Colon (ko’-lon): Roughly equivalent to “clause” in English, except that the emphasis is on seeing this part of a sentence as needing completion, either with a second colon (or membrum) or with two others (forming a tricolon). When cola (or membra) are of equal length, they form isocolon.
I ran. I fell. I bled. This happened all the time. My jeans all had blood stains on the knees. All my friends called me Old Faller, like the dog “Old Yeller” in the exceedingly sad book. In it, Old Yeller gets sick and has to get shot dead by the boy who took him for a pet. Nobody had to shoot me dead, but I felt like it. I was clumsy and fell down all the time. I told everybody that I had sea legs. I didn’t know what it meant, but it went with my aspirations. I would yell “Yo Ho! Yo Ho!Yo Ho!!” at cars when they drove down my street,
Whenever my sister was with me she carried a big bottle of iodine. She would dribble it on my knees whenever I fell. It stung so badly it sent lightening flashes through my head. The bottle had a Skull and Crossbones on it. My sister told me in addition to being healing medicine, it was pirate cologne—they splashed it on their faces when they went on dates.
She never should’ve told me about the pirates. As you may have gathered, I loved pirates—their hats, their boots, the Skull and Crossbones, but especially, their dating skill. They were always dancing in a bar with a beautiful woman in the books I read. Pirate Cologne was a necessity if I ever got a date, to enhance the experience.
The girl next store, Peggy Martin, wore high black boots and a black bandanna on her head with skulls printed on it. She was two years older than me. With my “Pirate Cologne,” I would win her in a second. The smell of the cologne would make her as pliant as a piece of cooked spaghetti. I asked her to go to the “Sugar Bowl” with me. It was a candy store where we ate candy and danced like maniacs to the Rock ‘n Roll music they played. Music like “Great Balls of Fire.”
We arrived at the Sugar Bowl. We walked onto the dance floor. I splashed on my Pirate Cologne.
My face smelled like one of my cuts. Once again my lying sister had done her work. But, Peggy tilted her head back and took a big smell. She said, “God that smells good!” She felt my face and said “You’re a magic man.” I went into the men’s restroom and looked in the bathroom mirror. My face was stained from the iodine with what looked like a robust orange birthmark.
I went back on the dance floor and Peggy wanted to dance all night. I complied and we danced at the Sugar Bowl until it closed at 10.00. In our last dance I rubbed my cheek on hers and the gathered crowd went wild. We bowed to their applause and hoots. Peggy’s Mom picked us up out front.
Pirate Face (my brand of face stain) has become very popular. For example, the facial birthmark look has taken off among hospital orderlies. They say it looks “medical” and makes them more comfortable consulting with patients, who may be stained too.
I have forgiven my sister, but she still plays pranks on me. Last week, she chained me to the steering wheel of a golf cart, put a lead ingot on the gas pedal and turned on the key. I ran over a goose and landed in the lake. I crawled out covered with leeches. It was a pretty bad experience. I wrestled my sister to the ground and fed her one of my wiggly leeches. That evened the score. We went our separate ways laughing. No matter what my psychotic sister does, I will always love her for introducing me to Pirate Cologne. Despite her near-death experience drinking it mixed with gin, she’s a survivor.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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