It's a hot day both inside and outside, so I ask Corba if she wants to go to the movies with me. She asks me what I want to see and I say I prefer something that I don't have to think about, maybe a dumb, loud action movie. Work's been hell this week, I tell her. Corba sighs and says it's fine. She just wants to get out of the sweltering heat, away from the one-bedroom hotbox without a working air conditioner.
The phone rings, and it's you calling for me. I try to sound casual, but it's so nice to hear from you again. I tell you about my job and the friends you haven't seen in awhile. Corba paces by the front door. I am secretly happy to make her wait.
Then you tell me the reason that you've called me. There was an accident at the research lab you've been working at for several years and your DNA was crossed with that of a prickly bramble bush, gifting you the ability to produce and retract thorns on any part of your body. Your cellular structure has also developed secondary walls, which makes your body practically indestructible. You tell me this is how you evaded the laboratory's security detail and, after that, the military.
Despite the sensational nature of your story, I successfully keep my face expressionless for Corba's benefit. You tell me you've run out of places to hide and ask for my help, which I consider. I really do.
Corba silently mouths that we need to go. I try to sound nonchalant as I ask if you are talking about the campsite from our last anniversary together, the one upstate. I mention it as though you've simply called to ask me where it is. You get my meaning though and tell me you'll meet me there at midnight. I tell you to take care and hang up the phone.
Corba, her face deep with concern, asks me if it was you and what you wanted. I don't answer her. Instead, I pull a black card with white lettering from my wallet, the one they gave me in case you called. I dial the number. Again, Corba asks what you want from me. I smile and tell her not to worry, that you're just looking for a place to replant yourself. She asks me what's so funny as a pleasant voice on the phone begins to give me instructions.
Showing posts with label secret. Show all posts
Showing posts with label secret. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Ché Boulevard
Trevor had no interest in getting to know, spending time with, or having a meal in the vicinity of Lillian Schnell, not even after she told him secrets about Solitinuum and praised his girlfriend in some truly flattering ways.
Trevor had only agreed to Lillian's company in the first place at Elena's insistence. He'd been seeing Elena for a little over a month and liked her quite a bit, but enduring any level of scrutiny from her circle of friends felt beyond tedious. Furthermore, this Lillian woman suggested they meet at the overpriced Ché Boulevard for dinner. He would have preferred midday coffee or a quick pretzel outside his office or, best option, a permanent rain check.
When he arrived at the restaurant, Lillian was sitting at a table in the center of the dining section and facing the entrance. She was a tall and still woman a few years older than Elena, attractive in a stern high school principal kind of way. She looked up from her smartphone as Trevor approached her.
"Thanks for meeting me. I hope you're not the type of man that minds sitting with his back to the entrance."
He was that type, but he shook his head no.
"This is fine," he lied. "Good to see you again, Lillian," he lied again.
They had briefly met after a concert for a rock band that Elena's company represented. Trevor had been busy the night of the show, but picked up Elena afterward to spend the night at his place. Lillian had been her date in his absence, though she hardly seemed to fit into the band's demographic. Trevor would be the first to admit that he didn't either, though he might have made an effort to blend in.
"Do we have a waiter?" he asked.
"I ordered two Manhattans. I'll drink both if you'd prefer something else."
"No need. It's the best thing on the menu."
She smiled and glanced down at her smartphone again. The pre-ordering his drink thing annoyed Trevor, but bad phone manners would cause him to become outwardly irate. He began to say as much, but Lillian cut him off.
"I don't mean to be rude," she said. "It looks like the military have a Solitinuum sect cornered in San Diego. In the Gaslamp District, if you can believe that."
"I would have thought they'd be more at home in the zoo," Trevor said, though Lillian didn't acknowledge the attempted joke.
"Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" she asked.
Trevor gave her a brief rundown covering the basics: his education and job, favorite animal, a desire to travel more often. He was relieved that Lillian didn't stop him at the mention of his marriage and divorce to his ex-wife, Corina, thinking that would be the likely trap. However, he did realize during his discourse that it might be impolite if he didn't return the volley of interest, though he had none for Lillian Schnell.
And then she did it again. Trevor was in the middle of a story about a fire at a Japanese fish market he'd been in last fall and Lillian's eyes drifted down to her phone.
"Listen, Lillian," he said. "I don't want to be here."
She looked up to him and he continued.
"I only agreed to meet you because Elena was close to tears about how important you and her other friends are to her. But, you know, I already have friends and I'm not really looking to make more. No offense."
Lillian looked at Trevor with a sad seriousness as the server arrived with their cocktails.
"Sorry for the wait," he said, placing the drinks in front of them. "Are you ready to order?"
"Give us a minute," Lillian said.
The waiter nodded and left. Lillian lifted her glass.
"To old friends and to not making new ones," she said.
Trevor rolled his eyes and half-heartedly lifted his glass. They drank, the bitter sweetness a mild relief to Trevor. He looked around and was doubly relieved to see that he didn't know anybody sitting near them.
"Not bad," Lillian said, referring to the drink.
"Best thing on the menu," he replied stoically.
"Elena wanted to be here tonight," Lillian said. "I told her it would be a short evening, and it will be. I have no interest in dining here."
"That's a good move," Trevor said. "The food here sucks and they charge you out the ass for the privilege."
The sentence came out both louder and crasser than Trevor had intended, though he felt Ché Boulevard deserved every insult it got.
"Nevertheless," Lillian continued, "I needed this time with you. Elena speaks highly of you, but you don't seem like a team player."
"Mm, not looking to join a team."
He noticed that his right foot was tapping. He hadn't noticed music playing when he sat down, but it was suddenly very prominent. Lillian was still talking, but Trevor had to concentrate to place the band. Was it the same band whose concert he had missed that night? Didn't seem like the right atmosphere for it, but he would look it up later if he could remember any of the lyrics.
"Stay with me, Trevor," Lillian said.
"Huh?" Trevor realized that his vision had blurred a bit. "What's this song called?"
"We want the world to see us for what we truly are, Trevor. Solitinuum isn't what you and your worthless friends have heard about in the news. We are so much more than a sometimes dangerous public nuisance with tax exempt status. We are the future of this country's religion, health, and government."
The light in Trevor's peripheral vision began to dim. It took him a moment to realize the cause of the sensation, that the other people in the restaurant were gathering around his table. He reached for his drink, but someone had taken it.
"San Diego was a mistake. We've chosen this city to regroup because of Elena. She is special beyond any measure that you and your worthless friends will ever know. She will be our new haven's representative and its queen. And we can't have you standing next to her, no matter how much she wants that. You aren't for us."
Trevor steadied his hands, which were shaking now. He knew that something was wrong. People were chanting around him and he couldn't feel his legs. Somebody stood him up, or maybe it was two people. He wanted another drink, but the server was gone. Lillian Schnell was gone too, replaced by someone in a scary mask who was much too tall. Trevor's new dinner companion held a strange-looking steak knife in their hand, but nobody had ordered a steak.
In that moment, Trevor decided that he was going to break things off with Elena the next time he saw her. Her friends were too weird. The song began playing again and he tearfully admitted to himself that it wasn't any band or style of music he'd ever heard before. He glanced around the dining room through half-closed eyes at the grey twisted faces around him and decided something else.
He decided he was never coming back to Ché fucking Boulevard again.
Trevor had only agreed to Lillian's company in the first place at Elena's insistence. He'd been seeing Elena for a little over a month and liked her quite a bit, but enduring any level of scrutiny from her circle of friends felt beyond tedious. Furthermore, this Lillian woman suggested they meet at the overpriced Ché Boulevard for dinner. He would have preferred midday coffee or a quick pretzel outside his office or, best option, a permanent rain check.
When he arrived at the restaurant, Lillian was sitting at a table in the center of the dining section and facing the entrance. She was a tall and still woman a few years older than Elena, attractive in a stern high school principal kind of way. She looked up from her smartphone as Trevor approached her.
"Thanks for meeting me. I hope you're not the type of man that minds sitting with his back to the entrance."
He was that type, but he shook his head no.
"This is fine," he lied. "Good to see you again, Lillian," he lied again.
They had briefly met after a concert for a rock band that Elena's company represented. Trevor had been busy the night of the show, but picked up Elena afterward to spend the night at his place. Lillian had been her date in his absence, though she hardly seemed to fit into the band's demographic. Trevor would be the first to admit that he didn't either, though he might have made an effort to blend in.
"Do we have a waiter?" he asked.
"I ordered two Manhattans. I'll drink both if you'd prefer something else."
"No need. It's the best thing on the menu."
She smiled and glanced down at her smartphone again. The pre-ordering his drink thing annoyed Trevor, but bad phone manners would cause him to become outwardly irate. He began to say as much, but Lillian cut him off.
"I don't mean to be rude," she said. "It looks like the military have a Solitinuum sect cornered in San Diego. In the Gaslamp District, if you can believe that."
"I would have thought they'd be more at home in the zoo," Trevor said, though Lillian didn't acknowledge the attempted joke.
"Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" she asked.
Trevor gave her a brief rundown covering the basics: his education and job, favorite animal, a desire to travel more often. He was relieved that Lillian didn't stop him at the mention of his marriage and divorce to his ex-wife, Corina, thinking that would be the likely trap. However, he did realize during his discourse that it might be impolite if he didn't return the volley of interest, though he had none for Lillian Schnell.
And then she did it again. Trevor was in the middle of a story about a fire at a Japanese fish market he'd been in last fall and Lillian's eyes drifted down to her phone.
"Listen, Lillian," he said. "I don't want to be here."
She looked up to him and he continued.
"I only agreed to meet you because Elena was close to tears about how important you and her other friends are to her. But, you know, I already have friends and I'm not really looking to make more. No offense."
Lillian looked at Trevor with a sad seriousness as the server arrived with their cocktails.
"Sorry for the wait," he said, placing the drinks in front of them. "Are you ready to order?"
"Give us a minute," Lillian said.
The waiter nodded and left. Lillian lifted her glass.
"To old friends and to not making new ones," she said.
Trevor rolled his eyes and half-heartedly lifted his glass. They drank, the bitter sweetness a mild relief to Trevor. He looked around and was doubly relieved to see that he didn't know anybody sitting near them.
"Not bad," Lillian said, referring to the drink.
"Best thing on the menu," he replied stoically.
"Elena wanted to be here tonight," Lillian said. "I told her it would be a short evening, and it will be. I have no interest in dining here."
"That's a good move," Trevor said. "The food here sucks and they charge you out the ass for the privilege."
The sentence came out both louder and crasser than Trevor had intended, though he felt Ché Boulevard deserved every insult it got.
"Nevertheless," Lillian continued, "I needed this time with you. Elena speaks highly of you, but you don't seem like a team player."
"Mm, not looking to join a team."
He noticed that his right foot was tapping. He hadn't noticed music playing when he sat down, but it was suddenly very prominent. Lillian was still talking, but Trevor had to concentrate to place the band. Was it the same band whose concert he had missed that night? Didn't seem like the right atmosphere for it, but he would look it up later if he could remember any of the lyrics.
"Stay with me, Trevor," Lillian said.
"Huh?" Trevor realized that his vision had blurred a bit. "What's this song called?"
"We want the world to see us for what we truly are, Trevor. Solitinuum isn't what you and your worthless friends have heard about in the news. We are so much more than a sometimes dangerous public nuisance with tax exempt status. We are the future of this country's religion, health, and government."
The light in Trevor's peripheral vision began to dim. It took him a moment to realize the cause of the sensation, that the other people in the restaurant were gathering around his table. He reached for his drink, but someone had taken it.
"San Diego was a mistake. We've chosen this city to regroup because of Elena. She is special beyond any measure that you and your worthless friends will ever know. She will be our new haven's representative and its queen. And we can't have you standing next to her, no matter how much she wants that. You aren't for us."
Trevor steadied his hands, which were shaking now. He knew that something was wrong. People were chanting around him and he couldn't feel his legs. Somebody stood him up, or maybe it was two people. He wanted another drink, but the server was gone. Lillian Schnell was gone too, replaced by someone in a scary mask who was much too tall. Trevor's new dinner companion held a strange-looking steak knife in their hand, but nobody had ordered a steak.
In that moment, Trevor decided that he was going to break things off with Elena the next time he saw her. Her friends were too weird. The song began playing again and he tearfully admitted to himself that it wasn't any band or style of music he'd ever heard before. He glanced around the dining room through half-closed eyes at the grey twisted faces around him and decided something else.
He decided he was never coming back to Ché fucking Boulevard again.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Secret Room
Oh, it's that dream where you find a secret room in a house you've lived in for years. The entrance is usually off to the side of something else that distracts the eye, or just behind a corner you rarely notice. Maybe it takes something a little more special to find it, like a magic spell or a tricky maneuver to get inside. Maybe you found it by accident. It's possible that you were running from something dangerous when you noticed the wood paneling next to the freezer chest in the garage could be a door.
The secret room is never empty; it's full of dusty furniture and keepsakes. Sometimes it's your misplaced stuff, stored by an unknown, but most of the time it all belongs to a previous owner. There could be a suit of armor or a table full of old coins. There's an ancient TV set that looks like it might still work. You try your best to sort and appreciate everything and take in how neat this is that you've found this place. But you also need to be quiet.
Sometimes the room is larger than would appear to be possible and seems to be its own secret house. The room opens up and you turn a few corners, noticing other doors that presumably lead to other secret places. You imagine the days and nights you'll spend cataloging your new space, a mental map already branching out in your mind. You've already decided to keep this place a secret from your family and friends. It will be your special place to hide and be alone, should you ever need it as much as you do right now.
You look around one last time before you wake up. There is an extreme relief that you've finally found the secret room, like finding a forgotten part of you.
The secret room is never empty; it's full of dusty furniture and keepsakes. Sometimes it's your misplaced stuff, stored by an unknown, but most of the time it all belongs to a previous owner. There could be a suit of armor or a table full of old coins. There's an ancient TV set that looks like it might still work. You try your best to sort and appreciate everything and take in how neat this is that you've found this place. But you also need to be quiet.
Sometimes the room is larger than would appear to be possible and seems to be its own secret house. The room opens up and you turn a few corners, noticing other doors that presumably lead to other secret places. You imagine the days and nights you'll spend cataloging your new space, a mental map already branching out in your mind. You've already decided to keep this place a secret from your family and friends. It will be your special place to hide and be alone, should you ever need it as much as you do right now.
You look around one last time before you wake up. There is an extreme relief that you've finally found the secret room, like finding a forgotten part of you.
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