The Potential of Zeroes

by Eric Mattys

  The father looks up from his meal and sees the two through the bubble window. “Hey, I got an idea, sweetie. Why don’t we take your happy meal to-go? Does that sound good?”

  “Okay.”

  As they reach the upper level of the playground, the man in the light blue suit asks Alonzo, “You ever been on one of these plastic slides, Alonzo?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll tell you what, the static on these slides… it’s a reeaaal bitch. Those little metal bolts can pack a powerful punch. When I was a kid, it used to zap me every time right on the ass. Kinda hurt. That’s how I came up with this little device. You see that little car battery down there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve taken the liberty of connecting that car battery to all the bolts on the slide, and unless you tell me where those plants are… you’re in for one hell of a shock all the way down.” The two men stare at each other, awkwardly scrunched in the children’s tunnel near the entrance to the slide.

  “Are you serious?”

  “My advice, if you’re not gonna talk, is to not let your chest or both your arms touch any of the bolts. It could make your heart stop. No one’s died yet, but I’ve seen guys carried out of here with burns in places they didn’t know could be burned.” He pushes Alonzo closer and closer to the slide with his feet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Where are the plants, Alonzo? Just tell me where they are. It’s not hard.” The steadily building pressure of his voice matches the pace of his foot pushing Alonzo’s hip ever closer to the start of the slide. “You should know I’d rather not shock you, and you’re about six inches away from the first connected bolt.” He keeps pushing. “Last chance.”

  Alonzo looks the other man in the eye. “You’re full of shit. I ain’t buying your scare tactic. I’m not gonna give in on a child’s playground.”

  “Finally, you show some sense of dignity.” He kicks Alonzo in the stomach sending him down the slide.

  Alonzo’s right hip and tailbone each touch a different bolt, completing a circuit with the battery. “GHAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” Alonzo arches his spine so that his tailbone loses contact with the offending bolt, only to discover that his right calf and his left elbow complete another circuit. “AHHYYYAAHHHH!” Gravity continues its force as he makes his way down the slide. Uncontrollably, he slams his back down on the surface of the slide where two more bolts find his skin. This causes a tightening sensation all the way up his spine that hyperextends his entire back. “NAAAHHHHA!” Alonzo feels the cartilage between his vertebrae scraping away as he gyrates. Remembering the suited man’s warning about cardiac arrest, Alonzo rolls onto his side and feels four bolts make connection at his knee, hip, rib and shoulder. The pain burns like branding irons driven deep into muscle, causing the muscle to lock in contraction. “OOOUUUUUCCKKKKK!” He contorts his shoulders and back so that for a brief instant, no part of his body touches the slide bolts. He finally sees the end of the slide’s tunnel. His ankles clear the end of the slide, and he bends his knees so that he can use his calves to propel himself out. There was one last set of bolts on the last section of slide, which zapped him on each buttock. He sits up, but he hits his head because the slide is too narrow for his adult size. He screams out, “GAHDDAAAMMIT!” With his hands locked on to the top of the slide, he pulls himself the rest of the way through the slide’s tunnel. Alonzo wants to get up and run and scream for help, but he discovers standing is not an option for his legs; his calf muscles are locked. He falls over. Smelling smoke, he sees burn marks on his flower print shirt and his khakis. He rolls over and vomits on the soft playground floor.

  The man in the light-blue suit exits the playground tunnel entrance. “Oh. See, now, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid, but you felt the need to be inconsiderate and deny me the information I needed. Now you’ve made a mess.” He squats next to Alonzo on the opposite side of the vomit. “So, should we do the slide again or are you going to tell me where the plants are?”

  Alonzo coughs to catch his breath. “Alright. Alright.” A glob of spittle hangs from Alonzo’s lower lip as he sprays, “They’re in a park.”

  “Like a public park?”

  “Yeah. We have a camera in place so that we can keep an eye on the plants without getting pinched for them.”

  “Whose fuckin’ bright idea was that?”

  “It was mine. There were a couple of cops snooping around and I had to move them. I thought you were with them because of your stupid suit.” As he catches his breath on his back he asks, “What kind of criminal wears a stupid flashy suit like that? I thought you were a cop. You better not be because I will sue your ass for this shit.”

  The man in the light blue suit explodes. “I own all the cops in that fuckin’ neighborhood! You gotta be an idiot! Why wouldn’t you just move the plants to your house?”

  “My significant other would not allow it. We have a kid.”

  “If you’re lying to me… we’ll be coming right back here and you’ll be havin’ a lot of rides on this slide. You understand?”

  Alonzo nods.“It’s the leisure suit along with the matching Cadillac… it was just too—”

  “Just tell me what park the plants are in.”

  “The Hungarian Freedom Uprising Memorial park. It’s just off of Speer, a few blocks from the florist. If you didn’t know they were there, it would be nearly impossible to see them. I hope that no one took them while I was away. I was the one watching the camera at work.”

  The man in the light blue suit asks slowly, “Did you... plant them in the park?”

  “No. I hid them in an empty fountain.”

  20

  Venus Fly Trap

  “Are you really that macho-fascist-bullshit scared to where you won’t go into a flower shop?” asked Max three days earlier as they approached the dilapidated “Dom’s Flower Shop” sign.

  Mew stood silent as he contemplated; flowers are vaginas; flowers wilt; flowers are some archaic barter; one flower for another flower; Georgia O’Keefe; flowers are for girls and for people who like arranging flowers and for men who like it in the butt. Butt flowers. Finally he said, “I just don’t see the point if we know we’re not going to buy anything.” Terese’s presence would have provided acceptable passage through the flower shop, but she had a massage appointment.

  “C’mon. Flowers are tiny eccentricities, whimsical but perpetual sex data paraphernalia.”

  “You’re not making it sound real masculine.”

  “Why do you even care?”

  “I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea about who I am.”

  “No one gives a shit. You can be a masculine dude and like flowers.”

  Mew took a deep breath.

  “Okay.” Max changed his voice so that every word he spoke sounded like a subdued gag reflex. “Then let’s go check out the most bitchin’est biological machines… Brah. I bet they totally have Venus Fly Traps, and those things are super awesome like, jaws of death. We can totally find some bugs and throw them in there. And afterwards we can go check out a monster truck rally and shoot some deer.” He halted his hypermasculine idiot gag reflex voice. “Is that masculine enough for you?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Seriously though. They probably do have Venus Fly Traps in there. We should start looking for bugs now.”

  “I guess it’s worth looking into.” Mew scanned the cement for bugs. “Up. Roly poly two o’clock.” Mew squatted down. “Roly poly. We got a roly poly.” Mew picked it up and put it in his hand.

  “Roly poly versus Venus Fly Trap. I like where your head’s at, Mew.” They went inside the flower shop.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” said Alonzo from behind the counter. “Is there anything I can help you find?” Alonzo’s blood carried copious amounts of THC throughout his body. He believed his duty as a plant special
ist entailed trials of the product he sold. Not to mention that customer service was much easier high as a kite.

  Max strolled aimlessly looking at the cut flowers near the entrance while Mew walked not far behind with the roly poly cupped between his hands. “What would you say the finest plant in your store is?”

  Alonzo’s face froze up. He immediately believed they knew; they totally knew about the cultivated marijuana plants in back and the grow house at Moe’s. “Uhh. We have some truly lovely orchids over there.”

  “I’ve seen orchids. They’re nice, but I’m looking for something a little more mind-blowing.”

  Alonzo shuddered as he thought about prison showers and kept telling himself not to say “marijuana.” Who were they? Random walk-in customers? Rare. There’s a reason why the exterior appeared so run-down. Maintain. “You’re trying to impress a lady friend?”

  “Mmm. Not at the moment. I just want to see what you’ve got.”

  Alonzo felt the end approaching, the end of his life as a free man. It’ll be alright. Everybody goes to prison sometime. The white-person service job was always a lie anyway. Do they have guns? Momma can’t afford a funeral. Don’t get shot. Maintain. Resist. Not busted yet. “Well, you’re welcome to look around here, but unless you have a warrant, what we grow is our business.”

  Max stopped his aimless walking and asked with his back turned to Alonzo, “You think I need a warrant?” Impersonating a cop for some free weed? High marks on the MMJS.

  Alonzo stammered, “That’s what the law says. Liberty and justice for all.”

  With his hands still cupped around the roly poly bug, Mew asked, “Do you have any Venus Fly Traps?”

  Alonzo pointed. “Yes. Right by the garden gnomes.”

  Max put an arm around Alonzo’s shoulder and walked him toward the Venus Fly Traps. “C’mere. I want you to take a look at this. Mew, go ahead and drop the roly poly in there.” Mew placed the closed up roly poly in the center of the Venus Fly Trap. “You see this roly poly right here? It’s like you. You’re closed up and you think you’re protected because you think I have to have a warrant, but what you don’t know is that the Venus Fly Trap is like the Patriot Act in a police state; it’s got you so that the second you move the wrong way,” Max snapped his fingers. “It’s got ya. You don’t even know that you’re already in the trap.” The roly poly unrolled in the depths of one of the traps, but the trap did not close.

  Alonzo started chuckling and pointed. “He’s getting away. Look. The roly poly is getting away.” The bug fell into the dirt.

  Max raised his eyebrows. “He might get away this time, but I promise you, he won’t get away every time.”

  21

  On Ugliness

  As Max, Mew, and Terese walk home from the homeless shelter, a woman walks in the opposite direction. One eye looks higher than the other. On the side with the higher eye, her cheek appears swollen, but she has no bruises. The lower-eyed side looks slightly depressed. Her nose zig-zags as if scrawled by a drunken hand. Her pock-marked skin shows no signs of physical trauma, only bacterial trauma. Her jowls jostle and hide the bones of her jaw and chin as she walks with uneven, pigeon-toed steps. She tries to smile through her rather disjointed face as she passes.

  Max scrunches up his face after the woman passes. “Ugly people make me feel uncomfortable.”

  Mew chuckles but shakes his head. Does a chuckle grant approval? “That’s terrible, man.”

  Terese does not laugh. “You shouldn’t say that. That woman might’ve heard you. It’s not a kind thing to do, Max.”

  Max beams a smile. “I didn’t say anything about the woman who just passed us. I have to ask here, Terese. Should I not raise my voice because it’s wrong to point out anything ugly, or because you consider the woman who passed us ugly and it’s wrong for her to hear about her ugliness?”

  Terese sighs. “I don’t know if I would use the word ‘ugly,’ but I have to think you were talking about her. She was not pleasing to the eye in any way. I can’t deny what my eyes tell me.”

  Max feigns shock. “Wow. I didn’t think you were like that, Terese. So judgey.”

  Terese shakes her head. “She’s probably already aware of her appearance. I’m more curious why you feel uncomfortable around ugly people, Max?”

  Max pauses. “I always feel like there’s a looming tragedy.”

  Terese rolls her eyes. “You’re a looming tragedy. Burn.”

  Mew squints and asks, “What does that even mean? Looming tragedy?”

  Max looks more seriously at the sky. “When I’m around an ugly person, all I want to do is love them, without cause or reason, just as I would love someone who is exceedingly beautiful. And you guys know what I mean when I say ‘love,’ right? Not the like the romantic comedy kind of love, but the unconditional type of love, like that thing where we met.”

  22

  Zeroes

  It was under a giant tent for a spiritual retreat at a camp in the mountains where Terese, Max, and Mew met. A tall, thin man with well-tended hair stepped up to the slightly elevated stage in the front of a log cabin cafeteria.

  “Hello everyone. My name is David Baker, and I would like to welcome you to this seminar for newcomers to the Center for Spiritual Living.” David Baker led a revolution against tobacco companies in high school and earned his peers’ admiration at a young age. However, since he became a leader of soul-searchers, he felt less like a revolutionary and more like God’s minor league publicist. “There are a few ground rules. First, love everyone here. Not necessarily all at once. Honestly, folks. Being civil is not enough. Show some genuine affection. Why don’t we all break the ice with a hug? Turn to the person next to you, introduce yourself, and hug them. Don’t be shy. You only live once, unless you’re a Buddhist, in which case you’ve got eternity to figure it out. That’s a—” Max laughed in a loud and artificial way from his location in the audience. “joke. Glad somebody got it.”

  Maximus greeted the people around him, but it reminded him of the polite disguise worn when meeting new people. No one asked him about his arm, but no one seemed afraid to give him a hug, either. Usually he looked for people he knew to say “hello” to, but he didn’t recognize anyone. Maybe no one wanted to be around him because of his clapping behavior.

  The church, Mile-Hi Center for Spiritual Living, thought itself hip by performing easy-listening songs of the Kenny Loggins persuasion and then encouraging the crowd to clap along in an attempt to be soulful. To be clear Max had rhythm, but sometimes he chose to ignore it in the name of expressing his alienation from the congregation. Also, Kenny Loggins’ tunes did not make him feel one with any kind of Holy Rhythm. Faking soul was more painful than not having any. So every time the clapping began, a look of consternation overtook his face as he slapped his hand on his thigh or, if the music were particularly terrible, his stump. His face signaled his search for the downbeat, but his search proved fruitless. Invariably, his off-beat thigh slaps would throw off the clapping of everyone around him. He looked so into his attempted rhythm, no one dared ask him to stop, especially when slapping the stump. That would not be very accepting and the Community for Spiritual Living aimed to be all-accepting. Max found this very entertaining. Perhaps his acquaintances from church found it less entertaining.

  Not far away sat Terese. She greeted the people around her by hugging them for as long as she could with the intention of generating an oxytocin release. It’s the love hormone.

  Mew was not sure about God, but he knew he didn’t want to piss Him off. This posed a problem because he didn’t really know The Guy. Thanks for being Catholic and instilling an irrational fear of a bearded, boogeyman in the sky who tabulates the good and the evil deeds of every being on Earth, Mom. Maybe this will make up for all the masturbation.

  David went out in the audience, hugged a few people and socialized before making h
is way back to the stage. “Ah yes. Love is good. We have a few other rules, though. No drugs and no sex.” Several groans ensued. “Yeah. I know. They’re fun, but they often cloud our perspective, and that’s not why we’re here. And it might sound cheesy, but a spiritual experience is usually a lot better than sex or drugs. Think about it. You don’t have to worry about hair getting in your mouth and the strangeness of the morning after and the often shady price negotiations, the ongoing quest for a better high or a better lover and then the loss of brain cells, sanity, or life ambitions. All of these being applicable to both sex and drugs by the way. With either, you always end up wanting more. Although my livelihood does depend on you coming back for more spirituality, a spiritual experience can be different from a chemical one in that it stays with you and offers peace of mind and confidence wherever you are.

  “With that in mind, I’d like you all to take a deep breath in and get centered. Close your eyes if you want. Imagine yourself walking through a beautiful peaceful meadow. The sun is warming you, and the wind is cooling you at the same time to create a perfect balance. It’s the best feeling you’ve felt in a long time. Now, in this balanced silence, I want you to open your eyes and ask someone to walk with you through the meadow. The person you ask to walk with you will be your prayer partner.”

  Mew sat in the audience puzzled. He expected a church retreat with a focus on capital G-o-d and His associated word. But, thus far, God received almost zero attention. What kind of priest or reverend would talk so lightly about sex and drug use? It made him feel a little uncomfortable because, if Catholic God was watching, being here could be a problem for his eternal soul, if that was really a thing.

  “I can’t believe we’re not allowed to have sex here. We’re adults. We can make our own decisions…” Terese said to Bartholomew who sat to her right. Bartholomew raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Terese continued, “Everyone who comes to these things knows that God is everyone and everything. Sometimes sex is the best way to be close to God.”