The Great Big Hats Candy Land
For a while, Alley plum forgot about them.
Completely.
This was unexpected.
And impossible.
It was also unacceptable.
They were everywhere!
Even in pop-up ads!
They had floats in parades, god damn it!
Gary had assumed that even in her withdrawal she would continue carrying them around somewhere inside her.
Not pleasantly, of course.
More like a wedgie.
She was not expected to admire them.
Admiration would have been preferable.
Respect would have been acceptable.
Expected!
Fear would have been excellent.
But irritation was perfectly sufficient.
Anger counted.
Resentment counted.
Fuming counted.
Teeth grinding counted.
Oh, cracked molars were divine evidence!
Changing routes because of them counted.
Flipping them off definitely counted.
That scratched an itch in an unmentionable place!
The Great Big Hat House!
Even muttering motherfuckers while passing one of their trucks counted.
And her phone and laptop and some of the bees and birds and the tags in her clothes all recorded and tracked these things when her mind went blank to them or stared back at them.
That gave them the goat shivers.
They fell over.
All of these reactions established an important fact:
They mattered.
But Alley had stopped cooperating.
Well, she hadn’t stopped.
She just stopped.
Without effort.
She went days without thinking about them.
Then weeks.
This was alarming.
She had become dangerously casual.
She went to work.
She came home.
She watered plants.
She fed animals.
She bought groceries.
She wrote things.
She listened to music.
She rode her bicycle.
Worst of all, she appeared to enjoy the bicycle.
Gary called a meeting.
“She’s becoming oblivious.”
Malcolm looked concerned.
“To us?”
“To everything.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“It’s in the report.”
Gerald examined the report.
SUBJECT: ALLEY
STATUS: iWOACA
ATTRACTIVENESS: DWINDLING — HA! HA! HAR!
ATTITUDE: INSUFFICIENTLY CORRECTED OR NEGATIVE
COMMUNITY ENGAGEMENT: MINIMAL — YES!
ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF OUR GREATNESS: NONE — SHIT
IRRITATION RESPONSE: INCONSISTENT — SHIT
RECENT HOSTILITY: UNCONFIRMED — SHIT
CURRENT THREAT:
Gerald stopped.
“Blank?”
Gary nodded grimly.
“They couldn’t identify one.”
The men sat quietly.
This was serious.
Alley was an iWOACA.
Independent Woman Of A Certain Age.
The most alarming development in society!
Up there with... well, it was up there!
Right up there!
Her cultural value had already entered its scheduled period of depreciation.
This should have made her easier to manage.
She should have been increasingly anxious about approval.
Increasingly eager to demonstrate relevance.
Increasingly grateful for male attention of almost any quality.
That was how the system worked.
Instead, she seemed to be developing an alarming lack of interest in systems.
She wasn't even rebellious correctly.
Meditation.
Disengagement.
Radical acceptance!
Nothing radical about acceptance!
Seriously, what the fuck!?
This irritated them almost as much as the rebellion itself.
A proper rebel performed.
A proper rebel announced herself.
She wore the correct uniform.
She joined the correct groups.
She stood somewhere with a sign.
SHE MADE SIGNS!
She posted things.
She gathered followers.
She issued statements.
She provided screenshots.
She wore certain shoes to signal her affiliations.
She offered an identifiable structure against which an opposing structure could be constructed.
Alley did none of this.
She was out of fucks.
She was ordinary in her rebelliousness.
Suspiciously ordinary.
She might disagree with something, say nothing, make a private donation to a nonprofit that aligned with her values, and then make soup.
She might reject an entire social hierarchy and later spend twenty minutes comparing vinyl listings.
She could hold a profoundly unacceptable opinion while folding laundry.
There was no theater.
No uniform.
No manifesto.
No organization.
She wasn't even reliably angry.
“Remember when she smirked! We had her then, boys!”
It was extremely difficult to dominate or manipulate or manage someone who kept forgetting the contest was underway.
Gary tapped the report.
“We need to reestablish relevance.”
The others nodded.
This was reasonable.
And so the traps began.
Not traps in any legal sense.
Obviously.
Nobody was trapping anyone.
They merely introduced environmental stimuli designed to produce measurable acknowledgment.
The first was trash.
Coded trash.
They placed it carefully in the grass beside the bicycle path.
Not ordinary litter.
Symbolic litter.
A particular cup.
A particular wrapper.
A bottle arranged at a meaningful angle.
A plastic bag positioned near a bush in such a way that anyone sufficiently informed would understand precisely what it meant.
Alley rode past it.
She was listening to Queen.
“They know that’s her signaling back!”
“We have her attention!”
Meanwhile, Alley’s legs had just reached that lovely stage of the ride when the muscles were warm and the bicycle seemed to become lighter beneath her.
She saw the trash.
Probably.
Maybe.
Not mine.
She went around the next curve.
Gary waited for the response.
There wasn't one.
“She saw it.”
“Did she react?”
“She looked at it.”
“How?”
“With her eyes.”
This was entered into the report.
VISUAL CONTACT ACHIEVED.
Encouraged, they installed signs.
The signs were carefully selected to provoke her.
One contained a phrase.
Another displayed a symbol.
A third was positioned at an angle that was almost certainly meaningful.
A fourth was simply enormous.
This was so easy it felt like giving somebody’s baby candy, rotting its teeth, sending it to the dentist, and then raising the price of fillings.
Perfection!
Alley pedaled past.
She had discovered that if she stood slightly on the pedals before the little rise near the trees, she could carry enough momentum to make it almost to the top without dropping a gear.
She was delighted by this.
The sign went unnoticed.
Or perhaps it was noticed and rejected.
This possibility was more satisfying.
RESPONSE: SUBJECT DELIBERATELY WITHHELD ACKNOWLEDGMENT.
The operation expanded.
A tree disappeared.
Then another.
There was no obvious reason to remove them.
This was considered advantageous.
She liked trees.
Everyone knew that.
Surely unexplained tree removal would disturb her.
Alley came around the corner, noticed the sudden brightness where shade had previously fallen across the path, and thought:
Huh.
Then she noticed a little sandy trail she'd never tried before.
She turned onto it.
It was harder than expected.
Excellent.
She stood on the pedals.
Her thighs complained.
Even better.
She made it through without putting a foot down.
“YES!”
She laughed out loud.
From a parked vehicle some distance away, Malcolm lowered his binoculars.
“She shouted.”
Gary leaned forward.
“What did she say?”
“I couldn't make it out.”
“Angry?”
“Very.”
“We should have filmed this! Post her crazy WOACA reaction on our group page!”
Malcolm had never personally experienced a middle-aged woman successfully clearing a sandy patch on an old bicycle.
It sounded angry.
The next trap involved a dog.
A perfectly ordinary dog.
The dog wore one of the hats.
One of the Great BIG Hats.
The dog and its handler waited beside the path.
Smiling.
Greatly.
Biggly.
This was excellent.
The symbolism was layered.
Authority.
Loyalty.
Territory.
Hat.
Dog.
Alley approached.
The dog looked at Alley.
Alley looked at the dog.
The dog wagged.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She slowed slightly.
The handler straightened.
This was it.
Alley smiled at the dog.
She continued riding.
The dog watched her go.
The handler removed the hat.
God damn it.
Nobody was entirely sure what had happened.
Gary remained optimistic.
“She acknowledged the hat.”
“She acknowledged the dog.”
“The hat was on the dog.”
“Therefore she acknowledged the hat.”
This was entered into the report.
DIRECT ENGAGEMENT WITH SYMBOL OF AUTHORITY.
Progress.
They added roadkill.
The first attempt was ineffective.
Roadkill was too common.
The second was more carefully positioned.
Alley rode around it because she did not enjoy running over dead things.
HOSTILE MANEUVER.
Then came the fish.
Several fish were deposited inside a park trash can during warm weather.
This produced an impressive smell.
Surely she would react.
She did.
“Jesus.”
She accelerated.
Gary received the message within minutes.
VERBAL RESPONSE CONFIRMED.
At last.
“What did she say?”
The observer reported it.
Gary sat back.
“Jesus.”
Malcolm nodded.
“Religious reference.”
Gerald frowned.
“Could be distress.”
“Definitely distress.”
“Could be taking His name in vain!”
“OH, POST ABOUT THAT! SHE IS A BAD WOACA!!!!! SO VERY BAAAAD!!!”
The operation was working.
They escalated.
The bicycle path gradually became a kind of Great Hat Candy Land.
Flags appeared.
Hats appeared.
Vehicles appeared.
Men appeared.
Their women appeared.
Their women were property, too.
Dogs appeared.
Dogs were property, too.
Signs appeared.
MORE PROPERTY!
CAN’T TOUCH PROPERTY!!!
Objects of uncertain significance appeared beside bushes.
A trash bag sat strangely upright for three days.
Someone tied something to a fence.
A chair appeared where chairs were not ordinarily found.
Then two men rode past her on tricycles.
They wore hats.
The tricycles had flags.
This required considerable preparation.
Alley noticed them.
It was difficult not to.
She moved slightly to the right so everyone could pass safely.
Not mine.
One of the men stared at her.
Alley smiled and looked ahead.
Not at him.
Not at the situation.
Two grown adults.
Tricycles.
Flags.
Hats.
Miniature parade.
She continued riding.
Behind her, the men exchanged triumphant looks.
“She smiled.”
“We got her.”
“We absolutely got her.”
Her reaction was logged.
EMOTIONAL RESPONSE SUCCESSFULLY ELICITED.
They wrote to their leaders, who were themselves, inside their own group chats, declaring their success.
They solidified, permeatafied, erectified, calcified, shellacked, and mummified the moment of their triumph.
But the success did not last.
It was all sand and salt for Alley.
Because Alley kept disappearing.
Not physically.
She was right there.
That was the problem.
She was right there and elsewhere at the same time.
Her body moved through the territory they had carefully filled with meaning while her attention wandered freely beyond their jurisdiction.
Some days she listened to podcasts.
Some days audiobooks.
Some days music.
Sometimes nothing.
She liked hearing the hiss of her tires.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
The path curved.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Pines.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Marsh.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
A little bridge.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Butterflies.
She began adding side quests.
Take the sandy trail.
Stand through the hill.
Sprint from the sign to the oak.
Stay in the harder gear.
Take the long loop.
Go around again.
Her muscles had opinions.
She liked this.
Her body was not an ornament.
It was transportation.
It was leverage.
It was balance.
It was sweat.
It was fifty-one years of accumulated scars and surviving and still being able to stand on the pedals and say:
Come on.
The iWOACA was having an excellent time.
This created a philosophical problem for Gary, Malcolm, and Gerald.
Her attractiveness was dwindling.
But they were attracted.
They had documented it.
Her social importance was negligible.
They had agreed upon it.
Her influence was questionable.
Her threat level was low.
She was not admired by the right people.
She held no meaningful office.
She possessed no meaningful authority.
She was not one of them.
Therefore:
Why did her happiness seem so insulting?
Gary thought about this for several days.
He concluded that the happiness itself was probably hostile.
This made sense.
The others agreed.
SUBJECT DISPLAYING UNPROVOKED CONTENTMENT.
POSSIBLE TAUNT.
Continue monitoring.
One afternoon they prepared their finest arrangement yet.
There were hats.
There were flags.
There was a truck.
There was a strategically placed sign.
There was something mysterious beside a bush.
There was a man walking a dog.
There was another man sitting where nobody ordinarily sat.
There was litter.
There may have been a fish.
Nobody remembered who had been assigned the fish.
Alley approached.
This was going to work.
She was moving quickly.
Excellent.
She had seen them.
Clearly.
She was fleeing.
The tires hissed loudly against the pavement as she passed.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Gary emerged from behind the bush.
“SEE?”
Malcolm looked excited.
“She hissed at us!”
“Exactly!”
Gerald nodded solemnly.
“Hostility confirmed.”
The three men watched her disappear around the curve.
At that exact moment, Alley was listening to Cool Cat by Queen.
Her bicycle felt fantastic.
Her legs felt strong.
She was mentally assembling a charcuterie board.
Sharp cheddar.
Something creamy.
Olives.
Those little sweet peppers.
Crackers.
Maybe grapes.
No.
Pear.
Definitely pear.
Prosciutto?
Yes.
Something pickled.
She needed something pickled.
Her phone chimed softly through the music.
Twinkle.
Then again.
Twinkle.
Then again.
Little hearts from her daughter, reacting to messages Alley had sent earlier.
❤️
❤️
❤️
Alley smiled.
Behind her, somewhere very far away in every sense that mattered, Gary saw the smile.
He pointed.
“LOOK!”
Malcolm turned.
“She’s smiling.”
“At us.”
Gerald narrowed his eyes.
“Mocking.”
Gary's jaw tightened.
How dare she.
How dare this ordinary, aging, independent, increasingly irrelevant woman continue moving through the world without acknowledging their greatness.
How dare she be insufficiently frightened.
Insufficiently angry.
Insufficiently impressed.
Insufficiently theirs.
They had given her signs.
She had looked at scenery.
They had given her symbols.
She had listened to music.
They had given her traps.
She had turned them into obstacles on a pleasant bicycle ride.
They had given her Great Hat Candy Land.
She had found a good hill in it.
This could not continue.
“We will have her,” Gary said.
Malcolm nodded.
“She shall be ours.”
Gerald put his hands on his hips.
It was an impressive stance.
None of them noticed that Alley was already gone.
Around the next curve, she stood briefly on the pedals and accelerated.
The bicycle surged beneath her.
Queen played.
Her daughter loved her.
Dinner was going to be delicious.
The sky was enormous.
The afternoon belonged to no one.
And life was incredibly good.
More importantly—
it was incredibly her own.
For now.
Because eventually everything was dust, salt, sand, water, air.
There was very little mine in the world when you zoomed far enough out—
or far enough through.
The bicycle surged beneath her.
Queen played.
Her daughter loved her.
Dinner was going to be delicious.
The sky was enormous.
The afternoon belonged to no one.
And life was incredibly good.
More importantly—
it was incredibly her own.
For now.
Walls fall.
Domes collapse.
Viruses happen.
Floods.
Sand moves.
Salt corrodes.
People come and go and build things and name things and claim things and put up flags and Great Big Hats and insist that whatever is happening at this exact moment is terribly, terribly important.
Life is annoyingly in flux all the time.
Eventually, even this moment would be forgotten.
Gary.
Malcolm.
Gerald.
Alley.
The signs.
The fish.
The reports.
The Great Hat Candy Land.
Dust.
Salt.
Sand.
Water.
Air.
So iWOACA figured, make the best of consciousness and rest while they were attached.
She stood on the pedals.
She zoomed through the trails.
Come on, she thought.
She thought of The Great Muppet Show. The Great Muppet Caper. The Great Gatsby. But not of the Great Big Hat men or their movement into the dusty past annals of history.
Wocka wocka.
