The Little People

I always wondered what they ate.

When I was very young, I truly believed that there were people living in the television whose sole purpose in life was to entertain me. Don’t misunderstand me, I knew cartoons weren’t real. I just thought that the people in the TV could draw really, really fast.

So fast that I never saw their hands, no matter how hard I squinted.

For a while I wouldn’t even turn off the TV in the middle of a show for fear of accidentally killing one of the TV gnomes who lived inside it. Once, I even watched a whole episode of Bonanza desperately doing the pee-pee dance, scared to death that if I turned the TV off, or even walked away, one of the poor miniature horsies would die. I wouldn’t even change the channel unless there weren’t any ‘real’ people on the screen, just in case they got caught in the dial.

Yeah, dial. Remember those? No? Smart-alecky whippersnapper.

Anywaste, one day, I was watching some stupid show when one of the people turned directly to the camera and said something along the lines of, “You can’t hide from us!” I think it was a detective drama and the character was supposed to be talking to the suspect, but I swear to you I actually believed he was talking to me.

And I was frightened out of my mind.

The TV gnomes were watching me! They knew everything I did! They could tell my mom that I had hidden my brother’s favorite toy in the toilet’s water tank! I’d be in trouble, big trouble, and the TV gnomes would probably just laugh at me when I wasn’t allowed to watch them for a week. They’d probably even be happy to have a week off. They could go on a vacation, or something. Get out and see the… world…

Oh. My. God.

What if the TV gnomes could get OUT of the TV whenever they wanted?! They could be sneaking around the house at night trying to find where my mother hid the knives so they could kill us! Oh no! What was I going to do?! I knew, even at such a young age, that no one else would believe me because the kids on TV were never believed until it was too late.

And I didn’t want it to be too late.

So that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I set a TV Gnome trap. I don’t remember the actual mechanics of it, but I do recall it involving Tinker Toys, a very large Tonka dump truck, marbles and peanut butter. Yeah, peanut butter. I don’t know how I knew, but somehow I did know that the TV gnomes just adored peanut butter. But, because I liked chunky Skippy peanut butter, I was using the crappy creamy Jiffy that we kept in the house for peanut butter emergencies.

What? Yeah, like you never had a peanut butter crisis as a kid.

Well, I set my trap and went back to bed. I had been careful not to go anywhere near the living room as a safety precaution so as not to give away my plans to the TV gnomes, and I was sure I had succeeded in keeping them in the dark. And even though I knew my trap was perfect, I just couldn’t fall asleep. I kept going over my plans in my head, sure that I hadn’t made any mistakes, but also positive that there was something I had forgotten. If only I could remember what it was. If only I could think of the thing I had forgotten about. If only I could stop that annoying licking sound so I could think of the stupid thing I…

Oh.

Quietly getting out of bed, I went to the hallway where I had set my perfect TV gnome trap and found it in shambles as Sam, our family dog, licked up the lovely, super-delicious peanut butter I had been using as bait for the TV gnomes. As she realized she was being watched she stopped her licking and shamefacedly looked up at me with her eyes, but without lifting her head from the floor. Mustering all the authority I had in my tiny four-year-old body I put my hands on my hips and frowned.

“What are you doing?”
[shameful look]
“Do you know what you’ve done?”
[sad look of confusion]
“You’ve ruined my TV gnome trap! Now they’re free to get me!”
[hanging head of shame]
“What am I going to do now?”
[ears perk]
“What? You think you know?”
[single wag of tail]
“Huh? You’re going to protect me?”
[head up, tail high]
“But they’re clever, the TV gnomes. Are you sure you can protect me?”
[wagging tail]
“Ok. But, and it’s not that I’m scared or anything, but you’ll have to sleep in my room, ok?”
[spastically happy tail]
“Right. We’ll have to be very quiet. You’re not allowed in there and if FishMan hears you he’ll tell mom and we’ll get in trouble, so don’t make any noise, ok?”
[orgasmic tail wagging]
“Oh, and if the TV gnomes get in the room, you have to protect me, but you can let them eat FishMan, ok?”
[Sam goes into convulsions and sees a tunnel and a white light]
“You’re such a good dog.”
[joy-induced heart attack, hamburger-frisbees and fire hydrants await in heaven]

And that is when I stopped being afraid of the TV gnomes.