by Rowan Massey
“The fielders aren’t impairing your basic intelligence,” he said, rubbing his lips with a finger and mumbling around it, “I’m sure of it. I don’t know why no one wants to believe that. I wish I could go back in time and— Actually, would you take a test?”
I thought about the things we’d just finished up, and thought I could do it.
“No, no,” he said. “I mean an IQ test. You can say no. Maybe you need more time to decide on all that.”
“I can do it,” I said. “Whatever you want to study is fine with me. I don’t want to look for cheese in a maze, though.”
He smiled and gave me a nod.
“No maze. And I’ll try not to make it too grueling. First, we eat. Maybe something with cheese.”
We ate turkey sandwiches with cheese I’d never tasted before but liked. I put a lot of mustard on, which was heaven, so I didn’t mind answering a bunch of questions that I didn’t see the point of. He asked for my birthday, which was soon. There was a lot about my mom’s health and what her drugs were, how long she took them, who my dad was, how I did in school in each grade. I didn’t know the answers to most of it. Then it was all about my health: if I ever felt sick, what symptoms, how often, how bad was the pain on a scale of one to ten. He was big on measuring things that way. The questions went with us back down to the lab, never stopping, but getting more familiar, because he was asking about taking fielders.
He took three tubes of my blood. It was dark red and looked really cool. I took one of the tubes and shook it, then watched it settle again. What could Dr. Sardana find out about me with my blood? I didn’t know what the limits were. Maybe he could find out how my thoughts worked. I knew that was science fiction, but I still thought it was an interesting idea. My imagination didn’t even know how to explore something that weird.
“You’re being patient with my questions today,” he said, taking the tube from me and putting it in a little rack. “I really appreciate that.”
I shrugged.
I thought he was a little crazy when he took a hair from my head. Next, he got me to spit in one of his tubes. It was gross. I drooled on my chin and laughed, wiping it off with my lab coat sleeve. He capped it and put it with the blood.
“Are we doing this every day? Questions and blood and all?” I asked.
“Some of it. It will get repetitive, but it’s important to be consistent. Do you think you can keep your patience?”
I stretched out over the counter and groaned. I’d have to remind myself that it wasn’t just for the money, or even to feel good about myself. It was for Spitz, and eventually Fiona, because she’d be a fielder too one day. Also, if Doc had to ditch me and find someone else he could study…well, no one else was going to care how he felt about cold toes, infected cuts, and how maybe it reminded him of his dead son.
“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll live.”
“If you feel like you’re burning out, just tell me, and I’ll give you a break.”
“Okay.”
“In fact,” he pulled the gloves off his hands and went to one of the computers, “take a break. I need to log everything. Do you want to try out a game on the computer?”
I widened my eyes. “Seriously? Fuck yes.”
“Don’t get excited. I only have solitaire and minesweeper. Grab the stool.”
I dragged it in front of the computer screen, and he showed me how to lower it so I wouldn’t be sitting too high. I remembered the mouse from school, but it had been a long time. The little arrow moved around, and I loved it.
“This is weird!” I said. “I never thought I’d do this shit again. Look! Earthquake!”
I moved the mouse fast and watched it fly around. Dr. Sardana laughed and dragged a hand down his face.
“Can you click on this icon here?” He pointed the way, and I ended up playing a game where I had to figure out where little bombs were. I got focused on it fast. I didn’t realize the doc was writing at the other computer, not next to me anymore. I was having fun and felt like singing.
I started singing “Another One Bites the Dust”. It was my favorite song, and I sang it the regular fast way, not the way I did when fielders died.
“Why would you want to sing something like that?” Doc snapped. “Don’t you hear the lyrics you’re singing? It’s incredibly violent.”
I shrunk down and put my socked feet together.
“It’s just a song,” I said.
“If you want to sing, nothing violent. Alright?” His face was stern, but softened.
God, I’d have to be careful. He wasn’t all softie.
“I can stay quiet,” I said. “No problem.”
“No, I—” He let out a long breath and turned back to his writing. “Sing something else. You have a good voice,” he said, but I couldn’t tell if he meant it. His back was to me, and he leaned over the keyboard to keep typing.
“Pick something a little more cheerful,” he said.
I took a breath and tried to figure what kind of song he would like. Playing the game again for a few seconds helped me to think. I ended up singing “Hotel California”.
“Wally, that song is about drugs.” He sounded less pissed off, and more relaxed. “Try again. No violence, no drugs. Can you do that?”
Maybe he didn’t want to think about his job outside the lab. I wondered if I should try a third time. It wasn’t as if singing a song to pass the time was important. My head went through lots of songs and they were all about violence, death, drugs, or other things I wasn’t sure he would like, since he was so picky. But I wracked my brain anyway and came up with something. I wasn’t sure what exactly the lyrics were about, but it was a good song, and seemed worth taking the chance with his temper.
Everybody liked Nirvana so I sang one of their songs. I kept glancing over at him. He went on typing, and I relaxed and just sang it. I liked singing more than I liked the game, which was kind of hard to play and sing at the same time.
“You like old songs, don’t you?” He said when I switched to just humming.
“We stole from a tourist and got an MP3 player off him. Had a lot of great old songs. We had to sell it though.”
“Jesus, Wally,” he said, and sighed. “How about another one?”
I did a couple more Nirvana songs, got tired of the game, and sat on an empty stretch of table, resting with my back against the wall. It wasn’t any different from what I usually did all day, only it was Dr. Sardana listening instead of Spitz. Time went by slow and easy. When I started to fall asleep, I didn’t fight it.
◆◆◆
The doc woke me up after a while and taught me to use a pill making machine. It was two and a half feet tall and had a big wheel on the side. Doc set it up and left me to make the individual pills. They were orange Ds with a D stamped on top. It took forever, and I messed up a few, but I felt like a real cook. I’d tell Nando about it later.
When there was enough to fill three bottles, he showed me how to take the pill machine apart and clean the pieces.
“Can I have one?” I asked, grinning. “They’re the first pills I ever made. Finally have something to brag about.”
“Just one,” he said. “Don’t take it now, and don’t take it until you’ve been off the field a few hours.”
I picked one that looked perfectly round and put it in a little pocket in my back pack. I would give it to Spitz as an apology, then he would sell it or give it to Fiona, since we weren’t into other drugs.
“Hey Doc, do any fielders do other drugs sometimes?”
“No. I assume you want to sell it, but it would be negligent not to warn you about when to take it.”
“Yeah, don’t worry.”
He got a message on his phone. After taking it out of his pocket and reading it, he put the bottles in a paper bag.
“Come with me,” he said, and headed upstairs.
I followed.
We went to the back of the house where there wasn’t a kitchen, but a metal table and a bunch of
cabinets with a counter and sink. Doc told me it was a clinic and handed me the bag. There was an small wooden table a few feet from the door. He open the drawer in it and took out a gun.
“Fuck,” I whispered, before I could think.
“Precaution,” he said, setting the gun down on the same table, “I’ve never used it. Open the door.”
He took a set of keys from his pocket and gave them to me.
I blinked at him and held the bag tight to my stomach. “What? Where are we going?”
“Nowhere. There’s a runner waiting outside this door. Hand over the pills. Take the money. Can you do that?”
“Uh, okay. But why do you need me to do it? He won’t recognize me…”
“Wally, the risk of people not recognizing you is why you’re doing this. He’ll see me right here. Trust me. Open the door.” His voice was calm, his expression hard. I didn’t like it. I felt trapped.
I unlocked the door, fiddling with the keys a lot to figure out which went to which deadbolt. Before I turned the doorknob, I decided I did trust Dr. Sardana. All that fussing about hating violent songs couldn’t mean nothing. He’d never shot the gun and wasn’t going to put me in a bad situation.
I’d expected a guy in baggy streetwear, but it was a twenty-something girl with long, black dreadlocks and a nice outfit. When she saw me, her eyebrow went up, but she hid her surprise quick. She glanced at the doc, saw the gun, and didn’t seem concerned.
“How’s it going?” she asked me.
I just held the bag out to her. She took it, looked inside, and gave me a canvas bag. The doc took a step forward and stood just behind me, leaning onto the edge of the door.
“This is Wally,” he said.
“Wally. Got it. Fielder?”
I nodded. She nodded back, turned, and walked away.
Doc put the gun away while I locked the door.
“Since you’re going to be around large amounts of drugs and money, I want people to know I’ve got your back,” he said. “I guess I go into street mode. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s okay.”
I was itching to open the canvas bag and see how much money was in it, but he told me to go finish cleaning the pill press. He took the bag up to the second floor.
I hadn’t thought about how much he was trusting me with. The actual stuff in his house and lab, yes, but I could maybe get lab secrets if there were any. I could tell people there was probably a safe on the second floor and other details like that. I didn’t want to mess with the doc’s business, but he couldn’t know for sure if I would fuck around. I thought it all over while I scrubbed the machine with a rag. Maybe he was just counting on my not being stupid because he had an intimidating place in the drug world. In any case, he didn’t just trust me with the dangerous things in his life, he wanted to protect me from it.
When he came back, he had a bunch of stuff for me. First, my pay, then he bandaged my head a little and put a thick, brown beanie on my head so that it held the bandages in place. It was big with a warm lining, and it easily covered my ears. As soon as he put it on, I wondered how I’d ever lived without it. The hug on my head was awesome.
“Is this for keeps?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I punched the air. He gave me my pay, more socks, antibiotic cream, bandages, and some weird body wash. He said it was medicated, and I could use it on my hair every day. The rotting apples from the day before were in a plastic bag. Three of them. I opened the bag and put them up to my nose, breathing them in. I never could have imagined myself in a crazy world where I made five bucks a day and got so much food. I was excited to see Spitz and give them to him. He could have the socks too. Maybe he wouldn’t beat me into a pulp for ditching him.
Doc invited me to come to the field with him in his SUV. I asked him to drop me where I could meet up with Spitz and Fiona to walk partway with them.
I’d only been in a few cars. Grinning like a kid in a candy store, I climbed in and checked things out. It was all new and smelled nice. The moving feeling, and watching people get left in our dust, made me laugh and whoop. I opened the window and stood with half my body out, feeling the cold air blow over me, but Dr. Sardana grabbed the waist of my pants and pulled me back in. I closed the window and enjoyed fiddling with the heat settings. When I’d looked at everything up front, I monkeyed my way through the seats into the back. Buttons, compartments, smooth leather seats, seat belts that I could attach to the wrong place. The way things pulled away from me through the back window made me feel lightheaded.
“Wally,” Doc said, waving for me to get back up front. I went and sat beside him again. “It’s important for the study that I know your name. I won’t share it, but I should know it.”
“Walrus McCunty.”
He made a face. “Why not tell me?”
“It’s mine.” My only secret. The one thing that couldn’t be lost or stolen. Keeping it to myself made it special. It used to be because I thought it was a shitty name. Now I just liked my secret. Plus, it was fun irritating people by not telling. Maybe it made me seem silly, or mysterious, or unreasonable, but I knew I didn’t want to tell anyone.
“Alright, how about a question?”
“Yup.”
“When I ask how happy you are, you always say you’re at a ten.” He frowned at the road. “So, if you could choose a life with a house, money, a family, a future, or the life you have now, what would you choose?”
“The rich life if I still have fielders. And Spitz.” I dropped my head onto my hand. He came up with pointless questions.
“How does the logic follow? If you’re at a ten now, how could something else make you more happy?”
“I’d be at a ten, like always, but I could be lazy and relax. Less tired. More fun. It would be like going past ten, but ten is ten, so things would be basically the same kinda. I would have the same feelings really, because nothing is perfect. You have everything, but you have problems, right? If I had everything, I would have problems, and deal with it the same way I do now. Only, I would also have apples. Get it?”
“Not really, no.”
I shrugged.
“What about the opposite? Would it be the same if you could choose a life with say, no legs, no friends, and it rains every day?”
“Of course not. C’mon.”
“So you can’t get happier, but you can get less happy?”
“No, I’d be happy. Just a lot more work.”
“What if you could go off fielders without any consequences? What if quitting wouldn’t kill you?”
I twisted in my seat to narrow my eyes at him. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Make it so we don’t die when we quit?” I wouldn’t take a pill like that.
“I’m trying to do anything that would keep you from dying.”
“But I’d be miserable like everybody else. I’d rather die. If you had a pill that made us quit, nobody would take it.”
He squeezed the wheel with one hand, straightening his elbow.
“If fielders make people perfectly happy, why isn’t Spitz as happy as you? He usually gives me a lower number, not a ten. Not unless he’s just stopped dancing.”
I almost shrugged and gave him a joking answer, but thought a second instead. He was getting irritated with me.
“Spitz is a homeless guy who walks around at an eight,” I said. I thought that pretty much spelled it out.
It was getting dark so I didn’t totally expect Spitz and Fiona to be in the lot where we usually waited for each other if we needed to, but they were all there, Veronica too. I leaned forward and put my hand on the door handle. I really wanted to see Spitz and find out how upset he was.
“Wait, I almost forgot,” Doc said. His knuckles brushed my arm. “Do you have a watch or clock?”
“No. Was I late? I try to be early.”
“You were a little late yesterday. Take this.” He opened the glove box and took out a small flip phone. “Nothing fancy, so I don�
�t think anyone will jump you for it. You can text me if you need to. My number is in it.”
“Holy shit,” I turned it in my hand and flipped it open. The little screen lit up with a menu. “I’ve never had a phone.”
“It’s a loan for as long as you’re working for me, okay? Don’t sell it.”
I pulled my head back and looked at him. “I wouldn’t do that!”
He tilted his head. He knew that was bullshit. I grinned.
“Seriously,” I said. “I promise.”
Fiona and Veronica had spotted me. They were jumping up and down and calling for me. Those two liked to be loud and make sure the whole street heard them when they were together.
“See you tomorrow?” I said.
“See you tomorrow.”
I opened the door and enjoyed the clunking noise it made. The soft pop of slamming it shut was even more satisfying. The doc drove away slowly. Veronica bounced into my shoulder and pulled me into a hug.
“They told me you were on your own last night, and it was freezing! Poor Walla-Walla!”
“I was okay,” I told her, and gave Fiona her turn for a hug. I squeezed tight enough for her to complain before I let her go. She’d worried a lot, I knew. She just had to prioritize Spitz, same as I did. We both loved him a lot. She was looking away from me, off down the street, because she didn’t want to admit she felt guilty. I wanted to tell her it was fine, and I loved her just as much as I loved Spitz. Glancing at Spitz, I decided to change the subject instead. He was frowning and looking up at windows for no reason.
“I stayed the night at Nando’s,” I told them, and grinned. I couldn’t help it. My hands went deep in my pants pockets. Veronica gave me a whack in the arm.
“Look at you!” Fiona said, dancing her shoulders up and down. “Talk about turning lemons into lemonade!”
Spitz still would barely look me in the eye, but he half-smiled. “Did you sin?”