Epizeuxis: Repetition of the same word, with none between, for vehemence. Synonym for palilogia.
“Dive, dive, dive!” We were playing submarine in my father’s car parked in the driveway. It was wrong. My father would go crazy if he found out. We were ten years old. Sadly none of us could drive. I was behind the wheel anyway. My First Mate, Carl Brucke was at the navigator’s hatch and Sally Darbin and Phil Jazzowski were in the observation turret keeping a lookout for enemy subs behind us.
We were a tight-knit crew—undersea most of the time prowling for targets. So far, we had destroyed 12 enemy subs, 4 oil tankers, and by mistake, one cruise ship on the way to some Dutch colony in the Caribbean.
“Whale, whale, whale!” I had spotted a whale and steered around it. Actually, it was my mother. She was overweight and I couldn’t help calling her a whale. It wasn’t meant to be an insult.
She was running across the yard holding an envelope. She yelled, “Micky (I was Micky) it came, it came, it came!” I opened the porthole and grabbed the envelope. 4 months ago, on my 10th birthday, I had applied for a Junior Internship at “Big Bells Diving Bells,” a company specializing in the construction of underwater exploration craft. The company was owned and operated by “Sea Skate” Maloney and his 15 children. He had been married 9 times, one lasting only 20 minutes.
The Junior internship was designed for “aspiring diving bell builders” and lasted for two months in the summer. It was unpaid, and given my age, I had to secure a special work permit from the state of Florida, where Big Bells was located.
I was packed and ready to go. My father loaned me the $75 for the bus ticket to St. Augustine. At the last minute, I kept the $75 and hitched to Florida. My first ride took me all the way. She had run over her cat in her driveway and was on her way to Miami to commit suicide due to her grief. I talked her out of it. I read about her years later. She had become a notorious cat lady in Miami, taking care of 57 cats in her South Beach condo.
I arrived at Big Bells and introduced myself to Sea Skate and his family. They showed me to my “room” which was actually a derelict diving bell with a mattresses on the floor.
My job was “leak and air inspector.” When a bell was finished, but not certified yet, they’d lower me down 200 feet. I loved it. I would carefully check for leaks and make sure I was breathing ok. Inevitably there was something wrong. Once, I was up to my neck in water when they finally hauled me up. The last straw was in August when I passed out due to a lack of air. By the time I was hauled up I was almost dead. I was taken to the Emergency Room where I called my parents. With great difficulty, I talked to my dad and he told me he really couldn’t understand me, but. I’d have to wait until September 1st because he had rented out my room to a “college girl.”
The doctor told me the oxygen deprivation had killed a number of my brain cells. It should affect my speech and motor skills for the next couple of months as the cells grew back. I said, “Shanks for legging me know.” He said the bill for my stay had been sent to my parents, who probably had insurance.
Sea Skate was nowhere to be found and Big Bells was closed and shuttered. I had $26 to my name. I decided if I walked home from Florida, I’d get there around September 1st.
Word spread of the “brain damaged boy” walking from Florida to Wayne, New Jersey. I had a small motorcade following me. I affected a slight limp and was interviewed by ABC News. I told them my story.
Subsequently, Sea Skate and his family were arrested for “malignant neglect” of a child. Big Bells was sold to a Chinese holding company. People threw money out of their car windows as they drove by, yelling things like “God bless you” and “Get Well.” I would yell “Shank you. I yam gravel.” (Thank you. I am grateful).
I got home a day early and walked in the front door. To my horror, dad and the college girl were dragging mom’s corpse across the the kitchen floor. Dad said, “Son you’re a day early. I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow.” They looked pretty tired, so I offered to help. Dad told me mom had tried stab him, so he shot her the first chance he got. He and the college girl were going to collect mom’s insurance and take off to Ohio or Arizona. We dumped mom in a landfill, and I called the police. I should’ve called earlier, but I was in schock.
I netted $500,000 on my “Walk to Wayne.” There’s going to be a movie made. Jason Winslow the child actor will star, playing me. The movie’s title is “The Brain Damaged Boy.” Jeff Birdcage will play my father and Jeff Goldloon will play Sea Skate. Meryl Street will play my mother and Hilary Swink will play the College Girl.
This has been a crazy year. My Aunt Barbara has been named my guardian and we’re still living in my old house. I bought a Maserati. I am looking forward to playing submarine in it in the driveway with my friends.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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