Like everyone else in the town hall, Rodney fanned himself with a pale yellow program that Lisa Chandler had handed to him at the back door. He hadn't talked to Lisa in nearly a year. The poor woman looked like she had aged a decade--the dark circles under her eyes betrayed too many sleepless nights. It made Rodney wonder about how old he must look, considering how much guilt rested on his own shoulders.
All the windows in the large oak building were open, and the ceiling fans were running at top speed. The hot and humid July weather--combined with the body heat of over 300 people--was causing beads of sweat to roll off everyone's faces.
A few stray flies were buzzing around the room. Some of the bolder and more annoyed residents were trying to swat them, hopefully without hitting the person seated next to them. The room contained people of all ages--about a tenth of the town's current population.
Rodney reached down for his second bottled water of the night as he listened to the conclusion of Mayor Haslow's proposal. He secretly wondered if the temperature was going to drop at least a dozen degrees when Haslow finally stopped. At 66, Rodney felt fortunate to still have half-way decent hearing--though he was beginning to see the advantages of the hearing aids his older friends had.
"Our young people are out of control," Haslow shouted, pounding his fist on a podium for dramatic effect, "We have seen too many tragic events the past few years. It stops now--when you vote for this curfew to be put into law!"
Applause erupted from the crowd, all except for Rodney and maybe a few others. He knew where this was heading, but who was going to take the advice of a high school educated coffee shop owner over a panel of so-called experts?
Pleasant Valley was now a much smaller community than it had been in its prime. The remaining residents had decided to stay after two of the town's three main manufacturing companies decided to move overseas. Most of the adults in the town hall worked for the remaining company called Ectotek, which made plastics and other composite materials for other companies. Nearly everyone else had a business that wouldn't profit if Ectotek ever decided to leave or shut down.
With many parents working the same shifts or even double shifts, older children and teens had been left on their own for several years. Most of them were good kids. Rodney knew several that were regulars at his shop after school and during the summers. Many still had a routine of buying a soft drink or coffee, doing their homework, and sitting around a table with their friends.
They had never gave Rodney any trouble and were often entertained by his crazy stories about growing up in Alaska as a teenager. He liked to make him laugh, and they kept him feeling young. Rodney honestly felt like he needed that feeling of family again. His own children were grown and gone, having to leave the town to find better incomes. His wife Alice had just passed away the year before of cancer. Rodney had a void in his life, and his customers somewhat filled it. He also tried to be there for the teens as much as he could, treating them like he would his own children.
There was one boy named Bobby Chandler that even reminded Rodney of his own son Ryan. Bobby was a bright kid--not one of the stereotypical losers that Mayor Haslow kept trying to portray. Bobby's dad had walked out on him and his mom Lisa after the second company in the town closed, leaving Lisa to work overtime every day just to make ends meet. Bobby tried his best to help out, which was how he found his way into Rodney's coffee shop almost two years before the town's curfew meeting.
Rodney was cleaning the counter when the bell over the door rang. He said hello to Bobby, who had a piece of paper in his hand that he handed to Rodney. The draft from the door shutting caused Bobby's sandy brown hair to fall in his face, and Bobby seemed somewhat annoyed like it had ruined Rodney's first impression of him.
"It's my resume," Bobby said, "I'm only seventeen, so it's not that long yet. I've just noticed you're pretty busy to be handling all of this on your own and thought I'd try..."
Bobby kind of trailed off and just smiled. Rodney thought about all the extra hassle of hiring someone under 18, but the pleading look in the kid's face softened him. He appeared to have good grades and a solid list of references.
"All right, but you need to understand I'll have to limit your hours. I don't want Ol' Miss Barron to pound me with some of her books because you're failing English or something."
Bobby had been the hardest worker Rodney had ever seen in his life. He did things without having to be told, and the customers loved him. Rodney knew in his heart that Bobby had the ability to go far in life, and he wanted to help him.
The months flew by quickly. Bobby eventually opened up to Rodney about his life. Bobby's dad had seemed like a good father when he was little. Then he lost his job and was unable to find another one in town. This led to a lot of arguments with Bobby's mom Lisa, both over money itself and also the fact that Lisa was now supporting the whole family and didn't want to move away. Growing more depressed and angry at his circumstances, Bobby's father had started drinking a lot and often shouted at Bobby for no reason.
Lisa still loved him however and tried to get him help. Then one morning, he was just gone. He left them a note that he wouldn't come back until he found the answer to their money problems. Lisa and Bobby hadn't seen or heard from him in over three years. The story made Rodney's heart break.
The day after Bobby's high school graduation, Rodney handed him an envelope. Inside was a check for nearly a thousand dollars, paid to the community college a couple of streets over Bobby's house. Bobby just stared at it for several minutes, nearly in tears.
"I never expected anything like this, Rodney. Thank you so much!" Bobby said as gave Rodney a hug.
"My tax attorney told me to name it the 1st Annual Rodney D. Wilson Coffee Shop Scholarship--sounds really fancy, doesn't it?" Rodney laughed for a moment and then stopped, "Seriously, you're a great kid and have a lot of potential. I'm proud of you. I wouldn't do this for just anyone."
Rodney was never able to afford to send his own two boys to college, though he was later able to help them with their student loans. He liked the idea of maybe helping out a high school senior or two every year.
Bobby continued to work at the coffee shop that summer and often dropped by on weekends once classes began. After the fall semester ended though, it was like Bobby had suddenly vanished. Rodney got so worried he decided to call his house.
"Hello?" a woman's voice answered.
"Is this Lisa? This is Rodney Wilson over at the coffee shop. It's amazing I've never even gotten to meet you in person! Is Bobby there? I haven't seen or heard from him in awhile..."
"Look Rodney, I really appreciate all you've done for my son. The thing is his father has recently came back and Bobby's kind of going through a lot right now. I'll have him give you a call when he gets a chance. Everything is all right."
Lisa hung up before Rodney could say another word.
A few weeks later, Rodney found a large envelope in the coffee shop's mailbox. It contained ten $100 bills--along with a note in Bobby's handwriting saying he had failed his first semester and didn't feel right about taking Rodney's money. It didn't make any sense--Bobby was just too smart to give up like that. Plus, where did he get that kind of money? Had Bobby's father forced him to write the note?
After a couple of weeks, Rodney couldn't take it anymore and decided to go to the Chandler house personally. He left Candace, his new hire, in charge for the hour it would take him to drive to the house and back.
Rodney planned as he drove what he was going to say to Bobby--that if he wanted to come back to the coffee shop, Bobby could stay as long as he liked. Rodney was going to teach him how to operate a business, which he'd taught himself through trial and error. He was getting the point he wanted to retire anyway, and he knew he could trust Bobby with the shop.
Rodney was about two miles away when he first noticed smoke clouds over Bobby's neighborhood. Two fire trucks and a police car were parked in front of Bobby's house as Rodney got closer. Everyone near the house had on masks, like it was some sort of chemical spill.
There had been an obvious explosion from the basement, and half of the house was almost in ashes. Lisa was screaming in the front yard. She had just gotten off of work and somehow had no idea what her ex-husband must have been teaching their son. Two firefighters struggled to restrain her from going inside the house.
Rodney rolled down his car window to speak with one of the police officers he recognized.
"What the hell happened, Scott?" Rodney asked, still numb from what he was seeing.
"Apparently the kid and his father were making crystal meth down in their basement..."
"Meth?! Are you sure? Bobby never did drugs when he was working for me. I'm sure of it."
"Yeah? Well, the mother doesn't seem to know what was going on either, but we're going to have to take her down to the station to at least get a statement. You need to get out of here, Rodney--these fumes are harmful. I'll have someone call you if we need more information."
Rodney's stomach twisted in pain. That explained the money and why Lisa didn't seem to mind that her ex-husband had just shown up out of the blue. He imagined that Bobby's dad had flashed a lot of money around, taunting his son with the one thing that Bobby and Lisa had struggled with for years...that would be tough to handle, even for a good kid.
Rodney remembered the gratitude Bobby had shown toward his generosity, and he couldn't imagine how he must have initially felt to have his father reappear like some wayward superhero. The kid had his own hope for a better life used against him, and he probably felt too ashamed to come to Rodney once he realized the source of the money. Rodney felt both betrayed and guilty at the same time. He turned the car around and drove back to the coffee shop.
On the way back, Rodney thought about the entire two weeks that he had been waiting. All it would've taken was another phone call or a sooner visit, and maybe Bobby would still be alive. Now he and his father were both dead--just like that. Rodney had to break the news to Candace, who had known Bobby from being in school a year behind him. They shut the coffee shop down early, and Candace left.
Rodney didn't go home. He just sat at one of the booths and looking around the shop. If he didn't know any better, it was like Bobby was going to walk in any second and tell him he was okay--that it had been some other teenager in that basement. Bobby never came, though.
This wasn't the way things were supposed to turn out, and sadly Bobby would not be the last teen in Pleasant Valley to be a victim. Two college freshman suffered the same fate in their apartment six months later. There had also been growing violence both the middle and high schools, and several students had told Rodney they were afraid to even go to classes because of bomb threats and students pulling knives on each other. All of this in a town with less than 1000 students! What was this world coming to?
Another round of applause snapped Rodney out of his thoughts. No one had noticed he had tears mixed with his sweat. Apparently they were opening the floor for comments and questions. Rodney raised his hand, knowing it would be a few minutes before he was reached.
"My question is for the mayor," Bob Whittaker said as he stood up with the microphone, "What are we doing to really stop the sources of these problems? I don't see how locking up our 13-year-old daughter in our house at 9 P.M. every night is going to help her. It'll make my wife and I feel good to know she's safe, but what happens when she turns 18 and has no idea how to deal with the realities of life? All she'll know is fear. My wife and I don't want that kind of life for her."
About a fourth of the room clapped after the question.
"That's a good question," Haslow replied,"In addition to the curfew, we're also going to be funding research to figure out ways we can help these kids--character development and drug education programs for the elementary school, after school activities for the teens--there are a lot of options out there, but no one has approached me with a solid plan yet that the tax revenues can afford. We're currently working out the details. Next question."
A lot of the hands that were raised before were now down, and Rodney hesitated a moment before he stood up. It took a moment to get the microphone to him. He turned around to briefly see Lisa staring at him. She looked as if Rodney was about to tell everyone what a horrible and stupid mother she had been for letting her ex-husband come back into their lives. Rodney sighed and turned back around as he brought the microphone closer to him.
"I just have something to say about this plan, and I think I have an alternative," Rodney began. Suddenly, there were 299 sets of eyes were on him. Two unexpected flashes from a camera seemed to come from nowhere, and he paused.
"Well, let's have it then," Haslow replied in a somewhat annoyed tone.
"A year and a half ago, I received an envelope from Bobby Chandler that I believed to be drug money," Rodney began, "He told me in a note that he had failed college and didn't deserve the scholarship I'd given him. Later, it tore me up inside that he had betrayed me--that somehow I had been wrong to try to help him."
Rodney paused for a second as people began to whisper.
"You see, I let myself believe the worst of Bobby Chandler--that he was suddenly dealing drugs with his dad and on the verge of ruining his life. I lost faith in him. Deep down, I didn't want to face him--not knowing what he was going to look like or how he was going to act when I seen him again. When I finally decided to take action and do what I thought was right to protect him--I was too late."
Rodney fought to keep his composure and continued. Lisa had mascara-stained tears running down her face.
"I spoke with Lisa Chandler about a year ago. She told me that her and Bobby had no idea what her ex-husband was doing, and I honestly didn't believe her at first. Then she told me that Bobby had been working late shifts with her a Ectotek all through the fall semester and had earned enough money to pay for his spring semester and pay me back. He had still made straight-A's, but Bobby needed an excuse to return what he considered to be a handout. Lisa assumed he was just going to surprise me later, but he never got the chance. I now believe that Bobby was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, walking in on his father around the time of the explosion."
Nearly everyone in the crowd hung their head at the realization of something that had never occurred to them--that an innocent kid had died and his memory had been tarnished for the past year and a half. A few people, mainly the teens and a few of the parents, were trying to hold back from crying.
"I'm honestly sorry about what happened to Bobby Chandler," Mayor Haslow interjected, "but what about all these other events that are happening. What's this big plan of yours to fix the problem?"
"As parents and grandparents, we do need to help our children," Rodney replied, "That's a fact--and it's not just about throwing a lot of money on the problem. They're living in such a messed-up world right now that it's a miracle they even make it to adulthood. They need us--not just for money for the next new gadget but for the love and support that they keep running to these other sources to obtain!"
Rodney was somewhat surprised that only three-fourths of the room clapped. Maybe the other fourth liked the curfew idea so much that they didn't want to show Rodney a lot of support, or maybe there were people just like he was--afraid to face their own guilt and responsibility.
"Look, if we treat our children like criminals, they're going to start acting like they are--either by giving up on themselves or rebelling completely against all of us," Rodney continued, "Why is it that we keep following every single trend that pops up outside this community? It's like we keep getting bent back and forth until one day this place is going to snap like a twig!"
A few people nodded in agreement. Rodney sighed and took a deep breath.
"We can't blame the music. We can't blame movies or video games. We can only blame ourselves--good men and women who have sat by and done nothing at one time or another. That's a tough concept for people to swallow these days, and there's other people out there that would prefer that we treat ourselves like dumb cattle."
Haslow was somewhat offended by this, but he held his toungue and let Rodney continue. Rodney did have a point, and Haslow had a 14-year-old son of his own that was more important than him forcing the issue of being right. He began nodded at Rodney's statements, which cued most of his supporters to drop the issue.
"That's not me," Rodney continued, "The good thing about taking responsibility is we can turn things around--if and only if enough of us start having the backbone to stand up for our families and communities. These situations are not hopeless. We are not helpless. I just pray to God we can get our act together before we're still living in just as violent of a world this time next year--with a lot less freedoms. That's all I have to say."
The curfew was voted down 2304 to 3. Rodney gave out nearly two hundred of the "Bobby Chandler Memorial Scholarship" to the teens of Pleasant Valley until his death, ten years after the town meeting that caused the spark of hope that saved the town of Pleasant Valley.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Maury (Sci-Fi)
Dr. Joshua Matthews looked up at the kitchen clock--only an hour before Alex was going to be home from school. Looking back into the fridge, he brought out some thawed ground beef and then began to search the cabinets. If he timed things just right, the spaghetti would be done just as Alex stepped off the bus.
"I'm hungry. Do you have any steak in there for me?" an electronic voice suddenly said, coming from a small black speaker on top of the fridge.
Matthews turned around to greet Maury, their golden retriever.
"Sorry buddy, we just have normal dog food."
"Have you ever tasted that stuff, Josh? It's nothing like those TV commercials say."
Matthews chucked, "You do realize that one day I actually will try it, and you won't be able to use that as an excuse anymore. Hey, I know. How about a hamburger left over from the barbecue yesterday?"
"Yes. Thank you."
Matthews opened the fridge again, unwrapped the burger out of some foil, and was beginning to put it down.
"Could you warm it up in the microwave a little? Please?" Maury began to wag his tail rapidly.
"Would you like fries with that?" Matthews asked with one eyebrow raised.
"No, thank you. They're too salty."
"Glad to see you're not getting picky in your old age." Matthews smiled as he pushed the button on the microwave. As it began to count down, Maury wagged his tail faster in delight.
Matthews was amazed by Maury's ability to use his invention. Already a pioneer in biosync chip technology, Matthews originally thought this communication experiment was just going to be a hobby. He now was in the process of obtaining a patent, though he seriously wondered if anyone was going to believe him on this one. The hardest part was going to be proving it wasn't a hoax, but Matthews really didn't care about that at this point.
Someone had dumped Maury in the office parking lot almost ten years ago. He was a beautiful little puppy, but a person could immediately tell something was wrong with him. He would walk a few steps and then suddenly hit the ground, whimpering in pain. X-rays later revealed a brain tumor which was slowly damaging Maury's motor function. Most people would've said euthanizing him was the only option, considering the tumor had already done too much damage for Maury to normally survive and live a healthy life.
Matthews had been experimenting with biosync chips in smaller animals, and he made the decision to try to help Maury. Basically the chips worked with existing brain cells, carrying neural signals over former gaps in the brain. The surgery was long, complicated, and expensive process, but it was well worth it. Maury was able to walk, run, and do all the normal things dogs do--plus later, something more.
Ten years later, the biosync chip was now being used in several high-end vet clinics around the world. Matthews no longer had student loans from vet school to deal with, and technically he could have retired at any time--if he wanted to retire. He didn't go into this career just for the money, though. He truly did love animals.
The communication experiment didn't involve adding anything else to Maury's surgery. Matthews simply had a computer record Maury's brain waves and then recorded what Maury was doing, hearing, or looking at during that time. So for example, if Maury saw a tennis ball twice, usually the same set of brain waves were there both times. Matthews then set up a voice program that would basically say what Maury was thinking. It was by no means a perfect system, but it had become impressive over the past few years.
Matthews has confirmed what a lot of pet owners already knew--dogs were intelligent and had personalities. Maury could basically communicate on a 2nd-3rd grade level. His logic and problem-solving skills were good. Instinct was a part of it, but it wasn't all of it.
He did have some trouble with abstract thoughts, which was to be expected. His brain functioned mostly in the present. He knew who people were and had memories, of course, but he forgot most things that weren't essential to his survival.
However, there was one moment Matthews would never forget...
He and Alex had just gotten home from church. Maury said hello and then laid down next to Alex on the couch to watch television. Matthews went to his office in the next room to check his e-mail. He was still within hearing distance to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Hey, where did you go?" Maury asked. The speakers for him were only in the two rooms--the living room and the kitchen.
"To church, silly," Alex replied, as if dogs should know everything. He was five at the time and thought talking dogs were normal. It was cute now, but Matthews wondered how he was going to explain everything before Alex reached middle school.
"So did you learn a lot about God?" Maury replied. Matthews was now very interested, because he had never really talked to Maury about religion. Maybe he had saw it on television or something.
"Yeah..." Alex giggled and began catching Maury up on the story of Noah and the Ark.
Maury wagged his tail, "My mother used to tell me that story!"
Alex suddenly stopped in mid-sentence, "Is your mommy in heaven, too?"
"Yes. She was nice. I miss her a lot," Maury replied.
"I miss my mom, too. She used to sing to me. She died when I was two." Alex closed his eyes and put his head down, about to cry.
"You know what, Alex?" Maury put his nose under Alex's chin to tilt his head up.
"What?"
"I bet they're both playing in heaven together right now...Hey, let's watch this. This is a good cartoon."
Matthews stood in the living room doorway and watched them both fall asleep. Alex had never really talked about his mother until that day. Until then, Matthews wasn't really sure if he remembered her. He had to pinch the bridge of his nose to keep from crying himself.
Matthews now had the spaghetti nearly boiling over, snapping him out of his memory. He looked down at Maury with his burger.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question, Maury?"
"Go ahead." Maury thought was nice that he didn't have to stop eating to answer.
"How did you learn about God? Was it from the television?"
"My mother taught me a lot. She passed down stories since we can't write things down like you can. I remember all of them."
"That's interesting."
"There's something else also...something I don't think I'm really supposed to tell you."
"What's that?"
"Dogs can sense some things that humans can't. You're limited for a reason, at least for now. We're...we're supposed to help you." Maury stopped eating, waiting for Matthews to respond.
"That makes sense," Matthews replied, "Scientists have known for years that dogs have a better sense of smell and hearing than humans. It's not too surprising."
"I don't think you understand. It's more than that. I can't really describe it because this machine doesn't have the right words for it."
"I'll set down with you tomorrow night, and we'll add some more words to it. I'll need to get some more books first."
"All right." Maury went back to his burger.
Matthews had just added the sauce and ground beef to the spaghetti when Maury bolted out the dog door to greet Alex.
Then there was a loud screech from outside, and then a thud. Matthews felt his stomach sink. Maury must have gotten excited, and the bus hit him. He needed to get to him quickly. He quickly turned the stove off and went to find his emergency bag.
Matthews ran out the door to find that it wasn't what he had originally thought. Maury was laying sideways on the opposite side of the road of the bus. There was a blue Mustang in the ditch just past their house.
Some idiot had tried to beat the school bus stop sign, and Maury had pushed Alex out of the way. The bus driver was already on her cell phone, and the police were on their way.
Matthews carried Maury into the grass and checked for a heartbeat. He was just too far gone. There was nothing Matthews could do to save him.
Maury had already lived longer than most dogs do, much longer than he was originally supposed to live--but it still just didn't seem fair. Matthews and Alex held him and petted him until he closed his eyes for the last time.
"You're a hero, Maury. Thank you for saving my son. Thank you for everything." Matthews said over and over.
"I love you, Maury." Alex said through the tears.
The police brought the man who had hit Maury by them to look at what happened.
"I am so, so sorry I almost hit your son. I'm so thankful that dog was there to--"
"To keep you from being charged with murder?" Matthews wanted to tear him apart.
The sheriff's deputy told Matthews he'd drop by the next day to get a statement, and that he'd get everything he really needed from the bus driver.
The spaghetti stayed on the counter that evening. Neither of them felt like eating. Matthews sat down in a rocking chair and held Alex on his lap with a blanket. Alex snuggled up to him tightly, and Matthews let him cry--for Maury and his mother-- until he fell asleep. Then he laid Alex on their soft brown sofa, put the blanket on him, and rubbed his head lightly. He wanted to keep Alex close in case he woke up.
Wiping his own eyes, Matthews walked over to his computer to replay what Maury had said earlier--about humans not being able to see and hear certain things. He noticed that the recording stopped a lot later than he thought it would, so he fast-forwarded to find what were Maury's last words:
"Heaven...is...nice."
"I'm hungry. Do you have any steak in there for me?" an electronic voice suddenly said, coming from a small black speaker on top of the fridge.
Matthews turned around to greet Maury, their golden retriever.
"Sorry buddy, we just have normal dog food."
"Have you ever tasted that stuff, Josh? It's nothing like those TV commercials say."
Matthews chucked, "You do realize that one day I actually will try it, and you won't be able to use that as an excuse anymore. Hey, I know. How about a hamburger left over from the barbecue yesterday?"
"Yes. Thank you."
Matthews opened the fridge again, unwrapped the burger out of some foil, and was beginning to put it down.
"Could you warm it up in the microwave a little? Please?" Maury began to wag his tail rapidly.
"Would you like fries with that?" Matthews asked with one eyebrow raised.
"No, thank you. They're too salty."
"Glad to see you're not getting picky in your old age." Matthews smiled as he pushed the button on the microwave. As it began to count down, Maury wagged his tail faster in delight.
Matthews was amazed by Maury's ability to use his invention. Already a pioneer in biosync chip technology, Matthews originally thought this communication experiment was just going to be a hobby. He now was in the process of obtaining a patent, though he seriously wondered if anyone was going to believe him on this one. The hardest part was going to be proving it wasn't a hoax, but Matthews really didn't care about that at this point.
Someone had dumped Maury in the office parking lot almost ten years ago. He was a beautiful little puppy, but a person could immediately tell something was wrong with him. He would walk a few steps and then suddenly hit the ground, whimpering in pain. X-rays later revealed a brain tumor which was slowly damaging Maury's motor function. Most people would've said euthanizing him was the only option, considering the tumor had already done too much damage for Maury to normally survive and live a healthy life.
Matthews had been experimenting with biosync chips in smaller animals, and he made the decision to try to help Maury. Basically the chips worked with existing brain cells, carrying neural signals over former gaps in the brain. The surgery was long, complicated, and expensive process, but it was well worth it. Maury was able to walk, run, and do all the normal things dogs do--plus later, something more.
Ten years later, the biosync chip was now being used in several high-end vet clinics around the world. Matthews no longer had student loans from vet school to deal with, and technically he could have retired at any time--if he wanted to retire. He didn't go into this career just for the money, though. He truly did love animals.
The communication experiment didn't involve adding anything else to Maury's surgery. Matthews simply had a computer record Maury's brain waves and then recorded what Maury was doing, hearing, or looking at during that time. So for example, if Maury saw a tennis ball twice, usually the same set of brain waves were there both times. Matthews then set up a voice program that would basically say what Maury was thinking. It was by no means a perfect system, but it had become impressive over the past few years.
Matthews has confirmed what a lot of pet owners already knew--dogs were intelligent and had personalities. Maury could basically communicate on a 2nd-3rd grade level. His logic and problem-solving skills were good. Instinct was a part of it, but it wasn't all of it.
He did have some trouble with abstract thoughts, which was to be expected. His brain functioned mostly in the present. He knew who people were and had memories, of course, but he forgot most things that weren't essential to his survival.
However, there was one moment Matthews would never forget...
He and Alex had just gotten home from church. Maury said hello and then laid down next to Alex on the couch to watch television. Matthews went to his office in the next room to check his e-mail. He was still within hearing distance to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Hey, where did you go?" Maury asked. The speakers for him were only in the two rooms--the living room and the kitchen.
"To church, silly," Alex replied, as if dogs should know everything. He was five at the time and thought talking dogs were normal. It was cute now, but Matthews wondered how he was going to explain everything before Alex reached middle school.
"So did you learn a lot about God?" Maury replied. Matthews was now very interested, because he had never really talked to Maury about religion. Maybe he had saw it on television or something.
"Yeah..." Alex giggled and began catching Maury up on the story of Noah and the Ark.
Maury wagged his tail, "My mother used to tell me that story!"
Alex suddenly stopped in mid-sentence, "Is your mommy in heaven, too?"
"Yes. She was nice. I miss her a lot," Maury replied.
"I miss my mom, too. She used to sing to me. She died when I was two." Alex closed his eyes and put his head down, about to cry.
"You know what, Alex?" Maury put his nose under Alex's chin to tilt his head up.
"What?"
"I bet they're both playing in heaven together right now...Hey, let's watch this. This is a good cartoon."
Matthews stood in the living room doorway and watched them both fall asleep. Alex had never really talked about his mother until that day. Until then, Matthews wasn't really sure if he remembered her. He had to pinch the bridge of his nose to keep from crying himself.
Matthews now had the spaghetti nearly boiling over, snapping him out of his memory. He looked down at Maury with his burger.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question, Maury?"
"Go ahead." Maury thought was nice that he didn't have to stop eating to answer.
"How did you learn about God? Was it from the television?"
"My mother taught me a lot. She passed down stories since we can't write things down like you can. I remember all of them."
"That's interesting."
"There's something else also...something I don't think I'm really supposed to tell you."
"What's that?"
"Dogs can sense some things that humans can't. You're limited for a reason, at least for now. We're...we're supposed to help you." Maury stopped eating, waiting for Matthews to respond.
"That makes sense," Matthews replied, "Scientists have known for years that dogs have a better sense of smell and hearing than humans. It's not too surprising."
"I don't think you understand. It's more than that. I can't really describe it because this machine doesn't have the right words for it."
"I'll set down with you tomorrow night, and we'll add some more words to it. I'll need to get some more books first."
"All right." Maury went back to his burger.
Matthews had just added the sauce and ground beef to the spaghetti when Maury bolted out the dog door to greet Alex.
Then there was a loud screech from outside, and then a thud. Matthews felt his stomach sink. Maury must have gotten excited, and the bus hit him. He needed to get to him quickly. He quickly turned the stove off and went to find his emergency bag.
Matthews ran out the door to find that it wasn't what he had originally thought. Maury was laying sideways on the opposite side of the road of the bus. There was a blue Mustang in the ditch just past their house.
Some idiot had tried to beat the school bus stop sign, and Maury had pushed Alex out of the way. The bus driver was already on her cell phone, and the police were on their way.
Matthews carried Maury into the grass and checked for a heartbeat. He was just too far gone. There was nothing Matthews could do to save him.
Maury had already lived longer than most dogs do, much longer than he was originally supposed to live--but it still just didn't seem fair. Matthews and Alex held him and petted him until he closed his eyes for the last time.
"You're a hero, Maury. Thank you for saving my son. Thank you for everything." Matthews said over and over.
"I love you, Maury." Alex said through the tears.
The police brought the man who had hit Maury by them to look at what happened.
"I am so, so sorry I almost hit your son. I'm so thankful that dog was there to--"
"To keep you from being charged with murder?" Matthews wanted to tear him apart.
The sheriff's deputy told Matthews he'd drop by the next day to get a statement, and that he'd get everything he really needed from the bus driver.
The spaghetti stayed on the counter that evening. Neither of them felt like eating. Matthews sat down in a rocking chair and held Alex on his lap with a blanket. Alex snuggled up to him tightly, and Matthews let him cry--for Maury and his mother-- until he fell asleep. Then he laid Alex on their soft brown sofa, put the blanket on him, and rubbed his head lightly. He wanted to keep Alex close in case he woke up.
Wiping his own eyes, Matthews walked over to his computer to replay what Maury had said earlier--about humans not being able to see and hear certain things. He noticed that the recording stopped a lot later than he thought it would, so he fast-forwarded to find what were Maury's last words:
"Heaven...is...nice."
They Called Him Stupid (Drama)
The other kids called him stupid, sometimes even to his face. Ryan still couldn't read or spell correctly, even after years of formal schooling. He stuttered when he talked, laughed at inappropriate moments, and cared about insignificant things. His teachers shook their heads as they graded his homework--some in disgust and others in pity.
For the life of him, he also couldn't hit a baseball or get a basketball even near a net.
Some kids wondered why he still kept trying after failing over and over at what seemed like everything he ever did. After awhile they didn't have to wonder because he decided one day to stop trying.
Through school he was shuttled from class to class, grade to grade--he was long past the age where there was any hope of catching him up to speed. His parents did their best to try to encourage him, but he knew it was because they loved him and not because he was really something special.
One day in his developmental English class, Ryan began to sketch. As his teacher's voice melted into a distant muffle, his eyes focused to the details of the backs of the students' heads, their desks, the marker board, and finally the teacher.
"....the answer to number three, Ryan," she said--or at least that's what he caught of what she said.
Noticing that he wasn't paying attention yet again, the teacher went over to him to privately scold him about it. As she neared his desk, she dropped her dry erase marker in shock of Ryan's "sketch." With the exception of the lines and holes in the notebook paper, it was like someone had photocopied a picture of the room.
"That's amazing! How long have you been able to draw like that?!"
"F-f-for an hour or two I guess. T-t-this is the f-f-first time I've tried."
Shortly after the bell rang, calls were made to his parents, the principal, and the school guidance counselor. About thirty minutes later, Ryan found himself sitting in the cold blue plastic seat next to the principal's office while his parents were told about the slight "mistake" that had been made regarding Ryan's ability.
Though he couldn't hear everything through the door, the words "idiot savant" were said by the guidance counselor. Ryan thought that must mean stupid in most things but a genius at one thing...but maybe one thing was enough, like having one really great gift for your birthday instead of a bunch of little ones. Ryan smiled for what seemed like the first time in years.
Another surprise came weeks later when Ryan's IQ test results arrived back--not only did he show artistic ability, but his speech impediment and test anxiety had masked the fact he had the ability to learn quickly when someone worked with him one-on-one and let him set his own pace.
One apology after another was made, and he was given free extra help after school to catch up with his peers. By his junior year, Ryan was in college prep classes and even doing better than some of the kids that had previously called him "stupid." It was a hard adjustment socially, but he was able to make it through.
When Ryan's senior year finally arrived three years later, and school offered to pay him to paint a mural for its newly remodeled entrance, unfortunately complete with metal detectors. Violence had not been as bad at the school as some others nearby, but chances could not afford to be taken anymore. There didn't seem to be an answer to the problem anywhere.
It only took a day to draw the mural, and he was able to get help from other students with his idea of putting inspiring quotes throughout the design. By day two he was painting in the red, blue, and black blocks of color. Suddenly, the principal burst out of his office and ran over to him.
"Ryan! I'm so glad I caught you before you started painting in the quotes. Look, I love the design and the quotes are a great idea. I just can't have you put this one--I'll lose my job, and you'd have to paint back over it anyway," he said as he bent down to catch his breath.
With a confused look, Ryan looked down at the list to see what quote somebody had wrote that must have slipped by him.
"Y-you're kidding, right?" he said in disbelief, his stutter not as pronounced since he'd been working on it, "I don't know who wrote that one, but it doesn't feel right that I paint all of the others up there and not theirs. Why would they fire you if I put it up there? I don't get it."
The principal shook his head sadly as he brushed some dust off the top of the metal detectors, "The other quotes are fine. I am sorry Ryan, but these things are complicated."
The mural was completed, and Ryan went on to college. Students who pass it every morning are still impressed by its scale--and especially by the quotes. A few have noticed the cryptic message underneath Ryan's signature--G.M.E.S.
A few theories surfaced that it stood for "Great Men Explore Success" or "Growing Mentally Eliminates Stupidity."
The real quote is with Ryan, the student that wrote it, the principal, and now you:
"God Made Everyone Special."
For the life of him, he also couldn't hit a baseball or get a basketball even near a net.
Some kids wondered why he still kept trying after failing over and over at what seemed like everything he ever did. After awhile they didn't have to wonder because he decided one day to stop trying.
Through school he was shuttled from class to class, grade to grade--he was long past the age where there was any hope of catching him up to speed. His parents did their best to try to encourage him, but he knew it was because they loved him and not because he was really something special.
One day in his developmental English class, Ryan began to sketch. As his teacher's voice melted into a distant muffle, his eyes focused to the details of the backs of the students' heads, their desks, the marker board, and finally the teacher.
"....the answer to number three, Ryan," she said--or at least that's what he caught of what she said.
Noticing that he wasn't paying attention yet again, the teacher went over to him to privately scold him about it. As she neared his desk, she dropped her dry erase marker in shock of Ryan's "sketch." With the exception of the lines and holes in the notebook paper, it was like someone had photocopied a picture of the room.
"That's amazing! How long have you been able to draw like that?!"
"F-f-for an hour or two I guess. T-t-this is the f-f-first time I've tried."
Shortly after the bell rang, calls were made to his parents, the principal, and the school guidance counselor. About thirty minutes later, Ryan found himself sitting in the cold blue plastic seat next to the principal's office while his parents were told about the slight "mistake" that had been made regarding Ryan's ability.
Though he couldn't hear everything through the door, the words "idiot savant" were said by the guidance counselor. Ryan thought that must mean stupid in most things but a genius at one thing...but maybe one thing was enough, like having one really great gift for your birthday instead of a bunch of little ones. Ryan smiled for what seemed like the first time in years.
Another surprise came weeks later when Ryan's IQ test results arrived back--not only did he show artistic ability, but his speech impediment and test anxiety had masked the fact he had the ability to learn quickly when someone worked with him one-on-one and let him set his own pace.
One apology after another was made, and he was given free extra help after school to catch up with his peers. By his junior year, Ryan was in college prep classes and even doing better than some of the kids that had previously called him "stupid." It was a hard adjustment socially, but he was able to make it through.
When Ryan's senior year finally arrived three years later, and school offered to pay him to paint a mural for its newly remodeled entrance, unfortunately complete with metal detectors. Violence had not been as bad at the school as some others nearby, but chances could not afford to be taken anymore. There didn't seem to be an answer to the problem anywhere.
It only took a day to draw the mural, and he was able to get help from other students with his idea of putting inspiring quotes throughout the design. By day two he was painting in the red, blue, and black blocks of color. Suddenly, the principal burst out of his office and ran over to him.
"Ryan! I'm so glad I caught you before you started painting in the quotes. Look, I love the design and the quotes are a great idea. I just can't have you put this one--I'll lose my job, and you'd have to paint back over it anyway," he said as he bent down to catch his breath.
With a confused look, Ryan looked down at the list to see what quote somebody had wrote that must have slipped by him.
"Y-you're kidding, right?" he said in disbelief, his stutter not as pronounced since he'd been working on it, "I don't know who wrote that one, but it doesn't feel right that I paint all of the others up there and not theirs. Why would they fire you if I put it up there? I don't get it."
The principal shook his head sadly as he brushed some dust off the top of the metal detectors, "The other quotes are fine. I am sorry Ryan, but these things are complicated."
The mural was completed, and Ryan went on to college. Students who pass it every morning are still impressed by its scale--and especially by the quotes. A few have noticed the cryptic message underneath Ryan's signature--G.M.E.S.
A few theories surfaced that it stood for "Great Men Explore Success" or "Growing Mentally Eliminates Stupidity."
The real quote is with Ryan, the student that wrote it, the principal, and now you:
"God Made Everyone Special."
Connections (Comedy)
Josh pounded his Ford's steering wheel again, as if hitting it enough times just might cause it to start. This time the horn stuck, blaring so loud Josh thought his eardrums were going to burst. He searched two minutes to find the fuse panel and disconnected the horn along with the fuses for the headlights, the windshield wipers, and who knows what else. Slumping back into his seat, Josh sighed and waited for his ears to quit ringing. This was no way to begin a Friday.
He luckily wasn't going to be late for work, but he dreaded walking there. Most of the neighborhoods between his townhouse and the ad agency were so dingy and run down Josh felt repulsed by them even while driving. He couldn't imagine why Baker & Nash wanted to rent their offices in this awful area of town, but he assumed it was to save money on overhead--a lot of money on overhead. For today though, he was glad it was close. Putting on his suit jacket and straightening his tie in his car mirror, he mentally prepared himself for the fastest walk of his life.
As the sun began to rise over the city landscape, the sidewalks fortunately appeared deserted. It looked as though he was going to be able to make it without running into another person. About seven blocks from the office however, he cringed as an old woman's voice called out to him.
She was a tiny woman, with white fuzzy hair that reminded Josh of a clown. It was a just little too fuzzy for the size of her head. She smiled at him, her crow's feet and other wrinkles showing she'd smiled more in life than frowned. To Josh however, there was something sinister about her. Maybe it was only because he was afraid of clowns as a kid. Maybe it was because of the neighborhood.
"I'm so sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a stamp? I really need to mail this letter, and I've used my last one on my electric bill this morning. I'll gladly pay you if you have one."
Josh took a step back. He had two entire books of stamps in his wallet--his brother-in-law Michael even worked at a post office. Glancing left and right, he wondered if this was some sort of ploy just to get him to pull out his wallet. He saw no one, but he doubted there was any way such an old woman lived alone. There was probably someone around the corner waiting.
"Look lady--I'm really sorry, but I'm already late for work." Josh began to walk away as fast as he could.
Rose sighed. It was a long way to the post office, but she'd make it there. At least the weather was nice this summer. Taking her time to walk up the steps of her house old but well-maintained home, she took a moment to water the ferns she'd carefully tended for several years. It annoyed her that she hadn't been able to do much with them lately, but her doctor had been telling her to take it easy.
She grabbed her purse and letter and began her long journey to the corner of 4th and Austin St. The sunrise was beautiful, especially as it reflected into the taller but distant downtown buildings. Rose found it amazing that bank buildings needed to be so big now. Maybe it was just a status symbol, or maybe it just took more people to do the same things. Either way, just looking at that beautiful sunset made Rose really miss her husband. Then it occurred to her he was probably watching it with her in heaven, and her smile returned.
"Hello...Jim," Rose said as she read the man's name tag.
"Hi, there. What can I do for you?" Jim was just surprised to have someone who didn't shove letters at him or immediately demand their postage, much less say his name.
"I just need one stamp for this letter, and can you put it in the stack for me...you know, it's silly--I just realized I left a stack of bills sitting back home in the mailbox," Rose laughed.
"It's okay. I'm sure someone has already dropped by...that'll be 41 cents. Thank you." Jim smiled and gave Rose her receipt. She waved at him as she exited. She almost reminded him of his own grandma.
It'd been a rough morning for Jim. Three people had called in sick with the stomach flu, leaving him and Michael the only people at the branch working. They found the best system was taking turns--one sorting everything in the back and the other watching the front. Fridays were always busy however, and there wasn't going to be an opportunity for a break until after the usual lunch time At least some people were being nice today. He took a deep breath and asked for the next person in the rapidly forming line.
"Hey! Call the police! Some guy is taking that woman's purse!" a woman in the back of the line yelled as she looked out the glass door.
"I'll be right back, Mike!" Jim yelled in Michael's general direction.
"Huh? Where are you going?!" Michael yelled back, but Jim was already out the door.
Rose was obviously shaken and standing by the iron fence of the library across the street from the post office. She began to cry when Jim ran over to her.
"Are you okay?"
"I--I think so. Some man with a gun just took off with my purse. He ran down the hill so I lost where he was heading. I don't keep a lot of cash, but all my check cards and my house keys were in there. Do you mind if I use your phone?"
"No problem," Jim replied,"Oh, and do you have anyone you can stay with until you get your locks changed? If anything in your purse has your address on it, he may try to go there. Take someone with you if you go back."
"I had never thought about that...yes, I have my nephew and his wife. I think they won't mind me for a couple of days. I just can't believe this just happened!"
Ashley stretched just before the phone rang again, "Hello. Eagle Ridge Bank and Trust. This is Ashley, how may I help you?"
"Hi Ashley, this is Rose Wallace. My purse has just been stolen with all of my bank information inside it, and I need to speak to Greg or one of the other managers--whatever you have to do."
"Okay, Mrs. Wallace. I don't think Greg's here right now, but I'll try to find him. I'll be right back...just hang on the line."
Ashley peeked over the gray sea of cubicles until she spotted Roger. He was talking with some guy she didn't recognize, and she hated to interrupt. He appeared to be the only manager within range though.
"Hey, Roger?"
"Uh, yeah." Roger finally turned his head towards his name.
"I've got Mrs. Wallace on the line. She's just been robbed and needs to talk to a manager to put a hold on all of her personal and business accounts until she can get here in person."
"Send it over to me. Excuse me, Josh I absolutely have to take this--this is Frank Wallace's widow. She owns nearly half of our stock now."
"No problem. I think was almost robbed myself on the way to work this morning by some crazy woman. She had--"
"If you can wait a moment, I'll get you our media director's number...he's a younger guy--Mrs. Wallace's youngest nephew, in fact. He usually likes new ideas and will be willing to hear you out."
"Okay. Thanks." Josh tried to hide his excitement over the possibility of getting this account. Eagle Ridge was the third largest financial company in the city, though it seemed to have purposely limited its own growth in recent years.
The bank's founder, Frank Wallace, had basically stayed out of the public eye though he was rumored to be the richest man in town. Since his death, ownership in the bank had mainly been split between his wife and various other relatives. Operations seemed to have continued as normal. Josh hoped however the family would be ready for a change in advertising, specifically his proposed campaign of "Eagle Ridge--The Bank of Small Town Values."
Roger continued his phone conversation, "That should take care of everything Mrs. Wallace--call us if you need anything. I'm just glad that you're okay...okay then, bye."
"Out of curiosity, does this robbery thing happen a lot?" Josh asked as soon as Roger hung up.
"Not as much as you'd think with a city this size...," Roger didn't want to go down that road and silently hoped no one approached him again with a similar call, "Anyway, here's Greg's number. I've got to go, Josh. I've got another meeting scheduled at 11 that I have to get ready for...it was good talking with you."
"You, too." Josh nodded as he shook Roger's hand.
The idea of an early lunch sounded good. Josh's next appointment was at two, with a local dry cleaners. Not as glamorous as his morning appointment, but he took them as they came. He was just thankful he went to college with Roger--it was so nice to be well-networked in these situations. All it takes is one person to make or break a deal of that magnitude.
Stopping by a nearby sandwich shop, Josh stepped up to the counter and ordered a grilled ham and cheese along with a large Diet Coke. The woman at the register looked like she was barely in her 20s--and apparently unable to do basic math.
"You owe me another quarter and nickel," Josh said bluntly, staring at the dollar and eighteen cents in his hand.
The woman looked at him and then redid the order on the calculator portion of the register. It came up the same amount from before--he had said a large drink and not a medium, right? She removed 30 cents from the register and handed it to Josh. While he was busy studying his sandwich, she slipped her hand into her jeans pocket and threw three dimes into the register. Maybe the guy was just having a bad day.
After several months of working at the shop, Jenny had finally gotten used to rude people. Sometimes she felt sorry for them because of their ignorance that other people had feelings. Other days she was just happy that she wasn't going to be working there much longer.
The owner called her over to the back office to let her know she had a phone call.
"Hello."
"Hi Honey, I was calling to let you know that you'll need to cook for four tonight. My aunt Rose needs to stay with us for a few days. I'm going to meet her at the bank and then we'll swing by her house on the way home."
"Is she alright?"
"Yeah, she's fine. It's kind of a long story, and I don't want to bother you with this while you're at work...sorry, I've got someone on the other line...I'll see you tonight, love you!"
"Love you too,Greg."
Greg switched over to his other line, "Hi, this is Greg Wallace..."
"Hi Greg, this is Josh Norton. Roger at the downtown branch gave me your number. I'm with Baker & Nash Advertising. I was hoping to set up an appointment with you to discuss a campaign I have for Eagle Ridge--how does later today sound?"
"Well I've had an issue come up today that I need to handle, but I do want to meet with you. How does 8 A.M. tomorrow sound? Can you meet me at the branch on Wilson? If things go well, I'll have you meet my aunt and get her opinion on it as well."
"Sounds great,Greg. I'll see you then." Josh looked into his briefcase and realized he'd left the documents he needed for the dry cleaners back at his house. He immediately bolted from the table--leaving a mess that Jenny would later have to clean up.
Josh ran as fast as he could, knowing it would be much easier just to shower and change clothes once he got home instead of trying to take his time. Sweating and tired, he made it back to his house in record time.
He didn't even notice the scattered contents of a purse that littered the sidewalk.
Fumbling with his keys, Josh suddenly felt something metal and cold against his back.
"Don't turn around...give me your car keys."
A wave of fear hit Josh, "It-it-it doesn't work. I had to walk to work this morning."
"Don't lie to me! Give me the keys, and stay right where you're at...don't move."
Moments later he heard the engine of his car rumble to life, about the same time his cell phone rang--causing him to spasm like he'd been shot.
"Ha-Hello?"
"Hey Josh! It's Michael. Just wanted to call and let you know I finally fixed your car this morning. I had to leave the post office for a couple of hours because of a robbery that happened this morning--pretty sad thing, but it least it worked out great for you, right? Josh, are you there?"
"Mike, why does everything always happen to me?" Josh finally replied. He bent down to get his spare front door key from under a rock near his driveway.
"Hey mister!" the shrill voice of the little girl caused Josh to drop his phone in the mud, "would you like to buy some girl scout cookies? They're only $3.50."
Josh told the little girl she shouldn't be going door-to-door in such a crime-ridden city and to get off his property. He was late for an appointment.
That night at dinner, Jenny and Greg's daughter impressed her great-aunt Rose with the $350 she made in one week from selling cookies, despite some guy who was mean to her.
"It's so good to know that there are generous people out there--this morning I couldn't even get a man to let me buy a stamp from him. I was even going to pay him extra for it if he'd just stopped," Rose said.
"Oh,I've got one better--this guy came into the sandwich shop and tried to cheat the place out of thirty cents!" Jenny replied.
"Whoa, you people have weird days," Greg finally added, "by the way, I've got to meet with a potential advertising agent for the bank in the morning--everyone ok with having him over for dinner tomorrow night?"
It was a dinner Josh would never forget...
He luckily wasn't going to be late for work, but he dreaded walking there. Most of the neighborhoods between his townhouse and the ad agency were so dingy and run down Josh felt repulsed by them even while driving. He couldn't imagine why Baker & Nash wanted to rent their offices in this awful area of town, but he assumed it was to save money on overhead--a lot of money on overhead. For today though, he was glad it was close. Putting on his suit jacket and straightening his tie in his car mirror, he mentally prepared himself for the fastest walk of his life.
As the sun began to rise over the city landscape, the sidewalks fortunately appeared deserted. It looked as though he was going to be able to make it without running into another person. About seven blocks from the office however, he cringed as an old woman's voice called out to him.
She was a tiny woman, with white fuzzy hair that reminded Josh of a clown. It was a just little too fuzzy for the size of her head. She smiled at him, her crow's feet and other wrinkles showing she'd smiled more in life than frowned. To Josh however, there was something sinister about her. Maybe it was only because he was afraid of clowns as a kid. Maybe it was because of the neighborhood.
"I'm so sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a stamp? I really need to mail this letter, and I've used my last one on my electric bill this morning. I'll gladly pay you if you have one."
Josh took a step back. He had two entire books of stamps in his wallet--his brother-in-law Michael even worked at a post office. Glancing left and right, he wondered if this was some sort of ploy just to get him to pull out his wallet. He saw no one, but he doubted there was any way such an old woman lived alone. There was probably someone around the corner waiting.
"Look lady--I'm really sorry, but I'm already late for work." Josh began to walk away as fast as he could.
*********************************************************************
Rose sighed. It was a long way to the post office, but she'd make it there. At least the weather was nice this summer. Taking her time to walk up the steps of her house old but well-maintained home, she took a moment to water the ferns she'd carefully tended for several years. It annoyed her that she hadn't been able to do much with them lately, but her doctor had been telling her to take it easy.
She grabbed her purse and letter and began her long journey to the corner of 4th and Austin St. The sunrise was beautiful, especially as it reflected into the taller but distant downtown buildings. Rose found it amazing that bank buildings needed to be so big now. Maybe it was just a status symbol, or maybe it just took more people to do the same things. Either way, just looking at that beautiful sunset made Rose really miss her husband. Then it occurred to her he was probably watching it with her in heaven, and her smile returned.
"Hello...Jim," Rose said as she read the man's name tag.
"Hi, there. What can I do for you?" Jim was just surprised to have someone who didn't shove letters at him or immediately demand their postage, much less say his name.
"I just need one stamp for this letter, and can you put it in the stack for me...you know, it's silly--I just realized I left a stack of bills sitting back home in the mailbox," Rose laughed.
"It's okay. I'm sure someone has already dropped by...that'll be 41 cents. Thank you." Jim smiled and gave Rose her receipt. She waved at him as she exited. She almost reminded him of his own grandma.
*********************************************************************
It'd been a rough morning for Jim. Three people had called in sick with the stomach flu, leaving him and Michael the only people at the branch working. They found the best system was taking turns--one sorting everything in the back and the other watching the front. Fridays were always busy however, and there wasn't going to be an opportunity for a break until after the usual lunch time At least some people were being nice today. He took a deep breath and asked for the next person in the rapidly forming line.
"Hey! Call the police! Some guy is taking that woman's purse!" a woman in the back of the line yelled as she looked out the glass door.
"I'll be right back, Mike!" Jim yelled in Michael's general direction.
"Huh? Where are you going?!" Michael yelled back, but Jim was already out the door.
Rose was obviously shaken and standing by the iron fence of the library across the street from the post office. She began to cry when Jim ran over to her.
"Are you okay?"
"I--I think so. Some man with a gun just took off with my purse. He ran down the hill so I lost where he was heading. I don't keep a lot of cash, but all my check cards and my house keys were in there. Do you mind if I use your phone?"
"No problem," Jim replied,"Oh, and do you have anyone you can stay with until you get your locks changed? If anything in your purse has your address on it, he may try to go there. Take someone with you if you go back."
"I had never thought about that...yes, I have my nephew and his wife. I think they won't mind me for a couple of days. I just can't believe this just happened!"
*********************************************************************
Ashley stretched just before the phone rang again, "Hello. Eagle Ridge Bank and Trust. This is Ashley, how may I help you?"
"Hi Ashley, this is Rose Wallace. My purse has just been stolen with all of my bank information inside it, and I need to speak to Greg or one of the other managers--whatever you have to do."
"Okay, Mrs. Wallace. I don't think Greg's here right now, but I'll try to find him. I'll be right back...just hang on the line."
Ashley peeked over the gray sea of cubicles until she spotted Roger. He was talking with some guy she didn't recognize, and she hated to interrupt. He appeared to be the only manager within range though.
"Hey, Roger?"
"Uh, yeah." Roger finally turned his head towards his name.
"I've got Mrs. Wallace on the line. She's just been robbed and needs to talk to a manager to put a hold on all of her personal and business accounts until she can get here in person."
"Send it over to me. Excuse me, Josh I absolutely have to take this--this is Frank Wallace's widow. She owns nearly half of our stock now."
"No problem. I think was almost robbed myself on the way to work this morning by some crazy woman. She had--"
"If you can wait a moment, I'll get you our media director's number...he's a younger guy--Mrs. Wallace's youngest nephew, in fact. He usually likes new ideas and will be willing to hear you out."
"Okay. Thanks." Josh tried to hide his excitement over the possibility of getting this account. Eagle Ridge was the third largest financial company in the city, though it seemed to have purposely limited its own growth in recent years.
The bank's founder, Frank Wallace, had basically stayed out of the public eye though he was rumored to be the richest man in town. Since his death, ownership in the bank had mainly been split between his wife and various other relatives. Operations seemed to have continued as normal. Josh hoped however the family would be ready for a change in advertising, specifically his proposed campaign of "Eagle Ridge--The Bank of Small Town Values."
Roger continued his phone conversation, "That should take care of everything Mrs. Wallace--call us if you need anything. I'm just glad that you're okay...okay then, bye."
"Out of curiosity, does this robbery thing happen a lot?" Josh asked as soon as Roger hung up.
"Not as much as you'd think with a city this size...," Roger didn't want to go down that road and silently hoped no one approached him again with a similar call, "Anyway, here's Greg's number. I've got to go, Josh. I've got another meeting scheduled at 11 that I have to get ready for...it was good talking with you."
"You, too." Josh nodded as he shook Roger's hand.
*********************************************************************
The idea of an early lunch sounded good. Josh's next appointment was at two, with a local dry cleaners. Not as glamorous as his morning appointment, but he took them as they came. He was just thankful he went to college with Roger--it was so nice to be well-networked in these situations. All it takes is one person to make or break a deal of that magnitude.
Stopping by a nearby sandwich shop, Josh stepped up to the counter and ordered a grilled ham and cheese along with a large Diet Coke. The woman at the register looked like she was barely in her 20s--and apparently unable to do basic math.
"You owe me another quarter and nickel," Josh said bluntly, staring at the dollar and eighteen cents in his hand.
The woman looked at him and then redid the order on the calculator portion of the register. It came up the same amount from before--he had said a large drink and not a medium, right? She removed 30 cents from the register and handed it to Josh. While he was busy studying his sandwich, she slipped her hand into her jeans pocket and threw three dimes into the register. Maybe the guy was just having a bad day.
*********************************************************************
After several months of working at the shop, Jenny had finally gotten used to rude people. Sometimes she felt sorry for them because of their ignorance that other people had feelings. Other days she was just happy that she wasn't going to be working there much longer.
The owner called her over to the back office to let her know she had a phone call.
"Hello."
"Hi Honey, I was calling to let you know that you'll need to cook for four tonight. My aunt Rose needs to stay with us for a few days. I'm going to meet her at the bank and then we'll swing by her house on the way home."
"Is she alright?"
"Yeah, she's fine. It's kind of a long story, and I don't want to bother you with this while you're at work...sorry, I've got someone on the other line...I'll see you tonight, love you!"
"Love you too,Greg."
*********************************************************************
Greg switched over to his other line, "Hi, this is Greg Wallace..."
"Hi Greg, this is Josh Norton. Roger at the downtown branch gave me your number. I'm with Baker & Nash Advertising. I was hoping to set up an appointment with you to discuss a campaign I have for Eagle Ridge--how does later today sound?"
"Well I've had an issue come up today that I need to handle, but I do want to meet with you. How does 8 A.M. tomorrow sound? Can you meet me at the branch on Wilson? If things go well, I'll have you meet my aunt and get her opinion on it as well."
"Sounds great,Greg. I'll see you then." Josh looked into his briefcase and realized he'd left the documents he needed for the dry cleaners back at his house. He immediately bolted from the table--leaving a mess that Jenny would later have to clean up.
Josh ran as fast as he could, knowing it would be much easier just to shower and change clothes once he got home instead of trying to take his time. Sweating and tired, he made it back to his house in record time.
He didn't even notice the scattered contents of a purse that littered the sidewalk.
Fumbling with his keys, Josh suddenly felt something metal and cold against his back.
"Don't turn around...give me your car keys."
A wave of fear hit Josh, "It-it-it doesn't work. I had to walk to work this morning."
"Don't lie to me! Give me the keys, and stay right where you're at...don't move."
Moments later he heard the engine of his car rumble to life, about the same time his cell phone rang--causing him to spasm like he'd been shot.
"Ha-Hello?"
"Hey Josh! It's Michael. Just wanted to call and let you know I finally fixed your car this morning. I had to leave the post office for a couple of hours because of a robbery that happened this morning--pretty sad thing, but it least it worked out great for you, right? Josh, are you there?"
"Mike, why does everything always happen to me?" Josh finally replied. He bent down to get his spare front door key from under a rock near his driveway.
"Hey mister!" the shrill voice of the little girl caused Josh to drop his phone in the mud, "would you like to buy some girl scout cookies? They're only $3.50."
Josh told the little girl she shouldn't be going door-to-door in such a crime-ridden city and to get off his property. He was late for an appointment.
*********************************************************************
That night at dinner, Jenny and Greg's daughter impressed her great-aunt Rose with the $350 she made in one week from selling cookies, despite some guy who was mean to her.
"It's so good to know that there are generous people out there--this morning I couldn't even get a man to let me buy a stamp from him. I was even going to pay him extra for it if he'd just stopped," Rose said.
"Oh,I've got one better--this guy came into the sandwich shop and tried to cheat the place out of thirty cents!" Jenny replied.
"Whoa, you people have weird days," Greg finally added, "by the way, I've got to meet with a potential advertising agent for the bank in the morning--everyone ok with having him over for dinner tomorrow night?"
It was a dinner Josh would never forget...
Where the Oasis Blooms (Genre: Horror; Contains Some Violence)
As I looked down at my counter, my heart began to race just a little. I only had two minutes left. Leaning over a small metal table, I was careful in pressing the final replacement gasket around the edges of my breathing mask. I had to make sure that there were no bulges where the seal could come loose--one mistake could literally mean the difference between life and death. It was a risk either way, and after four years of this I was almost beginning to accept it as a normal way of life.
The industrial filtering system of our bunker had recently gone from needing maintenance every two months to every two weeks. It didn't take long for Elliot to make the call for everyone to start wearing their masks even on the upper floor, only taking them off when the seals had to be changed. That decision had likely saved our lives.
Elliot and his brother Jared were still outside with a pressure hose, washing off the thick yellow sludge that developed periodically on our main ventilation fan. The four members of the Mitchell family were in the much safer lower level--two stories below ground and protected with as many safeguards as humanly possible.
All of us still believed we had a decent chance of making it safely into winter--the only time of the year we could actually go on the offensive against this plague. We'd lived our lives in fear for a long time--beginning the moment a simple sneeze or cough meant a person may be dying. By now my own fears were of something much worse than death--becoming so comfortable with our new routines that we'd never go back to who we really were.
Trying not to let my thoughts wander too much, I finished adjusting my mask and took a deep breath. I made sure I had still had plenty of air in both my main and spare tanks. Each main tank lasted between two and three hours, while the emergency tank lasted only around 30 minutes. Twice today we had taken a few minutes to eat in our of "safe room"--the only room on the upper level that had the same high-grade filters we had below.
My radio crackled to life, and I heard Elliot's say, "Hey beautiful, how about a hug?"
I smiled and turned around to seen him and Jared coming through the main door--wet pollen caked on their plastic red suits and falling in the floor in clumps.
"It's getting worse than we thought, Karen," Jared cut in solemnly, "We're probably going to have to up the shifts to once a week soon."
I pretended not to see Elliot smack him in response to his comment. Elliot had always been protective of me--everyone really--but me in particular. Even though I knew just as much as anyone how dangerous our situation was becoming, I appreciated the gesture.
It was getting late, so we decided to call it a day and head back to the lower level. I ended up taking an extra long slower--thankful that at least hot water was never going to be a problem. Our location was one of several that had it's own natural gas line, which we relied on heavily for hot water, heat in the winter, and cooking.
Entering the main living area/communications room, I said hello to Alex and Nadine Mitchell. Alex was on the main computer, talking with several other bases around the country that still had some sort of Internet access. From his grave expression, I could tell we weren't the only ones having problems.
Nadine had her hand on his back and her head turned, staring at their little girl Emily and boy Nathan. They were playing in the floor with a couple of toy cars, oblivious to anything that was going on around them. I envied their innocence.
Jared appeared a short time later, toweling his hair dry and taking a lot of deep breaths--stopping short of hyperventilating. All of us had grown to hate the masks and the suits, but Jared was borderline claustrophobic. It took a lot of mental and psychological energy for him just to do his job, but he rarely complained. Today had just been a hard day for him.
"Hey Karen. Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to go all gloom and doom on you," he said, trying to smile.
"Don't worry about it, Jared. It was information I needed to know."
"What wrong?" Nadine asked.
"Oh, it's nothing we can't handle," he replied, this time with a higher degree of forced confidence, "Like Karen said, don't worry about it."
Alex pushed himself back from the computer and turned toward us, "Where's Elliot? I need to talk to him."
"He should be here any minute," Jared replied, "He turned on the main vacuum this time instead of me, and that always holds you up for another five minutes. I just couldn't wait to get that stuff off of me today."
I suddenly felt a tug on my pant leg, and it was two-year-old Emily wanting to show me her toy car. I bent down to her eye-level.
"Does it go really fast?" I asked.
She nodded with excitement, "And it's blue!"
"Mine's green!" Nathan added.
They then proceeded in letting me judge a couple of their drag races across our coffee table until Elliot appeared about a minute or two later.
"I need to see everyone in the board room in about five minutes," he said as he disappeared back out of the room almost as soon as he entered.
It was very out of character for him to be so serious, and that worried me. Alex and Nadine exchanged understanding glances, and Nadine grabbed the kids to take them back to their room. Alex would have to fill her in on the details later.
That five minutes seems like hours. The plush leather desk chairs in the board room were actually quite comfortable, and I was so tired that I was having to lightly bite my tongue just to stay conscious. I think another part of me just wanted to fall asleep so I wouldn't have to deal with what I was about to hear.
Elliot walked in running his right hand through his dark hair, from his forehead to the back of his scalp. He did this every time he was stressed or nervous.
"I guess before I get into what I have to say, let's hear what you've got Alex."
Alex sighed and took another breath, "I just got word from Dallas and Memphis--they're having the same issues with their ventilation systems as us. Dallas is in almost the exact condition we are--it's going to be tough for them, but they're going to make it through to winter. Memphis thinks they have another month, maybe two, before their whole system just shuts down. It's so much older..."
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, and we were all silent for a moment as we tried to hold back the tears. Even though we'd never met anyone in Memphis in person, we had made close friends there. We knew there were 26 men, women, and children in the Memphis bunker, but we were too far away to do anything to effectively help them.
Elliot hesitated for a second, like he was searching for the right words but was at a loss to find them.
"I--I don't know how to even say this, but you all need to know. The vacuum seal between the upper and lower levels is failing. I've patched in the best I can, but that's only going to buy us until this winter. We're going to have to start looking at other options before the next spring season."
"Other options?" I replied, "You mean like leaving the bunker?"
"I'm aware of at least three smaller bunkers within a 15 mile radius that could be possibilities--as long as we bring our own food and supplies," Alex offered, "The problem is going to be getting all of us there safely--we're talking hundreds of pounds of equipment with only five adults and two small children."
"What about attaching a couple of filters to one of the trucks?" Jared suggested, "Even if it only got us part of the way, it would save a lot of travel time."
"Good idea," Elliot replied, "Look, let's all sleep on it, and we'll talk again first thing in the morning. I know it's been a long day for everyone."
We said our good nights, and I walked down the hallway to my bedroom. Like everyone else, I knew I wasn't going to get much sleep that night. My thoughts were with the people at the Memphis bunker, and what they must be going through knowing they only had about a month to live.
With the exception of the children, all of us had seen the effects of long-term exposure to Oasis flower pollen, which was considered 10 minutes or longer. According to the age and health of the person, symptoms may not appear for days or even weeks after the initial exposure. Stay out longer than 20 minutes without protection however, and death comes almost instantly.
The first sign is usually sudden and severe sinus congestion and a hacking cough that doesn't go away with medication. Next comes the shortness and eventual loss of breath from the pollen lodging itself in the air sacs of the lungs. The final results are not unlike black lung from long-ago coal miners or someone who has chained-smoked for decades--only it's much faster. Some people had said it's like drowning--a lot of struggle and nowhere to go for relief.
There were originally 14 of us that made it to the bunker almost four years ago. I really didn't get to know seven of the others--Michael, Joshua, Morgan, Brian, Hannah, Jenny, and Susan--except by name. They died within the first month we were here because they didn't make it inside in time. We tried to keep them comfortable--talk with them and that sort of thing. They knew they were going to die though, and it was amazing to see the differences in how people responded to the thought of death.
Nadine was not pregnant with Nathan yet, so the remaining two people besides the five of us were a married couple named Lindsay and Roger. They had lost their two children to the pollen on their way to the bunker, and I think their will to live died with them. About six months later, we woke up to find them missing from the lower level.
Elliot, Jared, and I found their bodies just outside the main door when they went to search for them. They had just laid down on the ground and embraced each other until the end came. It was the most tragic thing I'd ever seen, and I cry every time I think about them.
The rhythm of the ventilation fan in my room was normally a comforting sound, but tonight it was keeping me awake. After about two hours of tossing and turning, I decided to go to the bathroom, which was clear on the other side of the floor. I was about four feet from the door when I noticed it was shut already with the light on. I sat down in the hallway and closed my eyes, rubbing my temples in hopes of getting rid of the headache that was beginning to develop.
The cough from the bathroom was so loud that I almost jumped up from the floor. It was one of the guys, and something was definitely wrong. The coughing continued for several more minutes until the point I was almost about to knock down the door. About that time the toilet flushed, and Elliot opened the door. He just stared at me in shock, his arm holding the door frame and beads of sweat dripping off his face.
"Are you all right?" I asked, even though I knew it was a stupid question.
"I've b-b-been b-b-better," he replied, his body spasming in pain, "P-p-please, don't tell Jared or anyone else yet--I--I--I'm not going to say anything until I know I'm too far gone...s-s-s-spend as much time I can with all of you while I still have time..."
"How did this happen?"
"I-I-I was exposed months ago--g-g-got nervous and took too long to change out the gaskets in my mask. I don't think it was a whole ten minutes, b-b-b-but it was right on the brink of it. There's days my b-b-b-body seems to be fighting it off--then something like this h-ha-happens. The difference this time is I was c-c-coughing up what looked to be pollen before. Th--this time it was blood. I don't know how long I've g-g-got Karen."
I stayed with him until he somehow managed to gain control over the spasms and went back to his room. I opened the bathroom door and splashed some cool water on my face, feeling like I was in a nightmare. We hadn't lost anyone in four years, and now I may be losing my best friend. I'd had some close calls myself. Just that morning, how long had it been? Nine minutes? Nine minutes and thirty seconds? I had concentrated on the mask too much to be sure, and it wasn't like the timing was an exact science.
As if on cue, I suddenly felt it. My chest began to feel constricted, like an invisible force was pressing on it. I took a breath, but no air came. Gasping over and over, I tried to make it out the bathroom door to the hallway. How could this have happened so quickly? I'm not ready to die. Please God, I'm not ready...
I watched helplessly as the floor came closer to my face, and my vision tunneled into a small point of light.
"Look, her eyes are moving!" Jared shouted, his voice ringing in my ears.
I groaned as I felt a cold wet cloth sweeping across my face. I opened my eyes to see I was laying on the living room couch with Elliot sitting in a chair next to me. Jared was monitoring the computer, and Nadine, Alex, and the kids were nowhere to be seen.
"Welcome back Sleeping Beauty," he said, "You took a pretty nasty fall. What happened?"
"I don't know. I really thought I was dying. My chest got all tight, and I couldn't breathe..."
"Panic attack," Jared said from the computer, looking over at me, "I get them, too--happens to me at night. First time you've had one?"
I nodded and closed my eyes again. Elliot kissed me on the head and told me he'd be right back. I slept for the rest of the day.
Three months later, December 12, 2049
We had just finished packing our transport truck and were making the final touches on sealing up the back. Our destination was about 15 minutes away going at a speed of 60 mph, faster when possible. The new bunker was already inhabited, but there was plenty of room for seven more.
Little Nathan and Emily were engulfed and safe in the two adult red suits. Nadine and I had the better masks, while Elliot, Jared and Alex had three of the older ones, which was better than nothing. Most of the pollen in the air had settled to the ground, but the truck was likely going to stir some of it up.
A crumbling road was covered by a thin layer of snow and lined for miles and miles with Oasis blooms. There were several different colors now--crytalized masses of blue, red, yellow, purple, and even silver. It was extremely beautiful and haunting at the same time. As soon as we had a moment of cold and dry weather, we would torch them all in fires that would spread for miles. It was the only thing that had kept them under control for so long. Part of me feared that the plants had even adapted to that tactic, and that this would be our last winter. I tried to keep those thoughts buried however.
Elliot was a walking miracle, after all. He'd survived these past three months and to my knowledge had no relapse in his symptoms. Maybe he was just hiding it well. In either case, he didn't waste a moment in his life.
Part of my attitude in that area had also changed. One day last month I finally told Elliot I loved him--really loved him, and he felt the same way about me. Having no minister in the bunker, Elliot had Alex as second-in-command perform a simple wedding ceremony with Jared as best man and Nadine as my maid-of-honor. It was the first day of true happiness I'd had in a long time, and it renewed some of my hope for the future.
The back of the truck had no safety belts, Nadine, the kids, and I were swaying back in forth in response to every turn. Elliot was driving, Alex had the map, and Jared had a rifle--just in the unlikely case we ran into trouble.
We were about a mile away from the other bunker when we hit the sheet of black ice. I literally floated in mid-air for a split second before I slammed into the metal side of the truck. When I managed to pick myself off the floor, my right arm dangled limp like it was broken and a stream of blood was flowing down my face. Nadine had landed in the floor and appeared to be unconscious. Both of the kids were crying but appeared to be all right.
The guys would've hit the windshield or dashboard if it wasn't for their belts, and they were quick to make their way back to us. Jared, who had some medical training in the military, was able to help me pop my shoulder back into place. I was able to get movement back, though the swelling was going to be bad. The cut on my head was fortunately not deep enough to need stitches, so I used a bandage from our first aid kit.
We half-walked/half-ran the final mile in the brutal cold, having to cross an entire field of Oasis blooms. I cringed each moment the flowers crushed under my feet, fearing a burst of pollen was going to come out of them. Both mine and Nadine's masks were broken in the crash and Emily's suit had torn. All of the guys were now going without masks, leaving us only eight minutes to get to the bunker.
With about three minutes to spare, Elliot rang the buzzer of the bunker. A man came to the door, and Elliot's face suddenly turned pale in sheer terror. In all the years we'd known him and all we'd been through, I couldn't understand why he was frightened instead of relieved.
"All of you can come in--except him," the man said, pointing at Elliot.
All of us turned to Elliot, not knowing what to say or do.
"Listen to him," Elliot finally said,"You can trust him."
"Trust him?!" I shouted, "This man wants to leave you here to die! I won't leave you out here."
"She doesn't know, does she?" the man said, looking at Elliot.
His eyes teared up as he pleaded with us, "Everyone, just go inside. Please."
Jared gently put his hand on my shoulder, "We have to go inside now--before it's too late."
My mind was running wildly. All the memories of the past four years flooded my mind, and I suddenly knew the pain that Lindsay and Roger had felt about their children. I couldn't imagine my life without Elliot. Breaking away from Jared, I ran into Elliot's arms. I didn't care what the problem was between him and the man at the door, but I was not going to go inside without him.
Another minute had passed. We had about two more minutes left before we'd be exposed for too long.
I held on to Elliot and told him over and over again how much I loved him.
"I don't deserve your love," he replied, holding me back a little and not making eye contact with me "I've lied to you. I've lied to you a lot. You don't even know who I am--and you never would have if it wasn't for us coming here!"
"I don't care, Elliot! I know you--I know the person you've become in the past four years. You're the man who risked your life to save us so many times I've lost count. If it wasn't for you, we'd be dead right now."
"If it wasn't for me, none of this would've ever happened!" he suddenly shouted, "I worked on the Oasis project, Karen. Not only that, but It was my responsibility to destroy the last of the experimental seeds--burn them, crush them--anything that would've killed them! But I didn't--the things looked so damn harmless and beautiful that I dumped them in that field. I'm a murderer Karen--mine and Jared, Alex and Nadine's family. I'm responsible for all of it!"
My heart was crushed by what I was hearing. I really wanted to forgive him right at that moment--for what he did and all the lies, but I couldn't. It was going to take time that we didn't have.
The door opened again, and the same man was at the door.
"Last chance," he said, looking at me.
"Go, Karen," Elliot said softly.
As the door was shut, the man at the door introduced himself as Martin Caden and handed me a new protective suit.
"You can go back out there and spend your last moments together," he said, "I promise I'll let you back in when its over."
He was so cold and calm about Elliot dying, like it was more of a business decision than a man's life.
"Why are you doing this, Martin?" I asked, "It's not like Elliot wanted this to happen--can't you forgive him?"
"It's not just me," Martin replied, "Years ago I really would've wanted vengeance, but there's people down there that would want to do worse to your husband than the death he faces out there. It's not about whether he meant to do it or not as it is having something to take their pain and fear out on. Just make your peace and ring the buzzer when you want back inside."
Elliot's eyes grew wide as I came back out in the suit.
"Please Karen, you don't want to see me die like this. I'm so sorry."
I didn't say anything and sat down on the ground and let him lay his head on my lap. I held his head and stroked his hair, and my tears did not stop coming as he began to cough and gasp for his last breaths.
"I love you!" he managed to cry.
"I love you, too."
Then he was gone, and something in me broke. I ripped off the suit and ran into the cold dry field of Oasis blooms and laid down on the ground--right in the middle of the field.
Elliot was right. They were beautiful.
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