by Alex Howell
All this ease and convenience at his disposal, and yet Mason became enraged just because the AI grid for the self-driving vehicle had dared to make him repeat himself as he placed his order. Mason thought to himself, ‘Have all of us folks in the modern world become a bunch of big, spoiled, and overly agitated babies?’
He knew that there was real suffering out there, such as that which the Yanomami tribe members in Brazil face—people with no food, no running water, no proper shelter, and yet people in places like the United States are ready to fly off the handle if their iced coffee at Buck’s Star has just a little too much ice!
He was busy brooding over all of these thoughts of self-loathing when his phone announced right from his pocket, “Your ride has arrived, please remember to buckle your seatbelts.”
ABOUT 35 MINUTES LATER IN THE DRIVEWAY OF MASON’s HOME. Mason reached over and gave Raina a big hug, the most he could manage at the moment, before opening the car door, and bluntly informing her, “Alright, this is my stop.” Raina grabbing his arm, softly inquired, “Okay—could it be mine too?”
Mason knew that she wanted to stay the night with him, and it was most certainly tempting, but Mason just wasn’t ready for it. Looking at her and then looking quickly away, he sighed heavily, “I’m sorry Raina, it’s just not a good time for me.”
Raina frustrated at being rebuffed felt like saying, ‘Okay—when will it be a good time for you?’
But instead she simply nodded, and bid him farewell, “Alright, Mason. Get some rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Mason shut the car door behind him, and protectively waited to hear the sound of the AI operated car automatically locking the car doors, ensuring Raina’s safety, before waving her on.
Stepping into his front door, Mason’s mind was a swirl of thoughts and emotion and many of them were in regard to his former wife Bree. Even though at this point, her memory seemed to be literally haunting him like a ghost, he couldn’t help but delve even deeper.
And as he often did when he was stuck mulling over the past like this, he went up to the shrine that he had made for her in the corner of his bedroom. Here you could find a table with bright red tablecloth with he and Bree’s wedding photo on the very center. He left it right there in open view, surrounded by white candles. It was indeed like a shrine to the past which he paid homage to every single time he came near.
Gazing at the photo Mason couldn’t help but be amazed. As they held each other close, grinning as they cut out a piece of wedding cake, he thought to himself, ‘How happy they are—and how young!’ It had indeed been many years since that day. Much had happened since then, yet a part of his mind was still frozen in time—never quite moving past those idyllic days.
Many of his friends had cautioned him against having such a monument of memory. But Mason couldn’t help but think about the past. And as he stared at the portrait, he felt the tears begin to fall down from his face. A man of seldom tears before, he cried like a baby the day that Bree had died.
And still to this day when he really thought about, and re-experienced that loss anew, the reaction was always the same—and the tears would indeed arrive. Unable to take his own emotions anymore, he finally wished to numb the pain. And so, he grabbed a bottle of vodka that he had conveniently stashed nearby and without any need of chaser he proceeded to take a few swigs.
Mason normally tried to keep his drinking to a minimum, but lately he had been consuming alcohol much more than usual. And at times—he found himself drinking like there was no tomorrow. Nevertheless, he knew the score. Getting drunk was of course an easy way to dampen down his emotions, but it was just a quick fix. He knew that it was no real solution to anything.
Mason knew that as soon as he sobered up, all of the issues he had would still be there all the same—except compounded with the guilt he felt for drowning his sorrow in alcohol. As his initial few swigs morphed into big gulps, Mason felt a rush of warmth, as the vodka coursed through his system.
No longer worried about too much of anything at all, he slammed the bottle down onto his dresser, and stretched out on his bed. It wasn’t a pretty sight but at least now he could sleep. As his mind faded to darkness, deep down Mason knew that he needed help—he just wasn’t sure how to get it.
10
The Morning Pep Talk
T HE NEXT MORNING AT MASON’S HOUSE.
Mason woke up to his phone ringing. Half-drunk and half hung over all at the same time, he saw to his disgust that he had fallen asleep stretched out on an unmade bed clutching a now empty bottle of vodka in his hand as if it were his teddy bear. Disgusted, he pitched the bottle into a nearby wastepaper basket.
His head pounded in agony as the phone continued to ring, prompting him to curse, “Damn it—give me a second, will you?”
He groggily searched through the ruffled covers for the last place he had known his phone to be, before he realized that he was laying right on top of it.
“Damn…” he muttered to himself.
Mason then looked at the screen and saw that it was Raina calling.
He knew that he should probably answer it, but judging from his ill state of mind and composure, he was worried that he might not be the most pleasant person to speak with at the moment, and so, he let the call go to his voicemail.
Yet even in this disheveled state, he knew that there was one person that always made him feel better no matter what—his daughter Clara. Not even bothering to listen to Raina’s voicemail he quickly scrolled through his contacts and called her up. She answered with what sounded like pleasant surprise, “Hey! Dad! What’s going on?”
Mason quietly greeted her, “Hey Clara, how are you?”
Clara knowing her father better than anyone else, immediately knew that something was wrong and with the closeness that only a family bond can provide, without pulling any punches she remarked, “Dad you sound terrible—what’s wrong?”
Mason wasn’t much of a classic rock fan, but there was an old John Lennon song he always liked called “Crippled Inside”. The lyrics of the song had John singing, “You just can’t hide when your crippled inside”. The lyrics talked about as brave of a face as you put on, the emotional turmoil deep within is sometimes hard to mask.
The song came to his mind, and he could hear the words playing in his head, because that’s just how he felt—he felt crippled inside . And Clara knew it too, Mason couldn’t hide his mental state, as he admitted to her, “Sorry honey—I’m just missing your mom…”
She knew better than anyone else what all this meant. She softly intoned into the phone, “Dad…”
Mason felt almost like emphatically apologizing for even bringing it up. He felt like a jerk for bringing them both back to this sadness—especially when he knew that this was such a happy time for Clara as she embarked upon her new life at Stanford. He actually felt tremendously guilty for putting all of this drama onto her young shoulders.
And he told her as much, “I’m sorry Clara… I probably shouldn’t even bring it up…”
Clara quickly reassured him however, “No—no…. It’s fine.”
She knew full well that she was really the only one that her father was close enough with to vent his feelings. Clara truly understood the need that he had for someone with whom to relate his emotions. As such, she told him rather emphatically, “You can talk with me about mom any time that you want.”
Mason grateful for her support, sighed into the receiver, “It’s just that... Now that me and Raina are getting closer it’s bringing all of these feelings back to the surface….and I almost feel like I’m doing something wrong... Like I’m...”
Mason paused before continuing, “Like I’m betraying her memory somehow…”
Clara understanding her dad’s problem completely, quickly reassured him, “No way dad—you need to stop thinking like that! Mom would be so happy for you right now! She would love to know that you found someone as good as Raina to help you not be so alone all the time!�
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Mason feeling tremendously relieved asked, “You think so?”
Clara nodded, “Yeah—I know so.” Clara then continued, “You can’t live in the past… You have to move on. And Raina is a good person for you to move on with.”
Mason replied softly, “I do like her…”
Prompting Clara to respond back enthusiastically, “Then you need to just go for it dad! Don’t let anything hold you back! Just go for it!”
Mason couldn’t help but be moved by Clara’s stirring words as he assented, “Okay…”
Clara then offered, “I hope that the two of you can take some serious steps to commit to a rewarding future together soon.”
Mason amazed at the mature fashion in which his 19-year-old daughter spoke could only agree, “Yeah I hope so.”
At the same time however, he was tired of the subject and wished to move on to other things. He did so by asking Clara, “So, how is everything at Stanford? Are you settled in for this semester yet?”
Clara knowing her dad was just wanting to change the subject, supplied a rather lackluster, “Yeah—its’ fine.”
Mason inquired, “Just fine?”
Clara replied, “Well—I’m just a little bit frustrated because my classes are scheduled so far apart it really puts a damper on any chance of having an active social life.”
Mason actually felt a little better to hear as much, considering the trouble that his daughter had gotten into the previous semester when she had run into the wrong guy. Thinking as much, Mason suggested, “Well at least you will have a lot of time between class to study.”
Clara unenthusiastically agreed, “Yeah I’m going to have to spend several hours in between classes cooped up in the lecture hall and student center studying—just me and my notes.”
Clara didn’t mention anything about Travis, the young man she had befriended while she had been taking those said notes. At this point, she figured she didn’t need to worry her poor dad unnecessarily. So, she continued to just talk about what she was studying in class instead.
She told him, ‘You know, I’ve got this really interesting anthropology class this semester.”
Mason inquired, “Really?”
Clara nodded, “Yeah, we’re studying the tribes of the Amazon right now. The Amazon rain forest seems like a truly beautiful place.”
Mason sighed to himself, as he thought, ‘Well—isn’t that ironic...’
Clara knowing full well that her dad had just gotten back from that very place cryptically questioned, “So how’d you like it?”
She knew that her dad wasn’t likely to come out and talk about his missions openly—especially while on the phone—but she figured if she was discreet enough, he might give just a few details. But although she was used to discussing prior missions in a kind of vague and coded way, she wasn’t quite prepared for what he said next.
Because after thinking about it, Mason grunted, “It was lousy—I drank an old, dead man’s bones.”
Mason of course, was referring to how the tribal elder Johnnie Yanomami had gotten him to engage in a form of endocannibalism—the eating of the dead, by drinking up a bowl of stew with the ground up bones of his ancestors. From her limited perspective however, Clara could only begin to imagine what her father might have been talking about.
Clara sputtered, “You did what?
Mason laughed, and as if dismissing the whole thing outright, told her “Ah—what can I say? It happens.
Mason wrapping up the call, then told her in a halfway sarcastic voice, “Anyway—just make me proud kid. You’ve got a whole summer session to do so—so don’t let me down.”
Clara responded, “I’ll try.”
Clara then ended the conversation, “Well I gotta go dad. Call me later.”
Mason told her, “I will”
Clara shot back, “Bye”.
Mason responded, “Bye”.
As he gazed at the empty bottle of vodka in the wastepaper basket, his own words ‘Make me proud’ reverberated through his mind. He couldn’t help but think that perhaps he should be taking his own advice.
11
Luca Looking for His Last Payday
L uca Spinoza had always struggled to find his niche in life. He was a poor student, a lackluster worker, and didn’t really seem to have much direction in life. His friends and family knew him to have had a decided lack of ambition from the very start. Despite his shortcomings, Luca himself would always attest that the best thing that ever happened to him was his marriage to his wife Esmerelda and the birth of their two children.
He loved his family and would do anything for them. This was his one motivating factor to try and do a little bit better in life. But things took a decided nose dive however, when he became addicted to heroin.
It all sounds rather drastic for someone like Luca to suddenly become an addict. But Luca didn’t set out to be a junkie—if it can be said that anyone ever does. It all began when he threw his back out at the local rubber plant he worked at in Milan, Italy. He was severe pain so his doctor prescribed him powerful pain pills to help him during his recovery process.
The pain would eventually go away but Luca’s new addiction did not. Soon he was seeking to feed his fix however he could and when he couldn’t get a prescription, he resorted to procuring heroin from dealers on the street, which he learned was basically just a more powerful version of the pills he had already been popping.
Luca you see, was just one of the countless souls sucked up in the Italian opioid crisis of the late 2020’s. You would think the world would have learned its lesson from what had happened in the United States in the 2010’s but sadly history had repeated itself.
Luca Spinoza had been an out and out addict for the past few years, and completely estranged from his family he was now working on his final act. He knew his time was short, but he had just fallen into a group of guys that promised him some big results if he just cooperated with them.
If he followed through and did what they told him, they would mail a check that amounted to about 15,000 U.S. dollars to his wife and kids. It may not seem like much to some, but for a family that struggled to put food on the table or even keep a roof over the head—it was plenty. And what did Luca have to do to get this payout?
He just had to strap vials of a deadly biological virus—Ebola no less—across his chest, interspersed with powerful plastic explosives. This deadly payload he was going to carry right up to the very steps of the Vatican. His handlers were a fringe breakaway group from the Catholic Church whose motto was “With Blood we Cleanse”—and they wanted to cleanse the very seat of power where the Pope reigned supreme.
As dedicated as his deranged task masters were however, they couldn’t risk blowing their cover by giving Luca a ride, so he was forced to hail a cab instead. His cabbie was a friendly old guy, and as soon as he got in the backseat, he introduced himself, “Welcome aboard brother! My name’s Alonzo—where are ya headed!”
Luca hopped in the backseat and shutting the door informed him, “To Vatican square please.”
Alonzo smiled, “Vatican square—sure, sure. That can be arranged Mr.—?”
Luca hesitated for a moment, but figuring he would be dead in a few minutes, he decided it didn’t really matter. And as such he openly informed him, “Luca… Luca Spinoza.”
Luca was always a nobody, but somewhere deep in the recesses of his drug addled mind he thought to himself, ‘Pretty soon the whole world’s going to know my name.’
The cabbie Alonzo broke up his dark thoughts by asking him, “So what are you planning on doing at Vatican Square son?”
Luca caught off guard by the question stuttered, “Wha—what?”
Alonzo a quick read of character looked at Luca in the rearview mirror and frowned. He knew that something wasn’t quite right with this kid. He asked him again, “I’m taking you to Vatican Square—what are you going to do when you get there?”
Luca in the midst of the symptoms of
a terrible withdrawal, was either unable or unwilling to play his cards very carefully, and ended up showing his whole hand as he snapped, “What does it matter?”
The cabbie was used to dealing with some irate customers, but there was something about Luca that seemed positively unhinged. Glancing at Luca in the rearview mirror he saw that the man’s hands were shaking in his lap, and he seemed to be practically grinding his teeth together in angst.
But much more than this were his customer’s eyes that got Alonzo’s attention. Luca’s eyes looked completely soulless and dead. He cynically thought to himself, ‘Unless this guy is going to the Vatican to be delivered of demons—he couldn’t be up to much good.’
Growing increasingly concerned, as he headed down the main drag that led to Vatican City, Alonzo tried a different approach, asking, “So what do you think of the new Pope?” Luca becoming annoyed with having to answer questions, let his subconscious mind completely slip as he muttered, “Who cares… They’re all going to die anyway.”
This got the cabbie’s attention as he hissed, “What?”
Luca, who’s chemically altered brain was long past psychosis, found himself in the midst of an uncontrollable free flow of thought as he continued, “The Pope, the cardinals, all of them—they’re all going to die...”
Alonzo not sure what he was dealing with, was hoping that the man was speaking metaphorically as he anxiously muttered, “We’re all going to die someday sure.”
Luca just couldn’t help himself, as he nonchalantly revealed, “But they’re going to die today—I’m going to make sure of that.”
Alonzo a devout Catholic himself, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t know if the looney toon in the back seat was joking or serious, but he knew he couldn’t take any chances.