A Million Versions of Right

by Matthew Revert

  “They’re still so new that a lot of places can’t afford to stock them yet,” said Penny as she walked with Amanda. “The only reason I can even afford one is coz I know a guy who makes bootlegs.”

  Amanda still couldn’t believe what they were about to do. If what Penny said was true, by the end of the day she’d have her very own bookmark. Amanda had already been convinced to withdraw five-hundred dollars from her savings account, which she clutched tightly in a balled fist.

  “Seriously, these things are selling for up to ten grand. I know five-hundred seems a lot, but it’s nothing compared to how much these things are worth.”

  Amanda believed Penny implicitly. Sure, spending such large sums of money wasn’t a regular occurrence in her life but this was worth it. If it meant she would finish a book, any price was worth it.

  “Thank you, Penny.”

  “For what?”

  Amanda stood lamb-like, her jumper pulled childishly over her hands. “For helping me realise my dream, for believing in me. No one ever has before and I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

  Penny pulled Amanda in for a hug. “It’s okay. Remember, I’m just like you. After this we can start our own reading club.”

  Amanda pulled away in total excitement. “What!? A reading club!? That’s been my dream since before my mother was even born!”

  She pulled Penny back into the hug, squeezing harder than ever as mutual admiration coursed through their bodies.

  * * * * *

  They arrived at a residential address just outside the CBD. It was a stylish looking place with minimalist design, almost certainly German in approach.

  “This place was designed from sketches by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe himself,” said Penny.

  “I have no idea who that is,” replied Amanda.

  “It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that inside this house lurks your new bookmark.”

  That was enough to send Amanda into spirals of joy. It was such an unassuming house, yet it contained the potential to alter the course of her life significantly.

  “I’m almost too nervous to go inside,” she whimpered.

  “It’s okay. Just follow me,” responded Penny with a sympathetic nod.

  Penny’s knuckles rapped against the door as Amanda hid nervously behind her. Time stretched as they awaited an answer. When the door finally opened, both let out a gasp, followed by a delicate queef.

  “Ahhhhhhh, you made it, girls,” said the overtly confident man who answered the door.

  He was of average height and sported a single, awkward dreadlock that arched from his head.

  “I’d like you to meet Vincent Peopleworthy,” said Penny to Amanda. “Vincent, this is Amanda.”

  Vincent looked Amanda up and down and decided he enjoyed what he saw.

  “Pleased to meet you, Amanda,” he said with hand outstretched.

  Amanda placed her delicate hand in his and nodded self-consciously.

  “So, you girls ready for a bookmark or what?”

  * * * * *

  The accidental discovery of book marking became known as the Doodlewanky method. A research team was quickly developed thanks to the joint efforts of many international interest groups. For six months, Doodlewanky Peppercorn was subject to a barrage of invasive testing that destroyed his marriage.

  The problem faced by the research team concerned Doodlewanky’s inability to comprehend what had happened. As far as he was concerned, all he did was slip his son an absence note, no more. The researchers didn’t care. In their methodical minds the discovery of the bookmark was a carefully deployed series of intrinsically sensible decisions. No one, under any circumstances, stumbles across such a thing, it was simply impossible.

  Having decided that Doodlewanky had been paid off by those with competing interests, the researchers eventually gave up. It was too late for Doodlewanky however. He was now synonymous with the rumoured discovery and there was nothing he could do or say to change that. It wasn’t until the opportunity to appear on television presented itself that Doodlewanky was able to set the record straight.

  The talk show was called, ‘Are You Ready to Start Talking for Audiences?’ and was one of the top rating shows on TV. The host of the show, Blimey Stinksnatch, had requested Doodlewanky specifically and buzz surrounding the airing was high.

  Record numbers tuned in, readying themselves for what they assumed were the wise words of ‘The Reading Prophet’ as he’d come to be known. The first words that fell from Doodlewanky’s mouth were enough to destroy any and all illusions, “I can’t read.”

  Incensed by this revelation, Blimey Stinksnatch choked Doodlewanky to death. No one endeavoured to stop her. After this incident, on-air choking became fashionable and many people needlessly died in what will go down in history as ‘a rather regrettable period’.

  * * * * *

  “I’m sorry to get all brazen on your lovely arses but I needs to see the money.” Vincent rubbed his fingers together, illustrating his point. Amanda reluctantly let her $500 drop on the kitchen counter in a crumpled heap.

  “It seems a little harsh, I know, but I’ve had more than one dirty scammer try to rip me off. I hope you understand n’ all.”

  “It’s fine,” said Penny, “We totally get it.”

  Vincent flashed a series of confusing winks at the two ladies and gestured for them to follow.

  They arrived in a small room decked out in ‘Who’s the Boss’ memorabilia.

  “I loved that show,” offered Amanda.

  “Who didn’t?” responded Vincent. “You two ladies wait right here, I’ll be back.”

  He returned a minute later with a small briefcase. Amanda nearly wet herself, fully aware that the briefcase contained her future.

  “Now I got three for you to choose from, all hand-crafted in Lisbon.”

  He slowly opened the briefcase, the charming scent of bookmarks filling the air. They sat perfectly, three lined up, all screaming buy me! Perspiration formed on Amanda’s forehead. Her eyes hadn’t caught up yet and were only now starting to take them in.

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “They sure as hell are,” said Vincent, full of pride. “I guarantee ya, take these out n’ about and there ain’t no one who’ll think you paid a measly 500 for ‘em.”

  “I just don’t know how to choose.”

  “Take your time. I ain’t gonna pressure you.”

  Amanda turned to face Penny. “If it weren’t for you, I’d never have this opportunity. I’d be honoured if you’d choose one for me.”

  Penny blushed her cheeks apart and shook her head like she was having a seizure.

  “Please, Penny. It would mean the world to me.”

  After an internal dialogue that concluded with the consumption of elk, Penny agreed. She walked toward the briefcase and studied the three bookmarks available. They all looked so stunning, so perfect. She thought of Amanda and tried her best to match each bookmark with her personality. It was vital that she made the right decision. Eventually she picked one up, saying, “This is it. I just know it.”

  She held the bookmark toward Amanda, praying it would suffice. There was a painful moment of silence, which mercifully ended with emphatic nods of approval.

  “It’s perfect, Penny. Thank you so much.”

  Once more they both hugged. Vincent attempted to muscle his way in but was elbowed away. The bookmark was a marvel of design. It was stark white with bold, black text that advertised an insurance company. Its grandeur was topped off by the company’s web address.

  * * * * *

  The notion that a tool so vital to the art of reading was discovered by an illiterate sickened the elite who steadfastly refused to ever utilise such a device. This had obvious impact on any financial gain investors hoped to make. A posthumous ploy to paint Doodlewanky as an eccentric genius was enacted. Several covert authors penned labyrinthine novels emblazoned with Doodlewanky’s name that were presented to the world as
uncovered masterpieces. The ploy unravelled when the novels were deemed poor by many of the world’s leading critics.

  This didn’t completely deter everyone however. A rich philanthropist called Newlunge Cracklebang was extremely interested in the humanitarian possibilities the bookmark suggested. He was forward thinking (and rich) enough to ignore the reactionary furore that had arisen to this point. He recruited a team of scientists and designers to develop a range of bookmark prototypes. The team ultimately consisted of 450 scientists (many of whom specialised in bisonry) and 200 designers (many of whom were dead). A research/development institute was erected in Yemen and christened ‘The Tit’ after Cracklebang’s mother.

  The first bookmark (codename: Harpies Knee) was completed eight months later. Doubling as a bison insemination device, Harpies Knee was an alarmingly expensive example of overindulgence. Costing 20 million to develop it was soon shelved after a trial suggested it only had a ten percent success rate. It was back to the drawing board for Cracklebang and his team.

  * * * * *

  Amanda could barely contain her excitement as she hurried home from Vincent’s. Her bookmark was safely stored in a complimentary case to protect it from outside elements. Tucked under her arm was a 700 page instruction manual that went over the basic aspects of bookmark use. A more detailed edition was available should she request it. Given the immense size of the basic manual, Amanda sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. The fact that the manual was so long it required the use of a bookmark struck Amanda as unusual.

  The agonising trip home finally came to an end. Amanda scurried into her apartment and drew the blinds, not wanting the outside world to interfere with her special moment. With the environment prepared she carefully removed the bookmark from its protective casing and sat it on the coffee table. She spent several minutes staring at it in veneration. Beside the bookmark she placed the hefty operation manual. Her eyes glanced over toward her bookshelves. How can I possibly choose which book to use first? I desire to read them all. She decided to shut her eyes and point randomly toward the bookcase, letting fate decide. With her eyes tightly closed and an outstretched finger, she walked toward the bookshelf, toppling several nativity displays along the way. Finally she felt her finger bump into a spine. A grin enveloped her face. My first book, she thought. Her eyes opened and she plucked it from the shelf. The book was ‘On Why I’m Cumming’ by Herman Friars. Oh joy! I’ve heard this one is very good.

  * * * * *

  The next four days were spent sleeplessly pouring over the instruction manual. She was only an eighth of the way through but was fairly certain she had acquired the adequate knowledge to use her bookmark. She wisely decided on a nap first which turned into a seven day sleeping binge. When Amanda finally awoke she was full of energy and desire. She scurried toward the coffee table where the bookmark awaited, urinating on the way. She opened ‘On Why I’m Cumming’, got comfortable and began to read.

  The prose was remarkably dense and largely nonsensical. Many lines had to be read more than 80 times before even the slightest meaning was revealed. After 10 hours, Amanda was disheartened to find she had only progressed six pages and still had no idea why Herman Friars was cumming. Her slow eyes had really copped a workout in the last few days, so she decided now would be the right time to use her bookmark. Picking it up carefully from the coffee table, trying her best to remember the recommended grip, she placed it into the book. Amanda shook as she began to close it, reminding herself several times that the instructions promised her place would be maintained. When the book was completely shut, she crossed herself and retired to bed, body unfed and exhausted.

  Amanda awoke in high spirits. ‘On Why I’m Cumming’ sat on the coffee table beckoning her. It seemed inconceivable that she would soon pick up the book and continue exactly where she left off.

  The book felt majestic in her grip. The bookmark jutted out, doing its job tirelessly. You’ve been here all night, just holding my place. I love you. She opened the book where the bookmark suggested and was immediately struck by confusion. No, this doesn’t look at all correct. I hadn’t progressed this far, not even close. Amanda was staring in horror at page 190, knowing full well that she barely managed 10 pages the day before. Is it possible that I just lost track of time? After muddling her way through several passages it was obvious the bookmark had failed. Tears clogged her eyes and she fell backward, sobbing wretchedly. She had pinned her hopes so completely on the success of the bookmark that there was no fallback.

  * * * * *

  Harpies Knee was a resounding failure but it didn’t stop Newlunge Cracklebang from persevering. Dozens more bookmark prototypes were developed at unthinkable costs but with each new prototype, they arrived closer to one that worked. Word of their ambitious project spread throughout the scientific community and at last the Doodlewanky controversy faded from view.

  The number of lives lost during the bookmark’s development tormented Cracklebang but with each new fatality, his will to succeed only increased. He wasn’t having so many good men die for nothing. And so it was, seven years after the first prototype, a bookmark called ‘The Wrinkly Slit’ was trailed with overwhelmingly positive results. Cracklebang and the seven surviving members of his team rejoiced and the world’s media was instantly alerted.

  Cracklebang was regarded a hero on an international level. He was awarded the annual P.I.S.S award (Performance in Scientific Studies) which he dedicated to the memory of the good men and women who died for the dream. Production on commercial bookmarks began immediately.

  The technology associated with the first generation bookmarks was exceedingly expensive. The first batch came off the production line with a price tag of $120 000 ensuring that only the most affluent individuals could afford to possess one. They were snapped up surprisingly fast by the military, who refused to divulge their intended use for the bookmarks.

  Within two years, the cost of bookmarks came down to a more manageable $30 000 and they finally started to filter into family homes and schools. The impact was immediate but widened the divide between social classes – the price still being well beyond the means of lower income families.

  * * * * *

  Penny grew very worried about Amanda who hadn’t been to work in nearly a month. She desperately wanted to give Amanda the opportunity to enjoy the bookmark alone but so much time had passed that the worry took over. She paid Amanda a visit that night.

  When her door knocks went unanswered at first, it only intensified her concern.

  “C’mon Amanda, I know you’re in there. It’s Penny. Please open the door.”

  After 40 minutes of unwavering pleading, Amanda finally opened up. Her eyes were puffed shut from the constant tears.

  “Oh no!” said Penny as she wrapped her arms around Amanda. “You poor thing. What’s happened?

  “It’s the bookmark. I can’t get it to work,” sobbed Amanda.

  “Let’s have a look at it. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Penny led Amanda back into the house and sat her on the couch. Penny’s presence provoked a tiny smile on Amanda’s face, the first in days.

  “Now, tell me what the problem is?”

  Amanda picked up the book in order to demonstrate. “It’s simple really. I insert the bookmark as specified in the instructions and when I open up where the bookmark suggests, the page is always wrong. I’ve tried hundreds of times but it’s beyond my capabilities. I can’t work, I can’t sleep and small pieces of my back have fallen off.”

  Penny’s eyebrow cocked in suspicion. “That doesn’t sound right. Give it here, let me have a look.”

  Amanda handed the book to Penny who found a page and quickly slid the bookmark in. She waited a few seconds before reopening the book. Sure enough, the page was wildly wrong.

  “I don’t get it,” she said, still staring at the page. “Amanda, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your method. I think it’s the bookmark itself. It simply doesn’t
work.”

  A tiny burst of relief erupted in Amanda. For the first time she had a glimmer of hope. Maybe it wasn’t her after all. She had just obtained a faulty bookmark.

  “What can we do?” asked Amanda, “I can’t afford to buy another one.”

  “Buy another?” scoffed Penny. “Screw that! We’re marching over to Vincent’s and getting a replacement right now. You’re not spending a cent more.”

  “Do you think he’ll do it?”

  “He’d better or he’ll be wearing my fist!”

  Amanda grinned and wrapped her arms around Penny. We sure hug a lot, Penny thought.

  * * * * *

  The high cost of bookmarks caused an underground bootlegging movement. Wildly unpredictable replicas found their way onto the market boasting an irresistible price tag. Underground bookmarks didn’t exhibit the same level of craftsmanship and weren’t subjected to the barrage of safety testing of their commercial counterparts.

  Like anything though, the bootlegging technique was honed and achieved a level of stability comparable to the commercially produced product. The practice was still against the law but was no longer heavily enforced. An unspoken agreement that the benefit of bookmarks outweighed the legality permeated most cities where bootlegging took place. As long as injury didn’t occur, bootleggers were no longer prosecuted.

  * * * * *

  “Vincent! Open up!” screamed Penny as she pounded the door.

  The passion in Penny’s voice intimidated Amanda but she definitely appreciated having her as an ally. A tired looking Vincent eventually opened, wiping his eyes and yawning like a whore on Tuesday.

  “What the hell! You ladies woke me,” he said with irritation.

  “I don’t care! You have some explaining to do. What’s with the bad gear, Vincent?”

  Vincent looked deeply offended. “What!? Bad gear? You gotta be shitting me. I ain’t never given out bad gear in my life.”