The Day the Giant Woke Up

6. The Reporter

The next morning a reporter visited The Giant. He had won every conceivable prize for journalism, and the Giant knew this because he enumerated each of them for the Giant in turn.

If the Giant was impressed, it didn't show, but she agreed to an interview anyhow.

"IT'S NICE TO HAVE SOMEONE TO TALK TO," she said.

"Do you mind if I record this?" asked the reporter. "I record everything so I can hold people accountable. This way, if you say something you regret and want to take it back, I can play back the recording and say, 'aha, you're a damn liar.'"

"I'M NOT IN THE HABIT OF LYING," said the Giant.

"You know what kind of people say that?" asked the journalist, with a wink. "Liars."

He began recording, then consulted his notes.

"Is it true that you're anti-Webble?" asked the Reporter.

"I DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT THE WEBBLES," said the Giant.

"Well, a lot of people are saying that you very much give off a vibe of anti-Webble after that business where you smashed one of their churches. And I don't mind saying, anti-Webble is not a popular position in this city. This is a pro-Webble city.

"I DON'T HAVE A STRONG OPINION EITHER WAY."

"That in and of itself is an opinion," said the reporter, noting the response. "For now I'll put down anti-Webble and we can return to it later."

The Giant considered correcting him, then remembered the Webbles' official designation of her as a "monstrosity." She decided that maybe she was anti-Webble after all.

The reporter flipped to a new page in his notebook. "Do you wish to comment on pop sensation Wylie Brown calling you a bitch?"

"WHY DID HE DO THAT?"

"Wylie's publicists love having him call people a bitch to get feuds going. You can call him a bitch back, if you like."

"I'M GOOD," said the Giant.

The reporter spoke to himself as he wrote down, "Giant says Wylie Brown is so far beneath her that his baseless nattery doesn't dignify a response." He tapped the notepad with his pen. "This'll get the feud going real nice. I'm already thinking up by-lines."

He flipped to a new notebook page. "Now, I'm on your side for this feud, but Wylie Brown makes a good point that you've made no effort to visit any of the boroughs outside the Chest District that were damaged by your earlier cough. He says you're classist."

"I HAVEN'T VISITED ANYONE. I'M NOT ALLOWED TO MOVE."

"Well, some people in this city aren't allowed to move either, and they still show up at work to the methane plant every day. There have been over 30 deaths this year due to aggressive colon contractions, and you haven't made a statement of apology to any of their families."

"MAYBE THEY SHOULD APOLOGIZE TO ME," said the Giant.

The reporter clicked his tongue and shook his head. "As a journalist, I'm obligated to report that. And I don't think Mediccio Flave will appreciate how the negative press affects his rollout."

"WHO IS MEDICCIO FLAVE?"

"He's the most influential fashion designer on the Giant. He's a genius. Everyone wears his aprons. I have a closet full of them."

"HOW MANY APRONS DOES ONE PERSON NEED?" asked the Giant.

"You'd be surprised how many occasions call for a specific apron," said the Reporter. He gestured at an apron he was currently wearing with jagged vertical stripes. "This is an original Flave. He made it special for me after I gave a glowing review of his last fashion show."

"BUT YOU'RE NOT COOKING," said the Giant. "WHY DO YOU NEED AN APRON?"

"I'm sure a monkey looks at a human and says, 'Why do they wear shirts. Why do they wear pants,'" sniffed the reporter. "And we all know how despicable monkeys are."

"I LIKE MONKEYS," said the Giant.

"Anyhow, aprons are over. Forget aprons," said the reporter. "After you woke up, Flave decided to scrap the fall apron line and design a whole new collection. He says this year is all about power. Clothes that emphasize size."

"THAT'S COOL," said the Giant.

"Yes it is," said the reporter. "Meddicio has based a whole line around your big essence. Big shoulder pads. Big belt buckles. High heels taller than stilts. He's designing a pair of Extreme Heels for you as we speak. He says this is the year of the female. And when Mediccio Flave says females are the future, women would do well to listen."

"I FEEL LIKE FEMALES DESERVE MORE THAN A YEAR," said the Giant.

The reporter sniffed. "To be honest, I don't want women big. It bothers my masculinity to have my wife a foot taller than me. But I'm patient. Soon enough, a new fad will replace it. Maybe fancy hats."

"I'D LOVE A HAT," said the Giant. "MY EARS GET CHILLY AT NIGHT."

"Well, you picked the wrong year to wake up, said the reporter. "No, a nice set of Extreme Heels for you. With rhinestones."

"I DON'T NEED SHOES, I'M LYING DOWN."

"Yes, that's unfortunate," sighed the reporter. "It definitely muddies the message that women should stand up and shake off the yoke of the patriarchy while looking fabulous. Do you at least feel oppressed by men?"

"A LITTLE BIT," admitted the giant. "THEY BUILT A POWER PLANT BETWEEN MY ASS CHEEKS."

The reporters wrote down on his pad, speaking aloud: "Giant says men are donkeys. Says, 'I hate men.'"

"I DON'T HATE MEN," said the Giant. "BRANDON IS A MAN, AND HE'S VERY SWEET."

The reporter leaned in, eyes hungry. "Tell me more about Brandon."

The Giant surprised herself by gushing about Brandon at length, like a nightingale who must sing. She told how Brandon came to visit every day. How he was the only person since she'd woke to show her kindness. She told of the chocolate that he heaved onto her tongue, how delicious it had tasted. The beautiful poetry he wrote for her.

The reporter clicked off the recorder. "This is a huge scoop. Giant freak falls in love with tiny creep. We'll sell a million copies of the Giant Bugle evening edition. The Giant Tribune will beg me to come write for them."

The Giant remembered, too late, how Brandon had asked her to keep his visits a secret.

"I'D PREFER IF YOU DIDN'T PRINT THAT LAST STUFF I WAS SAYING," she said.

The reporter held up his recorder, his eyes glinting. "Sorry, it's on record now.

He got to his feet, dusted off his apron, and impaled a piece of chewing gum on a nose hair poking out from the giant's nostril.

Then he was gone.