arkaby's phone rings. His ringtone is "Brown-Eyed Girl"? My eyes are blue!
The Caller ID is blocked. "Hello?" "Hi Regi." "Arkaby? How are you calling me?" "You're my one phone call. Are you coming to bail me out?"
(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)
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