Otters

On a ligher note.

Otters
by
Robin Hall

April was usually not too hot in Bogalusa, Louisiana, except for all that Tobasco Sauce from Avery Island, which was in every restaurant in the world including the ones in Bogalusa; Birmingham, UK; and Moscow, Russia. Of course there, as everywhere, the sauce is put on all foods from eggs to ice cream, like it was patriotic to douse everything in this red wonder condiment. Tobasco Sauce makes the upper peninsula of Michigan seem hot in mid January.

Nevertheless, the weather itself is usually mild down in Bogulusa in April and so great great grampa George Otters decided that was when the family reunion would take place every ten years. And it did.

There would be Otters everywhere in town. Otters in bars, cars, restaurants, stores, shops, churches and once in jail. You would think the town would notice a great influx of Otters on April 13th every ten years but the local citizens were content to ignore the world completely, including the art colony and all those Otters. Which was just fine with them.

You see the family has a secret that even the CIA’s meanest agents couldn’t get out of them. More on that later, after all it is a secret and the family name has been changed for the sake of security and to protect the innocent.

Of course we must go back a bit to clear things up. Mr. George Otters was 22 when the civil war broke out. He had been working in the lumber industry for 8 years already. Things were different in those days. He learned his trade and did quite well for a young man.

He joined the southern army as was expected and served his country. During one battle, he was pretty badly wounded and George lost consciousness for some time. He awoke in a hospital and was missing a few teeth and some of his memory. Neither ever came back.

Like many damaged people, George had suffered what we call post traumatic stress syndrome. It used to be called shell shocked and other things. Anyway, sometimes genes, the building blocks of life, get changed too.

After the war, George didn’t remember much except the lumber business and he went on to build a fine business and large home near Bogalusa. The family grew. There were children. Life was good. Then one day while he was in the shower, George loved showers and had the first one in town, he began to sing. It didn’t seem strange to him at all and he did it often.

A few weeks later the two little Otters were playing outside the bathroom window. When they heard George, who was now called by his new, secret name that we won’t talk about here, both of the girls ran inside to their mother crying and crying.

George came out to see what the fuss was. His wife Martha Otters, told him what happened. The children had heard him sing and were so moved by the beauty they began to cry. “Come to think of it,” George said, “it was nice. I don’t remember being able to sing.”

He tuned up a bit and the house literally expanded with the beauty of the finest baritone the world had ever heard. Every song was more wonderful than the last. Every tune George had ever heard came forth with a power and majesty that left the four of them speechless.

Well. What could any of them say? Then something even stranger happened. The two children joined George in a trio of brilliance that made the hairs on their necks stand out. The crystal chandaliers ring with the soul of their maker. It was extraordinary.

Now George and Martha spent many long sleepless hours discussing this phenomena and the children did too as they grew to adulthood. The world was not ready for this sort of magic by any means and they would keep it to themselves. They would each live a normal life, have regular jobs and be in the world because they understood what the world does with and to beauty let alone brilliance and magic.

The children married. Every new child had the same power in their voice. Each generation and their spouses vowed to NEVER let out the secret and it is safe to this day. The family also vowed to enjoy their talents together as a family. So every 10 years on April 13th they would gather way out in the country near Bogalusa, Louisiana for their reunion.

Great, great Grampa George set up a trust fund just for the family get-togethers and Otters from as far away as Atlanta and Auckland gather happily and eagerly. At lunch George is toasted several times with a fine local muscadine wine, the family stage is cleared and the Otters begin their afternoon of singing.

This is a private time for them. The genetic connection is reaffirmed. Each new member is brought in to introduce themselves and their own special contribution. One sings opera, another blues, country, pop, hip hop, rock, folk.

Then the older ones remember those who passed on with their favorite tunes. The group harmonizes, finds its own special vibration which is different each gathering and they sing for an hour while the angels weep with joy along with the spouses. The house itself joins in, the trees sway in sync and the leaves wave like the wind of divine peace had finally come to our world.

The music winds down. Everyone gathers for the evening meal to more muscadine toasts and remembrances, then slowly the group spreads out around the house for sleep. The next day the families depart with a connection rarely experienced these days, secure that they will meet again.

Every once in a while you might run into an Otters' family member in some unusual situation. More than a few have come disguised into small saloons and jukes to sit in with a local group and left before they were “discovered.” Some of the world’s great musicians have wept during an after-hour duo in a smoky jazz bar or backstage in their dressing rooms.

This sort of thing may be more common than we know. Angelic talent in plain ordinary people. Who knows? Maybe its enough to imagine it is possible. Maybe its enough to dream.

Maybe one of you have a talent but it hasn’t displayed yet. Never give up on your dreams and you might find out.