Love, Ken
Page 9
shoot him!”
The Enforcers backed away from the house.
“Where did you get that gun?”
“Shut up.” Timothy pointed to a couch in the living room. “Sit down.”
“You’re not allowed to have that gun.” Chuck said. “Where did you get it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it does. It’s illegal.”
“You don’t know how to shut up, do you?”
Chuck sat down on the couch. “What do you think is going to happen here?”
“They’re going to leave. They’re going to leave me alone!”
“That’s not going to happen, Timothy. If you shoot me, they’ll just come in and take you anyway.” Chuck was nervous.
Timothy was pacing around the room. “Why do you keep moving everyone? It’s not like it helps.”
“It does help,” Chuck replied.
“How is going to County Twelve going to help me?”
“It will help someone else. In six months you’ll be moved out.”
Timothy was angry and hysterical. “That’s six months! I’ll get sick!”
“But someone else will get out of there.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It should.”
Timothy stopped pacing. “I bet you’ve got it pretty good. You work for them.”
“They don’t move me to places like County Twelve, if that’s what you mean.”
“What makes you better than me?”
Chuck felt guilty. “Nothing. I do the job that nobody wants to do. They need me healthy because I help keep order.”
“Maybe they should start putting you people in County Twelve so you know what it’s like for us.”
Chuck didn’t respond.
“Now you have nothing to say?” Timothy pointed the gun at him again.
Chuck flinched. “Are you going to shoot me or not?”
“What?” Timothy looked confused. “Why would say something so stupid?”
“Because one way or another the Enforcement Officers are going to come in. If you’re going to shoot me I might as well call them in here now. There’s a lot of work to get done tonight.”
“No, no.” Timothy said. “You’re not gonna trick me like that. I’m not an idiot. As long I have you, they won’t come in here.”
“That’s not true.”
“Shut up!”
“My life is not as important to them as Relocation.”
“Shut up!”
“It’s the truth!”
“You’re lying!” Timothy fired the gun and the bullet missed Chuck’s head by a few inches.
“Chuck!” the ARO yelled.
“I’m fine!” he called back.
Timothy was staring at Chuck. “I won’t miss again.”
After a few seconds of silence, Chuck said, “You’re right, you know.”
“About what?”
“Relocation doesn’t help.”
Timothy shook his head. “Now you’re just screwing with me.”
“A kid died from the sickness yesterday. I saw three more who were permanently scarred.” Chuck was tearful. “There has to be a better way than this.”
Timothy sat in a chair across from the couch. “Kids?”
“Yeah.”
He set the gun on a table next to him. “This is just crazy. How’d we even get like this?”
“I don’t know. Our greed? Our anger?”
“It’s not right.” Timothy buried his head in his hands. “It’s just not right.”
Chuck thought about running while Timothy had his head down, but he raised it back up before he got the chance. “It’s got to be tough having to see that every day.”
“You have no idea.” Chuck took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about quitting.”
“Really?” Timothy looked surprised.
Chuck nodded his head.
“Then you’d be just like me. Moving to the pits.”
Chuck nodded his head again. “I know.”
“You’d really do that?”
Chuck hesitated, but said, “If my quitting can be a statement to make them change, then yes. It would be worth it.”
Timothy picked up the gun again. He said, “You look like you need a drink.”
“I could use one.”
Timothy got up and went to the fridge in the kitchen behind him. He opened the door and bent down to get the drinks.
Chuck saw it as an opportunity to run. He got up and slowly moved to the doorway. He ran out of the room and down the hallway.
“Hey!” Timothy screamed. “Get back here!” He ran after Chuck only to run into a barrage of tranquilizer darts.
“Are you all right?” the ARO asked Chuck.
“I’m fine.”
The Medical Officers went in to check on Timothy. They put him on a stretcher and wheeled him out.
As he passed Chuck, he said, “I thought you wanted to be like me.”
Chuck was tearful again. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t care about us.” The Medics put Timothy in a Medical van and drove away.
Chuck walked away from the house and took a few deep breaths. He rubbed his face and wiped his tears away.
The ARO came over to him. “You did great in there, sir.”
“Thanks,” Chuck said sarcastically.
“He really believed you. I didn’t know you were such a good actor.”
Chuck looked at him. “I wasn’t acting.”
The ARO looked confused. “You’re really thinking about leaving?”
Chuck didn’t answer him. Instead, he said, “Do you have the chart?”
“Right here.” He handed the chart to Chuck.
“Let’s go.” Chuck headed for the next house.
Dear Missy,
What is wrong with me? Mom’s dead. She died a long time ago. Why would I think she’s in a retirement home? It has to be these headaches. They’re clouding my mind and I don’t know how to stop it.
Why haven’t I heard from you, Missy? You haven’t sent me a letter in a long time. Did I say something wrong? Was it bringing up Mom? I’m really sorry for that. Please forgive me and write me back. Your letters are all that keep me going since Theresa died. I never even got a letter from Dad...
Dad.
I don’t know how much longer I can handle these headaches. Please write back.
Love,
Ken
Stop
Caleb sat in his dimly lit bedroom, writing poem after poem about the abuse he took from his parents, the drugs being done in his brother’s bedroom, and the girl he just lost to his junior high school football team’s quarterback, while his sister was suffering from the abuse of a man whose mind perceived her as only a sex object and something he must use as best as he could. Caleb thought his sister was at her friend’s house playing with Barbie dolls and baking with her Easy Bake oven; Caleb had given it to her for her birthday in hopes of getting little brownies and cakes whenever his sister felt playful. Caleb loved his sister more than anything; she alone showed him any love and affection and she was the only person who genuinely cared for him. Caleb wrote a poem about his last beating at the hands of his father as his sister was raped of her innocence and happiness, the man having shredded her sense of safety and peacefulness; her life was forever changed. Caleb would learn of his sister’s experience days later, as it took him some time to locate her; their parents made no effort. Caleb was deeply saddened, severely angered, overwhelmingly mad, and riddled with guilt; he felt he had not done enough to protect his sister, as he could have checked on her at her friend’s house. Caleb held his sister all night long; she did not stop crying, she couldn’t speak, her hair was dirty and she clung to him incessantly. Caleb decided that someone needed to stop bad people; his parents needed to be stopped from abusing, his brother needed to be stopped from bringing drugs into their house, and the man who raped his sister needed to be stopped from living.
Marc
opened his eyes to the sight of his white bedroom ceiling. His mind began to ponder why the color white seemed so plain and boring. He considered the possibility that, since writing paper was white, anything white appeared to be missing something. He briefly debated with himself over whether to paint the ceiling a new color or to paint a picture on it. He ultimately decided to do neither. He sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He stretched his arms out wide a let out a slow yawn. After relaxing his arms he stopped to wonder why people yawn after they’ve had a good sleep. People yawn when they’re tired, yet when he awoke, he felt well rested. He thought that maybe yawning was his body’s way of helping him wake up. That made sense to him. He stood up and walked to his bedroom door. While reaching for the doorknob, he couldn’t resist wondering why doors were rectangular. They’re made for people to walk through, but people aren’t shaped like rectangles. It seemed so stupid to him. After staring at the door for several minutes, he realized that human-shaped doors would be harder to cut. He concluded that people who made doors were just lazy. He didn’t ask himself any questions on his way down the hall or the stairs. Instead he thought about breakfast. He had his heart set on scrambled eggs, wheat toast, sausage links, and a big glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. He walked through the living room and into the kitchen. There was a boy in the kitchen pointing a gun at him.
Caleb found his sister’s jump rope that she got when she was three but never used, as she liked to ride her bike more than jump up and down; she liked the wind in her face. Caleb waited in his brother’s room until he got home from buying drugs; he never did anything useful with his time and Caleb had to hide because his brother hated it when Caleb was in his room. Caleb’s brother came into his room and sat down his bed, getting ready to do the drugs he brought home; their parents didn’t care what he did. Caleb ran out of the closet he was hiding in and wrapped the jump rope