Short Story, Part III

As Gordon packed the copious amounts of luggage, Nikki sat shotgun and went through the last of her notes. Fisher was crouched to the ground poking a stick in standing water, just behind the big SUV. “Watch out for avian bugs, Fish…” Nikki yelled. Fisher kept his interest in the puddle with his chin resting on his bent knee “I know, Mom” he muttered. She was a bit over protective of Fisher, but only at the times when she thought it might be noticed socially. Nikki had a hard time passing Society training and was easily confused as to how to act appropriately in a socially charged setting. Her desire to be accepted out weighed her ability to make common sense decisions. She more often than not found herself flustered and unable to function, resulting in embarrassment for herself and her family unit.

For a time, Nikki did try harder everyday, having fewer successes each time. Fisher watched his Mother fail consistently, and in the beginning, felt guilty that he knew more social rules and nuances than her, so he did his best to help. Fisher got up with her every morning, drew up her note cards and set out the appropriate clothes depending on the weather and mood. Near the end, when things got particularly grim for Nikki, Fisher even went so far as to cheat by taking Nikki’s weekly tests himself and often followed her to social functions, where he feed her lines and talking points throughout the evening. At some point, Nikki just got tire and frustrated and she stopped trying. When Fisher realized this, he stopped to. Sometimes he wondered if he was just as responsible for what happened on that trip. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened had he stepped in to help.

Sometimes.

“Alright kid, drop the stick and let’s hit it.” Gordon barked as he threw the last case in the back. He was low on patience and high on anxiety. This was a huge trip for him and his job with the syndicate. It was an even bigger deal for his relationship with Nikki. He knew this was her last chance. He also knew she had the ability to crush everything he had worked so hard for with one ignorant sentence to the wrong person. “Do you have all your clothes?” Gordon asked Nikki. “Yes” she snapped. “And all the notes and papers Fisher gave you?” He barked back. “I’m studying them all right now.” She said. “Good, I’ll drive, you study. You study hard.” Gordon grumbled. Nikki sneered and buried her nose back into her tattered notebook. The oversized vehicle lurched into gear and lumbered onto the crowded expressway.

After about an hour in stop and go traffic, Fisher got very bored. He had already watched all the film cartridges in the truck a thousand times. His game pod battery was low and he lost the charger filament last week in school, so gaming was out. Fisher was restless and fidgety, so he climbed into the back compartment with the luggage to see what he could out the back windows. “Don’t crush my work clothes, Fisher” Gordon yelled. “I won’t Dad” Fisher muttered back. He sat and watched everyone in their cars watch him. For a while he just stared, eventually moving on to making faces and obscene gestures, all the while looking out for any sign of Society cops. If they caught him acting up, his Dad could be pulled over, ticketed and even searched. That’s all his Dad needed, Fisher thought.

During his self-amusement, Fisher noticed one black car with heavily tinted windows. It seemed to keep a safe distance from Fisher’s car, while still staying behind the whole time. If his Dad changed lanes, eventually the black car changed lanes. If Fisher’s truck slowed or accelerated, the black car followed suit. Fisher watched for a moment more and climbed back up towards the front to Gordon. “Dad, I think someone’s following us.” Fisher whispered. Gordon looked in the rearview and caught a glimpse of the black car following his lane change. “It’s the syndicate. They must’ve sent some suits to observe us.” Gordon calmly remarked. Nikki looked up with urgency. “Gordon… what do we do? My God… What if they stop us and they ask me….” Gordon grabbed Nikki’s arm in mid freak out to calm her down. “Just relax. We’ll deal with that when it happens. This is completely routine. You just keep studying and I’ll handle them.” Nikki takes a breath and throws Gordon a half smile before going back to her notes. “They’re pulling up closer Dad!” Fisher yelled, now back in with the luggage. “And they’ve turned on their lights”

Gordon merged to pull over. “Everyone just remain calm and remember your training. Everything will be just fine. Just remember your training, okay Nikki?”

Nikki shook with fear and closed her notebook, “Okay…okay.”

Short Story, Part II

Gordon’s Buick sputtered and moaned as it slowly lurched into the designated parking space. Add a tune up and filter change to the list, thought Gordon. He pulled the key from the ignition and stared ahead blankly. “Damn that kid!” he spat, pounding the steering wheel. Then in a softer tone through clenched teeth, “And damn his mother….Dammit, Nikki!”

“Dammit.”

Gordon locked the car and joined the cattle drive through the parking area and into the revolving doors of the syndicate building. The lobby was cold, marbled and cavernous. There was a worn out instrumental loop of “Do you know the way to San Jose” filtering through the stale air, with the occasional haunting echo of laughter from a distant conversation. This was work and Gordon now loathed it. After the routine security run through, Gordon schlepped his bad posture and wrinkled suit up to the 143rd floor. He slid his card key through the sensor to find Barry was already in his office. Towering over Gordon at six foot seven, he stood at the desk, thick file under his arm, sipping coffee and flipping through the mountain of paper. Gordon gave him a look and then made a line to the coffee maker. He poured himself a cup in his Dirty Harry mug and rubbed the fading heat transfer of a sneering Clint. Nikki had bought it for him back before they were married… Before they took the trip… before…dammit! Gordon took a sip to stop his lip from quivering and turned to look at his unwelcome guest. Barry, who hadn't taken his eyes off the papers on the desk, pointed his crooked finger to the metal chair in front. Frowning, Gordon slouched toward the chair. It was review time.

Things for Gordon had been much brighter a month and half before. There was the rapid rise up the syndicate social ladder and the three promotions. He had a solid family unit and a spacious two-bedroom pocket in the intermediate towers. No one in the history of the syndicate had ever risen so high so fast. For Gordon, it was the long awaited payoff for his hard work and even harder luck. He had been close before but always passed over for the younger, brighter socialite. Not this time, though. This time it had been Gordon’s turn to shine. His first few weeks in the higher class were productive. He put forward three new initiatives and authored two addendums that later became law. There were the countless invites to society functions, one with the Chancellor himself in attendance. Gordon really could do no wrong at that point. His only mistake was that damn trip with Nikki and Fisher. The two didn’t need to come, but Gordon wanted to do something special for his family and Nikki needed the extra society training. In retrospect, he knew the incident wasn’t really her fault, but it was easier to blame someone else for his fall. He was tired and broken… It was just easier to blame her.

“I don’t see last week’s status report here.” Barry barked. Gordon frowned again and popped open his case to retrieve the request. His briefcase was a jumbled mess of paper and Gordon overestimated his ability to remain calm. He fumbled through the container with urgency and in doing so dropped the entire contents to the floor. Someone let out a desperate “NO!” as everything hit the floor. Gordon realized, after several seconds, that the “someone” was him. Barry sat at the desk, wide-eyed and motionless. Gordon was frozen in fear and staring at Barry. “My God, man…. Where did you get that?” Barry asked. Gordon could only get out broken sounds, “Uh… Fish… y… the…uh…” Barry got up and walked over to the spill, all the while staring at the floor. He bent down and picked up Fisher’s Monday Bear, squeezing it tightly, shaking a little. “ I have a good mind to report you to the security unit, Gordo…” Gordon put his head in his hands, “Yes… I… I understand if you do…” Barry stared at the bear for a few seconds longer then darted a wide-eyed glare to Gordon. “ This changes everything, Gordo.” He said. Gordon looked up, nearly in tears. “It does?” Barry raced to lock the office door and darted to the windows to make sure no one was looking. “We’re on the 143rd, Barry… I doubt anyone is looking.” “We’ll need to move fast.” Barry barked. “It’s already Friday… we only have three days until Monday.”

If the insensitive jerk I met at the bar were to do standup

Hey! You all drunk yet?

(A few claps)

Yes? No? …Well, I’d like to the thank the Hyatt Airport Motel for having me on such short notice… What’s that sir? Yes, you are correct, this is an open mic… Thanks for pointing that out. Now, can I do something for you? Perhaps another steak sandwich? Or maybe directions to “Curves” … No? Okay.

“Curves”, now there’s a place. You’re fat and a bit self-conscience about it, so why not lose weight at a place that renames obesity nice, soft and happy things? You’re not fat… you have Curves… Right fatty? Not you, tubby… The blimp next you spilling into the second row… Yes, you ma’am…with the Dale Earnhardt forever shirt. Do you miss him, #3? You do? Are you sad? … You are? … I’m sorry…. Are you sad because he’s gone or because you’re so large that small children are lost in your rolls? I mean seriously, they must have an amber alert anytime you go near a Chucky Cheese.

(random coughs)

Wow. Lot’s of angry people here tonight… Lots of angry fat people.

So, any Jews in here? A few? … yup, a few Jews in the crowd. I’m not Jewish, but my uncle is and man… is he a prick. You know what I’m talking about, right big nose? … What? You’re not Jewish? I didn’t think you were. I just figured you knew my uncle. He likes big-nosed chicks.

(gasps and angry muttering)

Anyone else here think 9/11 was a good idea? Did anyone seriously really like those two buildings? Honestly, I don’t miss them. They were big square and ugly…. Like twice the size of any other building in New York. That seems a little snotty to me, “Look at us, little buildings! We’re the World Trade Center one and two! … All other high-rises kneel before us.” But they didn’t count in planes hitting them, did they? Nope. Those big snotty skyscrapers got what they deserved. Yup…. And lets be honest here people, who hasn’t wanted to fly a plane into buildings, right? Remember… remember playing Legos as a kid? You’d build that perfect 747… just like on the box… then load it with pitiful passengers… and a few terrorists… Then ram into our brother’s model of the World Trade Center!! Remember that? Tubby? Big nose? … No? Didn’t have Legos tubby? Probably ate them all, eh? Mmmm… plastic… yeah…

Hey… hey where’s everyone going? I have 5 more minutes! Big nose? You too? … And fatty one and two, you’re leaving?

Fine. I’ll be back next week. I still have my whole bit called Jesus and women: Two useless things…

Short Story, Part 1

There were three bears left. Fisher carefully contemplated upon which one he wanted. After all, this was to be his Monday Bear. All three were even in size and color, but the one in the middle had one ear lower than the other and irregular fur on its belly. This would be Fisher’s choice. In a sea of conformity, Fisher always tried to be different. The fat sweaty man behind the counter reached up to the near empty shelf and pulled down the fluffy stuffed toy. Fisher handed over his three crumpled pink scripts to the weezing gastropod. “Now, this is a Monday Bear, boy” The man said. “Do you know what that means?” Fisher nodded in uneasy agreement and swiftly grabbed his purchase from the man’s stubby digits. He held it tight to his chest. Finally, he had his own.

On the way home, Fisher thought about his Mom and how she had always wished for a Monday Bear of her own. It made him a bit guilty inside that he felt good he got one before her. They passed the daily lines of cars and people and Fisher clenched his new friend tighter. He looked up at his father as he quietly piloted their car back home. He sensed his dad was just as jealous as his mother would be, and knew he’d have to keep his bear in a safe place. He decided he would keep it in the iron tank he had welded himself, in secret anticipation of this day. Fisher clutched the toy tighter as his Dad glanced to the back seat with a half smirk. “Better not lose that boy. You’re not allowed another one, you know”. “I know”, Fisher said. “I know”. His Dad couldn’t scare him. Nobody could. Fisher had a Monday Bear. There was nothing he couldn’t do now.

When the two returned to the house, Fisher jumped from the car and ran straight to his room. He opened his closet and pulled the chain to open the secret compartment. He placed the Monday Bear in the home made welded tank, laser locked it and lowered it into the dark cavern below. Fisher stared down the hole for several minutes with wide eyes and smirked. His thoughts wandered to how much better things would be now. How much better things would be…come Monday. As he climbed out of the closet and shut the door, Fisher glimpsed a blur of his father racing from his window. He had been watching the whole time. Fisher knew he’d have to sleep with one eye open from now on. He was prepared, not only mentally, but also physically. He was well informed of the challenges of owning a Monday bear. Fisher would have to grow up quickly if his plans were to work.

Fisher slept very little that first night. There was a bit of fear, mixed with an emotion he had never felt. He was happy, happy not for what was, but what could be. He imagined this was the feeling his mother had described the night before Christmas to be. Her stories of that day always intrigued and comforted Fisher. Sometimes he missed his mother. Sometimes.

The next day, Fisher made a quick check on his security system and snuck a quick hug from his Monday Bear before heading off to society training. He clipped the fluorescent tag that came with his bear to his shirt before putting on his jacket. Things would be different in training now. The guard would see his tag and know what to do. Upon a quick authentication scan, Fisher would be swept to the 52nd floor and start advanced training. It was important to understand his Monday bear before it’s first run, the ads always said. Of course, Fisher had already read all the manuals and rules online a hundred times. He knew the protocol up and down. The training was a necessary evil, otherwise Fisher would be in possession of an unauthorized product and face incarceration in the trailer town. He would gladly go through the motions and the training. This could only further cement his place in society and guarantee the implementation of his plan.

Fisher waited for his father to be safely on his way to work at the syndicate, then he headed off to the training building. He had a smile on his face and a spring in his step. The neighborhood roof was open and the sun was out. Fisher stopped to let the sun bake his skin for a moment and then ran around the corner with glee.

It was three days until Monday. Three days until the rule of Fisher would begin.