First off, let me define my definition of loose: Not firmly fixed in place.
We usually pair “not firmly fixed in place” with buttons, dogs, and screws. So, it’s understandable that some may have jumped to a different definition of “loose” because it’s paired with “human.”
I was driving down a rural but busy stretch of road, mostly lined with barren fields broken up by farmhouses set back long drives and a small cluster of homes here and there. No sidewalks. No stoplights, just a standard midwestern highway.
A dot appeared on the horizon. As I got closer, I realized the dot had legs and was bundled up. A man. He glanced over his shoulder, saw me coming and stepped into the field. I slowed down in case he decided to step back onto the road. (One never knows…)
Out for a walk, I suppose. Probably not the best place for a walk, but look at him go! Good for him.
I go another mile or so, and another dot appeared. This one also had legs. I slowed down again and then pressed the brake a little longer due to the look on this man’s face. He seemed confused. Standing in a field, not on a walk, holding debris of one sort or another. Apparently, he'd lost something, but I’m not sure from where, because there was no vehicle along the shoulder from which he could’ve emerged.
After spotting a third dot with legs strolling along this stretch of road, which is usually barren of dots with legs, I declared out loud, “What’s with all these loose humans?”
These people are not where they’re supposed to be. On the side of this sidewalk-less road with a speed limit of 55 that everyone misreads as 80. Blind curves, a few hills where you can’t see the road just beyond the peak. It’s not a walkable stretch. Not for three dots in a row.
Same day. Grocery store. It started in the parking lot. A loose human the size of an upright cocker spaniel running amok. I immediately scanned for a being, likely the size of a frantic guardian.
Moved myself to block the little guy and here comes momma, a fussing baby on one hip, eggs and bread swinging in a plastic sack from the other hand, thanking me for stalling the loose toddler.
Inside the store, I encountered loose humans of different sorts. Faces I clearly recognized but couldn't immediately place. Because they got loose.
Loose humans require my brain to work much harder to find those files than I have the capacity to do. I can barely follow my grocery list, let alone sort and organize all these humans.
One lady got loose from the bank and was doing her grocery shopping. I didn’t know this woman ever left the bank, and now I know what laundry detergent she uses.
Another gal I went to school with. The ‘90s loosed her. Changed her appearance, too. She’s fond of grapes.
One guy? Yeah. I know him, but I don’t know him, but I recognize him… And we did that back-and-forth, every-other-aisle cart-passing, so multiple chances to find his file. I didn’t place him until my groceries were off the store’s shelves and onto mine: One of our local restaurants loosed this guy so he could hunt for frozen dinners.
My brain has firmly fixed certain people in their proper places—or times—and how dare they get all loose on me? In the same day! I can’t even.
I finish putting away the groceries. Sit down to the manuscript and hear myself say, “Oh my word. What’s with all the loose humans?”
Little Miss Muse gives me a look—she was wondering the same thing. The Jiggle Dragons, firmly fixed to their shelf above my keyboard, snort their scaly noses at me. Trudi scooted off to the corner of the room. They all tried to tell me last week. Loose Human Alert! The cast is unhinged. Loose humans create plot holes. And in the same manuscript!
Some of my loose humans haven’t eaten in a while—frozen dinners or grapes. Some of them require a change of clothes—and laundry detergent. One of them isn’t even in the right timeline.
Some run amok from their guardians like upright cocker spaniels.
Some of them are confused, out on sidewalk-less highways, about to meet their demise once they hit that blind curve.
One I don’t recognize at all—and I created her!
Loose. The humans and the screws which are to firmly fix my brain cells in place.
I spend an inordinate amount of time sorting and organizing these dots with legs back into their proper roles in the plot.
My brain is tired.
I loosen the latch on the treat cabinet.
I loosen a pack of Milanos and I indulge.
Lest I become a loose human of the other definition.
