Page 26 of Flirtasaurus
A funny look comes over his face like he’s considering whether to answer my question. He doesn’t. Instead, he slings his leather bag over his shoulder and moves toward the exit. But before he pushes through the door, he says one more thing. ”She’s tough but fair. You’ll find your way with her. I’m sure of it.”
Then he’s gone too, and it’s just me and… Otto.
They did say his name is Otto, right? I’m one of those people who forgets someone’s name as soon as I learn it. It’s a flaw for sure, but I’m working on it. No, that’s a lie. I’m actually not working on it. Ishouldbe working on it.
I start walking a wide arc around him, acting like I’m studying the dinosaurs, but I’m really not. I’m studying him. Damon is right, this fella is fascinating, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. I get a direct view of his sketchpad over his right shoulder, and I kind of can’t believe what I see.
“Fuck a duck!”
“No thank you,” he responds but doesn’t look up. He just continues to sketch.
“I’m sorry. I meant, holy shit! You drew that?”
“I did.”
“Well, I mean, obviously you drew that. Your hand is still drawing it.” I watch him work silently for another few moments. “Whoa! You just created the duckbill! I’ve seen illustrations of duck-billed dinosaurs before, but they usually end up looking like Donald or Daffy…
“Or Howard.”
“Howard?”
“Howard the Duck? 1986 film?”
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Ah, you’re too young, I guess.” He looks up from his sketchpad to study my face as if he’s determining how youthful—or not—I may be. In turn, I study his face and all the lines that decorate it.
He returns to sketching. “You started off this interaction by saying fuck a duck, so I just figured we were heading toward an inevitable Howard the Duck discussion.”
“We weren’t.”
“Welp, I’ve been wrong before, and I’ll be wrong again. Check it out, though, when you can. Classic film.”
He only takes brief peeks up at the dinosaurs while he works. It’s almost as if he’s memorized them. Or he’s conjuring them on the page.
“Wow. Look at you go on his rib cage! Man, you’re really giving Monty the class he deserves. Yes, he’s an Edmontosaurus who couldn’t stand to be alone and had to constantly surround himself with other hadrosaurs. Sure, he lacked a bony crest and had a weak, seemingly toothless jaw. And yeah, we all know he was being chomped on by a female T-Rex at the time of his death, but still, he is beautiful and strong and elegant. And you’re really capturing that. Gosh, I don’t know why, but standing here now in front of us, all these millions of years later… he seems to radiate kindness. Don’t you think? I get the impression he was such a gentle and wise creature. I feel the goodness in his literal bones.”
Otto is staring at me as though he doesn’t know how to contribute to my romanticized prehistoric ramblings.
After a moment, he blurts out, “Well, like I always say, a dinosaur can have a duckbill and still roar.”
“You always say that?”
“I do.”
All right. Maybe my first impression of this guy was accurate. He’s hella strange. But whatever. So am I.
“Anyway. Mad props on your skills, sir.”
“Thank you, but drop the sir please. I’m not your grandpa.”
“I actually don’t call my grandpa sir.”
“Well, you should! Show some respect, girl!”
“Don’t tell me what I should do!”
“Kids today! Bah!”
