#marchgucket

Time seemed to be a fickle thing for Fiddleford McGucket. Years he spent without a memory sometimes only felt like it lasted a few months and now in his first year of remembering it felt like things went so painfully slowly. It might have been due to his recollection perhaps now that he had a stronger grip on time he was more conscious of it.

Or maybe it was because of how much he missed the Pines family. Just before leaving he and Stanford had admitted their feelings for one another still existed and now they were having a long-distance relationship over phones and screen monitors. Stanford and his brother, niece and nephew all promised to be back next summer and Fiddleford found he kept counting down the days no matter how much he tried not to. Today marked the final month before Stanford and Stanley would be back, and a month and a half until the kids came back. It was so close yet so far off.

He thought himself lucky at least, that he had so many people in his life now. To not only miss and know they would be back soon, but also living here with him and visiting all the time.

Every Sunday evening since last summer he’d always been invited down to the mystery shack for dinner and anime with Soos and his girlfriend, Melody. They made a sweet couple and ran the old mystery shack together as a team. And while Fiddleford didn’t often visit the Shack during their working day there was an energy, a welcoming vibe that grew there now that hadn’t really existed before under Stan’s ownership. As for their anime get-togethers, they had started a little pattern after a few happy accidents that had become a tradition now. Melody and Soos would make one half of their dinner and Fidds would bring the second half. If they made sandwiches, Fiddleford would whip up soup to dip’em in. They made meatballs, he’d bring over the spaghetti and sauce. One time they’d cook some pork chops and Fiddleford had brewed up an apple sauce to spread on it. That had been a good one. They’re weekly meet ups were always something he could look forwards to and enjoy. They reminded him a lot of the old family dinners he would have as a kid, potlucks where everyone cooked together and ate together.

Mabel’s two friends, Candy Chiu and Grenda Grendinator, also became frequent visitors. Both of them loved to admire his work with giant fighting robots, Candy had even told him she wished to become an engineer too when she grew up. Fiddleford had been all too happy to start teaching her everything he’d learned over the years. And Candy proved to be a wonderful student, a protégé actually. Her photographic memory was amazing to see in person, rewireing panels on her robot purely from memory of how Fiddleford had showed her over a week prior. And she had Grenda both had such wonderful, vivid imaginations it was never dull having a conversation with the two. There wasn’t a single doubt in Fiddleford’s mind that the two girls wouldn’t shake up the world when they got a little older, they had such amazing ideas and he couldn’t wait to see how they made their ideas possible realities in the future.

And then there was Tate. His dear lil’ Tate. He gotten some forgiveness from his son at last. They had a long talk face to face. It had been awkward, uncomfortable and made Fiddleford relive some shame he’d made himself forget for years. But it was an important step in them rebuilding their relationship, no matter how painful it might be. Talking came much easier for both of them the more they tried. And now he lived here in his new home, something which Fiddleford never could have dreamed of before and was grateful for. To truly have this second chance with his son. Tate had grown into a man that reminded him a lot of his own father and uncles growing up. Blunt but honest ad content with their crafts and tasks in life. Them with their farming and hunting, and now his son with his fishing. He loved going out to the lake and watching his son work, listening to him talk about fishing. It was no lie Tate loved what he did.

Tate would always be his son. But he’d found in a way he’d gained another child, almost like a granddaughter to him, as the year crawled by. He’d met her in the shack along with the other girls, held her hand during the Oddpocolypse. But afterwards, after that had bought the Manor from her father he hadn’t seen hat or hair of Pacifica Northwest. That was until one day while he was gardening on the front lawn he saw her milling about the front gate, attempting to spy on him. He invited her in for some tea which Pacifica had begrudgingly accepted. At first she claimed she was only “checking up to make sure he hadn’t burnt the mansion down to the ground yet.” Much to his surprise Pacifica came back for more teas after that, she’d even offered to help him in his garden. He only became worried when like clockwork as soon as the middle school was out she would be at his house and would put off leaving until the sun was in the brink of setting. He’d asked her once if her family was wondering where she was but she’d avoided the question, though she did admit she hated being home alone with either of her parents and she didn’t have any friends in town.

After that Fiddleford kept his home opened to her, though he did try to gently nudge her into at least joining a club at her school. That ended up not working so steadily he’d tried to introduce her to Candy and Grenda when one day all three of them ended up at his house one weekend. At first he’d feared he’d over stepped his bounds when she saw Pacifica grow defensive against the other two girls, walling herself off and putting up the snotty persona she seemed to put on and take off like a mask. But then the three found out the things they had in common rather then all the things that made them different and slowly but surely Pacifica pulled off her mask again and the three became an unlikely trio to visit his house and hang out around town.

One day they were all talking about boy bands and Fiddleford showed them the boyband he first fell in love with decades ago, the Beatles. At first the girls hadn’t believed him, Beatles were a cool hipster thing, not something for geek girls to freak out about according to them. So Fiddleford showed them he few relics from his Beatle-mania days and they’d found it absolutely hilarious. Grenda had joked that in a few years maybe Sev’ral Timez would be a musical revolution too. That had been a fun day, the four of them had tried tracking down the Sev’ral Timez boyband in the woods, they’d even recruited Wendy’s help in tracking them down.

They didn’t find the boyband that day, but instead they found two children who looked identical to Dipper Pines, only their caps had numbers on them instead of blue trees. They told him that they were photocopy clones of Dipper from last summer and the two boys had made a water proof shelter for themselves out in the wilderness. They joined in the hunt for the boyband and later Fiddleford had offered his home to the boys. He knew they were only brief flashes of Dipper’s consciousness, but it appeared that the two had developed their own awareness, something he couldn’t ever remember from his and Ford’s old experiments. They both even developed distinct personalities that had altered not only from each other but also their original Dipper. He felt this urge to protect and care for the boys after that and the two became like adopted kids to him much like Pacifica had become.

The open halls had become much less empty and yawning now than when he’d first moved in with just a knapsack and his raccoon wife to his name. And now on the first Sunday in May he was holding a special Sunday anime dinner, this time in his own manor. In the theater room he recently renovated he was surrounded by friends and family he’d invited over. Excited happy voices all surrounded him and a warm plate of home-cooked food sat on his lap. He closed his eyes, feeling everything all around him.

It had taken several week but now after so much time he managed to track down Ivan.

He was following the Woodstick tour, sticking with them ever since Gravity Falls. He wasn’t listed as a performer but apparently he’d play music for anyone waiting around and willing to listen. Fiddleford found that out when he did some online research about Woodstick and found descriptions of Ivan scattered in everyone’s reviews. The next spot on the tour was set to be a small town near the Rocky Mountains, so Fiddleford made plans to attend the event too.

Stepping into the caravan of faded, woven cloth, hand-made beaded crafts and the stench of pot hanging in the air immediately took Fiddleford back to his younger days as a hippie. Flowers in his hair, writing ditties on his banjo about peace and enlightenment, designing giant dinosaur robots to overthrow the government. Those were the days…

It was also interesting to Fiddleford to see how they styles of hippies had transformed through the years, especially now as these “hipsters”, he hoped he was using the right terminology. Everything was still big on earthy, crunchy and free and their fun odd choices in wear still reflected that. But now it seemed like plaid was a much bigger element to the hipster look, that and knit wear and big boxy glasses rather than circular ones.

Fiddleford wandered through the crowds looking for any sign of Ivan’s tell-tale tattoos. He ended up hearing him before seeing him. He heard the twang of a banjo being plucked and then a voice that made mixed emotions swirl inside him. Ivan was singing a song to a small crowd of young hipsters. Fiddleford politely made his way through the people to get a better view and sure enough it was Ivan, sitting on a barrel and smiling as he played. He neared the end of his song.

“And so I wander and play,                            

through the night and the day,

with a song from my heart to my boot.

And while my head’s still unsure,

I don’t know what I’m for,

well, it’s all in the life of your good ol’Toot-Toot!”

There was a small applause then everyone began making their way off. Ivan waved to them as they left, a happy absentminded smile on his face.

It was now or never. Fiddleford tried to swallow down his nervousness and made his way to Ivan.

“Hello handsome Old Man! What may I do for you today? Do you wish to hear more of my mystifying ministrations?” Ivan asked with a showman’s voice. He tried to play a cord but his fingers were misplaced and the sound that came out made Fiddleford grit his teeth. Ivan grumbled to himself, continually rearranging his fingers till he got the cord he wanted. “Damn, blasted thing… No. No… Eh, not what I was aiming for but it will work!”

“Actually, Ivan, I just wanted to talk.”

Ivan looked at him in confusion. “I’m sorry but my name isn’t Ivan. You must have me mistaken for someone else sir. My name is Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, traveling minstrel! And I- wait. I recognize you!”

“You do?” Fiddleford said. He wasn’t sure what to expect, what on earth could Ivan recall about a man he erased from his mind numerous times when he didn’t even know his own name?

“Yes, you’re the gentleman from the museum back in Oregon! I almost didn’t recognize you. You’re all dressed up now, and you trimmed your beard. It looks nice!”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile. Now that he could afford to he bought himself a full wardrobe filled with all the patterns and colors he’d loved when he was younger, and felt flattered to be complimented. “Aw shucks, that’s nice. Now do you remember anything else about me?”

“Well, let’s see.” Ivan stroked his chin, looking up in thought before looking back down and beaming at Fiddleford. “Of course! Your little granddaughter reminded me of my name and my life’s work!”

Fiddleford tried to think of gentlest way to try and correct Ivan he wanted to help the man but there was only so much he could do if the man was so deep in denial. “Actually, Mabel isn’t my granddaughter, I’m just a friend to her family. And-“

“Regardless I don’t know what I would have done without her! Please send her my thanks if you could. I don’t remember my past clearly, but I don’t think I’ve felt this happy in years!”

“How so, if you don’t mind me asking of course.”

“It’s wonderful! Everyone’s so kind, they’re always happy to be here. No one ever mocks me for my tattoos. They all said they make me ‘deep’ whatever that means. It so exciting being on the road all the time, I get to see new places every day. The music, the crowds, the festivity! I can’t quite place why but it’s like coming home!” As Ivan listed off things he was smiling, sincerely smiling. He’d never seen Ivan look quite like that, even when they were both young men just starting to erase their minds.

And while Ivan couldn’t place why he enjoyed being with Woodstick, Fiddleford could. He recalled how before he had persuaded Ivan to join his foolish cult Ivan had been a carnie performer. And apparently Woodstick now must remind him of his former life, even if he didn’t realize it yet. They both certainly sounded similar. Perhaps this concert tour might help trigger more memory recall for Ivan.

Fiddleford patted Ivan’s hand. “That certainly sounds nice.”

“Yes it has been.” Ivan agreed. He tried plucking a few more cords, frowning when they sounded sour. “Is there anything else you would like to know, sir?”

“You can call me Fiddleford and I have just one more question for you.”

“Ok Fiddleford, what is it?” Ivan parroted back. Fiddleford hoped he would actually remember his name. He knew how in his own experience having names to tie to places and faces made them much easier to relearn and recall.

“Eh, do you know how you got that banjo?” Fiddleford already knew it was his but he wanted to know if Ivan would recognize that too.

“I’ve always possessed it, that’s why it’s so worn and old now. And your gran- sorry your little family friend returned it to me. And I know how to play, I can see you judging me! I’m just a little rusty, that’s all.” Ivan ended slightly offended, as he tried to play a ditty to prove his point.

“Actually Ivan, if you don’t mind me saying, that banjo was mine first. It was one of Fiddleford’s.”

Fiddleford tried to speak gently but Ivan reeled back, possessively holding the banjo to his chest. “Stop calling me that! I’m not this Ivan, you keep bringing up. And I this banjo’s mine now, you can’t have it!”

Fiddleford stepped back. Giving Ivan more space. Shoot, things were going so well starting out. “I never meant to imply otherwise. I’m sorry. You’re free to keep the banjo, it is yours. I just wanted to let you know that Fiddleford, I had that banjo before. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket?”

“No!” All at once Ivan jumped off the barrel, glaring down at Fiddleford and for a moment he feared for himself. Had he gone too far? But then Ivan relaxed, though he still obviously looked distressed. He backed away from Fiddleford. Inching his way towards the crowd. “I… I have to get to my next gig over by the lemon grass shot tent. Have a nice day… Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford didn’t like how he spat his name, but if remembering how much he despised him before he overthrew him then maybe it would help trigger the rest of his memories. But there was still one last thing Fiddleford wanted to get off his chest before leaving.

He called after Ivan before he could disappear into the milling crowds. “Ivan! Toot-Toot wait!”

Fiddleford could see Ivan’s hand clutched into a fist, but the man still turned around. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to say, I’m real sorry.”

Ivan took the time to look him over, Fiddleford swore he saw a brief flash of recognition before Ivan lost it again. “Well, maybe if I knew what on earth you were talking about I’d be more inclined to forgive you. Or not, I have no idea who you even are. Goodbye Fiddleford.” He said stiffly.

Then turning around, he walked away. As he disappeared into the crowds of Hipsters, Fiddleford caught his stealing glance back at him and down at his banjo.

That didn’t go nearly as well as he’d hoped, but also not as disastrous as he feared.

Fiddleford hoped that the carnival like atmosphere here now paired with some of Fiddleford’s words just might help trigger more memories for Ivan.

The Society of the Blind Eye had been forged with good intentions. To make people happy, rid the town of its anxieties. But they had all abused the power of forgetting and all had paid the price. And now that Fiddleford was older and having met the Pines kids, he realized that memories, no matter how pleasant or unpleasant, all were important to make you truly you. And it never helped to hide the truth and live in mindless, happy ignorance. Now he could only hope his old colleague and friend might learn a similar lesson.