by Inmon, Shawn
“I am her supervisor, Margenta. I am quite busy. What do you want?”
“I just have a question ...”
“I assumed as much. Why else would you have called for me?”
Are there no pleasant people in this part of the universe?
“One of my charges has been recycled, and I don’t understand why.”
A woman appeared beside her desk. She had iron gray hair pulled up into a bun. Her thin lips were curled back as though she smelled something unpleasant. She reached a long finger out, flicked Carrie’s pyxis casually, then smoothed it to a halt. She bent slightly, peered down the end of her nose and watched.
“All is in order. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“I don’t understand. He was started over. He didn’t kill himself. He should have been able to go on.”
Margenta sighed impatiently. “Didn’t he?” She tipped the Pyxis slightly so the picture grew. The scene showed a young boy, holding two guns. “Listen. This boy says he is not going to harm him. He took action, exposing himself unnecessarily to danger. He died. He was recycled to a starting point.”
“That’s not right. It’s not ...” Carrie was going to say, ‘fair,” but she knew better. Her Training Manual had told her time and again that the more she believed in injustice, the longer the journey ahead of her was. She wasn’t enjoying eternity, particularly.
“Are you the arbiter of what is right in the universe? Why do you believe that the only people who are started over are those who end their lives prematurely?”
Carrie paused, choosing her words carefully. “Because that’s all I’ve seen. All my charges are people who voluntarily end their life. The same was true for me. Each time I ended my life, I started over in the same place. When I was killed, I ended up here.”
“Perspective is everything. A person who lives their whole life in a deep ditch many miles long, but very narrow, might draw the conclusion that the world is only a few feet wide. That doesn’t make it so. There are so many things that exist that you haven’t seen that you literally cannot imagine them.”
Her lip curled a bit. “Bertellia has been far too soft on you. There is no reason for you to care about what happens to this person or why. Like all of us, he is perfect and cannot be truly harmed. Only his circumstances, the appearance of danger, are present.” She fixed Carrie with a severe look. “You have one job: feed the Machine. You see the tiniest piece of the universe and yet believe you know what is best more than the Machine that created it.” Margenta shook her head. “Sheer hubris.”
She was gone.
Chapter Four
Dominick slipped away to look at the rest of the house. The layout was still familiar, even though he hadn’t seen it in three decades.
This old house really only had two bedrooms, but I remember when Connie was born, Dad converted the laundry room into a kind-of bedroom for her. So, Mom and Dad’s room is there, Connie’s is tucked in over there, and there’s the room Sam and I shared.
He pushed that door open and stepped into the gloom. A heavy blanket was draped over the one window in the room, blocking out almost all the light. Dominick wrinkled his nose. It smelled of little boy funk—sweaty socks, dirty underwear, and small stashes of hidden food, forgotten about and gone over.
“We were such pigs,” Dominick muttered. “Poor Mom. Hopefully, she lost all sense of smell by the time we were teenagers.”
Dirty clothes were tossed randomly across the frame of an old wooden bunk bed. A pile of comic books spilled off the bottom bunk and onto the floor. Dominick quietly shut the door behind him. He sat on the bottom bunk—his bunk, he knew—and tried to think.
I just hugged my father, who’s been dead for twenty years. I held my baby sister, who really is a baby, not the soccer mom I saw a few months ago. I’m sure Sam will come roaring in any minute. Mom too, I’ll bet. It’s quite the trip down memory lane.
Dominick held his head in his hands, an oddly adult gesture in a child so small.
But. Emily. His throat grew thick. Somewhere, you are all alone, mourning me. Or, are you here, too? Are you a little girl back in Sheboygan again? You always told me that my impulsiveness would get me in trouble, didn’t you, Em? When you’re right, you’re right.
He closed his eyes, reached out with his mind, his heart, and tried to find her. There was nothing but the silence of the room and the far off ruckus of Connie running through the house.
Em, you were my missing piece. I knew it the first time I saw you. But I was twenty-eight years old on that happy day. What am I now? Maybe eight or nine? I don’t think I can wait twenty more years to see you. I guess I don’t have any choice, unless I can come up with a plan.
Dominick sat on the bed as the minutes ticked by, waiting for a plan to materialize. None did.
Am I just going crazy? I can touch and feel the things in this room. I know they are real. That other life with Emily, I can’t see or feel. It’s all just a memory now. So, which of these realities is real? Or, is this maybe Purgatory? What the heck did they teach me about Limbo in Catechism? Am I stuck here until someone prays my way out? Will anyone other than Emily be praying for me? I should have lit more candles.
With a sigh, he slipped off the bunk and walked into the living room just as Laura, his mother, came in the front door. Dominick ran to her and wrapped her in a hug.
“Oof,” she said, and raised her eyebrows in the direction of Joe, who was sitting in his recliner with the newspaper in front of him and a beer beside him.
“No idea,” Joe said with a shrug. “He did the same thing to me. Check and see if he has a fever.”
“Psh, there’s nothing wrong with a boy hugging his mother. You’ve got to let me go, though, Nicky, or I’ll never get dinner started.”
Dominick turned his face up to her, arms still around her waist. “But you just got home. Aren’t you tired?”
“Maybe he does have a fever,” Laura said, a faint smile crossing her lips.
Sam, who Dominick hadn’t even noticed, snuck up behind him and slapped him across the back of the head. “Let her make dinner. I’m hungry!”
“Sam! Don’t hit your brother,” Laura said. Sam instinctively ducked, but it was too late. Laura slapped him on the back of the head, but not hard. A warning shot across the bow. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you starve. If Nicky will let me go, I can put my purse down and get dinner started.”
Dominick let go and looked around. Laura was already in the kitchen, hamburger frying on the stove. Joe was relaxing in his chair, the paper open to the sports page. Connie was running up and down the hallway, singing a nonsense song about frogs. Sam had turned on the television—black and white, Dominick noted—and was sitting on the floor in front of it, absorbed by an episode of Gilligan’s Island.
This is your life, Dominick Davidner.
Dominick sat on the couch and pretended to watch the show on the television, but his mind was elsewhen.
Twenty minutes later, he was pulled from his reveries by his mom saying, “It’s on the table. Come and get it before Sam eats it all.”
Sure enough, Sam was already at the table, ready to dig in to his plate, but wisely waiting for the rest of the family to arrive.
Joe scooped Connie up as she blitzkrieged past him, carried her to the table and sat her on the Funk and Wagnall dictionary that sat on the chair next to Laura’s spot. The plates were already loaded—Wonder bread with a hamburger patty and canned chili spread over it. More slices of Wonder bread sat in the middle of the table, next to the butter. A tall glass of milk sat by everyone’s plate but Joe’s. He had brought his Budweiser from the living room.
Everyone but Dominick dropped their head and reached their hand out. When he was slow to react, Connie looked up and whispered, “Bubby!” With a start, Dominick took his father and little sister’s hand.
“Bless us, oh Lord, in these thy gifts,” Joe intoned, “which we are about to receive from thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lo
rd, Amen.”
Before the last syllable was out of Joe’s mouth, Sam had crossed himself, and in one smooth motion that spoke of long years of practice, picked up his fork and scooped a huge mouthful of chili burger into his mouth. While everyone else was still straightening out their napkins, Sam had already loaded a second forkful and it was lined up like an airplane waiting for a landing clearance.
Dominick glanced at his mother to see if she would rebuke Sam for bolting his food, but she ignored him. Apparently, that battle had already been lost, and she felt no need to put forth a renewed effort. Birds had to fly, bees had to buzz, and Sam had to eat.
Dominick turned his attention back to Sam. He wasn’t really fat, just soft. Fat was still a few years off for him, or at least it had been in the life Dominick had just left. Where the rest of the Davidners had dark, curly hair, somehow Sam had straight, sandy hair and freckles. “An Irishman in the woodpile,” his father liked to joke.
Dominick cut through the chili, hamburger and bread with his fork and butter knife. He looked up to see everyone staring at him. Sam’s mouth hung slightly ajar, showing an appalling mixture of milk and chili.
“What?” Dominick asked.
No one answered, but instead went back to eating. A moment later, Joe said, “What is this, Nicky? High tea with her majesty?”
Dominick looked down and realized he had cut his food into neat little squares, arranging them just so on his plate.
“What’s wrong with you, spaz?” Sam asked, helpfully.
“Nothing,” Dominick said, pushing the pieces into more of a mess.
Joe reached over and slapped the back of Sam’s head without even looking up from his food.
It’s a wonder we didn’t grow up concussed.
Sam didn’t even seem to notice. He pushed himself halfway out of his chair and glanced hopefully at the stove. “Any more, Ma?”
Laura glanced at Joe, who shook his head slightly.
“Sure, honey, there’s one more patty and a little more chili over there. Here, give me your plate and I’ll fix it for you.”
Without a word, Sam handed over his plate and buttered a piece of bread to eat while he waited.
`Life is so different. Emily and I split chores and housekeeping 50-50. Here, Dad works all day, comes home, and he’s done. Mom works all day, then comes home to cook and do the dishes. What are the odds she’s got a load of laundry to do before she goes to bed?
When dinner was done, Joe picked up Connie, said, “C’mon, Squig, let’s get you a bath and ready for bed.”
Guess I shouldn’t judge him too harshly. He loved us. He was a product of his time. What would somebody from 2030 have thought about the way we lived in 1999? They might think we were full of crap, too.
On the way out of the kitchen, Dominick passed by Sam, who hip-checked him into the refrigerator, rattling the jars inside.
“Hey, hey, boys! No roughhousing!”
“Sorry, Ma. He slipped.”
Laura gave him the look, then turned back to clearing the dishes.
Sam turned to strut away, victor once again, as he had been a thousand times before.
Dominick shot out his foot and caught Sam in mid-stride. Sam tumbled forward, fell, and smashed face-first into the cupboard under the sink. The crash reverberated through the tiny house. The cupboard door swung open violently and hung askew on one hinge. Stunned, Sam sat up, blood dribbling from his nose.
“Dominick!” His mother shrieked.
“What in holy hell is going on out there? It sounds like the whole house is coming down!” Joe shouted from the bathroom.
“You’re dead,” Sam mumbled, pinching his fingers over his bloody nose. He scrambled to his feet and reached for Dominick, murder in his eyes.
Laura grabbed Sam, tilted his head back, and pushed dirty paper towels against his bleeding nostrils.
He beat me up just about every day, growing up. If I’m going to be here for a while, I’ve got to draw a line in the sand. He’s bigger than me, but thirty years of extra living’ and a couple of years’ worth of judo lessons at the Y’s has got to be worth something, right?
“Dominick Sylvester Davidner! You apologize to your brother right now.”
I’m sorry you were a crappy older brother? That’ll never pass.
Dominick put the most sincere expression he was capable of on his face, and said, “Sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to trip you.”
“Baloney, you didn’t!”
Laura turned her attention back to Sam’s injured nose, and Dominick let the sincerity slip away. He smiled innocently at Sam, then winked.
Sam’s mouth fell open again. It was dawning on him that something had changed. This wasn’t the same little brother he’d been pushing around for as long as he could remember.
Dominick walked to his father’s chair, picked up the newspaper and looked at the date on the front page: August 2, 1968. I just turned nine years old then. Guess I missed my birthday party. If I’m here, I guess Emily is probably in Wisconsin. So, how does a nine year old kid get from California to the upper Midwest with no money and no hope of getting any? And, if I were to somehow get there, what do I say? “Hi, Emily, it’s me—your future husband. Don’t you recognize me?” An easy way to get a one way ticket to a rubber room, even for a kid.
Dominick eased into his father’s easy chair. It was several degrees beyond broken in, with silver duct tape holding the seat together in three places. He opened the paper to the front page. The headline blared, Texas Tower Sniper kills 16.
That’s ironic. The original school shooting. Guess we didn’t invent this stuff. It’s been going on for a long time.
Dominick became engrossed in the article, reading of a recent tragedy that was barely remembered in the long-ago of his memory.
His father, standing over him, cleared his throat loudly. Dominick looked up and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, “Yes?”
“I knew it would come to this, but I didn’t know it would come so soon. You’re challenging me for leadership of the house? So be it. What will it be? Tickle fight? Pillows?”
Dominick’s face was a mask of confusion.
“Don’t play dumb, Nicky. You know the rules. Only Dad sits in Dad’s chair when Dad is in the house.”
“Oh! Oh, gosh, I forgot about that!” Dominick jumped down quickly, red touching his cheeks.
Joe ruffled Dominick’s hair, said, “All right, then, I’ll let you live to grow a bit more before you challenge me.” He sat down, wrapped an arm around Dominick’s waist and pulled him onto his lap. “Gave your brother a bloody nose, did you?” he asked quietly.
Dominick nodded.
“I understand. I grew up with two older brothers, and your Uncle Tony and Uncle Frank weren’t always easy on me.” Joe pulled his hair away on one side and leaned forward slightly. “You see that scar there?”
Dominick leaned forward, then reached a tentative finger out to touch it.
“We were climbing a small cliff in the woods behind our house. Since I was the youngest, I was the slowest one up. Your Uncle Frank dropped a chunk of granite the size of your fist down on my head.”
“That bastard.”
“Nicky!” Joe exploded. “Language!” He couldn’t hide the laughter in his voice, though. “I’m only telling you so you know I understand. It’s hard being the littlest. I know Samuel can be a little tough on you, like my brothers were on me. You can’t slam his face into a cupboard, though. Got it?”
“Got it, Dad.” I love you, Dad. You were a good man, and I’ve missed you.
“Good. For now, then, we’ll call that your one free shot to even the books, so no punishment. You can help me fix the cupboard tomorrow, when I get home from work, though. Deal?”
“Deal.” Dominick said, placing his tiny hand inside his father’s rough grip.
“No more bloody noses for your brother, though, or you won’t get off so easy next time, capiche?”
Dominick nodded solemnly. �
��Got it, Dad.”” He laid his head against his father’s chest, listening to the strong heartbeat, loving him.
That night, when Sam climbed the small ladder to the top bunk, his right foot shot out toward Dominick’s head. Dominick was ready, though, and the kick missed him by half a foot.
“I meant to miss you, twerp. Just a warning.”
Dominick waited until Sam was creaking above him, then said, “Hey, Sam? You remember Uncle Frank and Uncle Tony, don’t you?”
“Well, duh,” Sam said.
“You remember they were both older than Dad, right?”
“I guess. So what?”
“Tonight, Dad told me that when he got to be about my age, he started fighting back every time they picked on him. By the time he’d bloodied their noses a few times, they figured out they should find someone else to pick on. Dad told me I could do the same thing to you.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yep, he did. Ask him for yourself. I think he feels sorry for me, because he was smaller, too. Doesn’t matter to me, ask him for yourself.”
“I will, you know.”
By the uncertainty in Sam’s voice, Dominick could tell he wouldn’t.
Dominick smiled and snuggled down into his pillow.
I wonder if I’ll still be here in the morning?
Chapter Five
While Dominick slept, he dreamed. A swirling kaleidoscope of images, colors, and emotions that coalesced into one face. Emily. She stood on a rise in the middle of a small field. Dominick walked toward her, but the more he walked, the farther away she appeared. The field gave way to mud, and Dominick’s feet stuck more and more with each step. Frustrated, he stopped, reached his hands out toward her and shouted her name.
Dominick’s eyes fluttered open. A hand was gently shaking his shoulder.
Emily? He focused instead on his mother’s face. Oh. Guess I’m still here.
“Nicky, I know it’s Sam’s day to watch Connie, but he’s such a bear to wake up in the morning. Do you mind getting up and sitting with her until he gets up? Then you can go play with your friends.”