Jim had no answer.
“That’s what I thought.” The stoical man finished off the beer. “You’re my son, Jim. But your whole life you been flopping around like there’s a hook through your lip. I don’t know who put it there, but it sure as hell wasn’t me. Now, Financially Stable and Moderately Happy Family is on in five minutes. So if you got nothing else to say to me, say something to the door.”
2
Therefore Jim went to Disney Land. He came to a pavilion that was filled with color and children. Parents sat on benches and drank cold beverages, or they looked through the windows of the shops that gave away trinkets. In the garden there grew the flowers of imagination and its cobbled paths turned only for the heart.
The only drab thing was a woman in soot-stained rags. She stood in the center of the happiness. She handed out candies and kisses that she pulled from the air. Jim was careful not to step on any dreams when he walked up to her.
“Mom?”
“Jim!” She hugged him. “What a lovely surprise!”
“You look so young,” he said.
“I am young.” It was a playful warning. She spun, and her soot-stained rags spun with her. “I was always young. I’m so glad you finally came. That life, oh Jim, it wasn’t me!”
“I guess not. You look really nice. I mean, even in the dress. It’s a nice dress, too. I just mean, it’s nice. Everything is nice.”
“I’m Cinderella,” she said. Then she touched his cheek. “And you look good, too. Why don’t we take a little walk?”
There was some pouting when Jim stole the princess away. But when the princess told them that her glass slipper was hidden somewhere in the garden, and that the first to find it would ride the magic pumpkin, the transgression was forgotten.
They walked until they were alone.
“They really love you,” Jim said.
“Oh, I love them, Jim! I love them so much! And I love this place. The colors, the magic, all the smiling little faces. It’s paradise. It’s really paradise.”
“I wish I could find something like this. You know, something that fits.”
“There’s always room for another Jack Sparrow.”
“I don’t think I’d be much of a pirate.”
“I think you’d make wonderful pirate.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Oh! Stop! Over here! Shhhhhh. Here he comes.”
And Cinderella pulled him to the side of the cobbled walk and into the shade of the bell flowers. A stiff man in a serious suit appeared upon the walk. He carried upon his shoulder an enormous paint brush, the way a soldier might carry a bazooka.
“That’s Walt,” she said. “Look, he’s about to change something.”
Walt considered what surrounded him and then he went to work with his brush. The blues and the reds and greens and the yellows swirled out of comprehension. A new form took shape. It was a little thatch hut with wayward dimensions and a smoking chimney. Then a family of penguins walked out of the hut. They wore Hawaiian shirts and started a barbecue.
“Jim . . .” Cinderella touched his elbow. “There’s another reason I like it here.”
“What?”
“I get to be close to your brother.”
“I have a brother?” For Jim had never known a brother.
Cinderella pointed. Jim followed her finger over the thatch hut and the tress and a patch of giant mushrooms. The peaks of a castle glittered against the painted sky.
“In the tallest tower. That’s where they go.”
“They? How many brothers do I have?”
“It was a long time ago, Jim. Please forgive me, that I never told you. How could I know? How can anybody know?”
“Mom. Mom, it’s alright. Really. What’s going on?”
“I didn’t want him. I couldn’t want him. It was so long ago, and in that dreadful life. Before I met your father, I . . . I let him go.”
Then Jim understood. He took Cinderella’s hand, for it was also his mother’s, and he pressed it in both of his. “You had an abortion?” he said.
She nodded.
“And abortions go to the tallest tower in the Disney castle?”
“No one else would take them.” Cinderella wiped a tear from her sooty cheek. “Before Walt, the unwanted were unwanted even here. But he changed all that. They have a home now. He’s a wonderful man.”
Walt, who was satisfied with the hut and the penguins, walked on down the cobbled path. He let the tip of the brush trail along the top of a hedge row, and many-colored birds and beetles sparkled out of its wake. Then Walt turned with his heart and the path turned with him and he was gone.
“Can we visit him? In the tower?” Jim said.
“You go.” Cinderella smiled. “I owe a lucky little prince a magical pumpkin ride.”
3
“Hi-ya Jim!”
“Hi. Mickey Mouse.”
“So you’re here to see your brother! That’s just great!”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t look so glum, Jim! You’re gonna love it! We have the best facilities in paradise!”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Well let’s cut the chit chat and get on with it then!”
Jim followed Mickey to the rotunda. There were marble busts of Aladdin and Muriel and Snow White and Simba and Dumbo and R2D2 and Pocahontas and Cinderella. And high on the wall above the doors to the tower there was a mural. The mural showed a happy family tossing their baby into the clouds, and Goofy waited there with a baseball mitt.
“Why Goofy?” Jim said.
“He’s the least visually abrasive!”
Mickey pulled a chain that hung from the dome and the doors to the tower came open. They walked into the tower. Jim beheld the collected abortions of humankind.
The fetuses floated in jars that climbed up the tower walls. Each jar was fitted with an iPad and headphones. The iPads dimmed and flashed in unison as the fetuses all streamed the same show. Jim tried to estimate the height of the tower and the number of fetuses, but the tower was too high and the number too great.
“How many are there?”
“Millions! And thousands more come every day!”
“And you just hook them up to iPads?”
“They were donated by Steve Jobs! Isn’t he great?!”
“What are they watching?”
“What time is it?!”
“Four-thirty.”
“They watch Fox News from four to five!”
“Fox News.” This wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a statement either. It merely fell out of Jim’s face.
Mickey said, “Well, it turns out you don’t have to have thumbs or be conscious to have a political affiliation! And they’re all conservative on account of being aborted!”
Jim thought, It kind of makes sense that the aborted fetuses in paradise would be pro-life conservatives. I mean, I doubt they really give a shit about the economics of it.
Mickey led him to a mine cart. They climbed in. Mickey handed Jim a hard hat and said, “Safety first!” And then he pulled a lever and the cart began to climb the tower on a winding track.
The cart carried them up and around and up. The jars with the fetuses were packed in ten deep. The fetuses had many shapes and sizes. Some of them were large and well-formed, and these looked like pig runts. Others were little more than strings of goop. Upon them all the iPads flashed in constant rhythm.
“Why can’t they be people up here?” Jim said. “They’re just a bunch of DNA, right? It seems like, since we’re in paradise and we have all this technology, we ought to be able to grow them into people.”
“It’s a consciousness problem!” Mickey pumped an upbeat fist. “We tried growing a batch of em but nobody’s home! They just walk around like zombies and mumble and drool! That’s why we’re looking for activities that don’t require the spark of humanity!”
“So what can they do? Without consciousness?”
“Well, let’s see. We already talked a
bout politics. They can also browse the internet and post memes and clever comments! A few of them even have blogs and facebook pages! And they’re just great at Candycrush!”
And the mine cart carried them up. Jim looked over its edge and saw that they had climbed about twenty stories. The top of the tower was still a point in the distance.
“I don’t think I like where this is going.”
“What’s the matter, Jim?! Afraid of heights? Just think of down as up’s best friend. That’s what I always do!”
“I – wait, what? No. How much farther is it? And how do you know which one is my brother?”
“Steel trap!” Mickey knuckled his head. “And look at that, we’re already here!”
The mine cart came to a stop. Mickey pulled out from the wall of jars a single jar. The fetus that floated within it was on the cusp between a pig runt and a string of goop. Mickey handed the jar to Jim.
“Does he have a name?”
“Nope!”
“How do we know he’s a he?”
“Science!”
And Jim beheld the fetus of his brother. He tried to imagine where the arms and legs would have grown, and where the head would have taken shape. He imagined eyes full of wonder and a mat of messy hair.
“Can I take him away from this place? Like, if he had a home?”
“Sorry, Jim, but that’s impossible! It’s against company policy to let copyrighted material walk out the door!”
“Copyrighted?”
“Copyrighted!”
“Walt Disney copyrighted my mother’s abortion.” Neither a question nor a statement, it fell from Jim’s face.
“He’s an entrepreneur! But you can chat with your brother any time you like!”
“I can talk to him?”
“Sure! Here’s his Skype id!”
So Jim entered the Skype id of his aborted brother into his phone. He thought for a long time about what to say.
4
Jim
Hi
01101010 01101111 01100101
Wat
Jim
We’ve never met before, but I’m your little brother. We have the same mom. I’m Jim.
01101010 01101111 01100101
dafuq?
Jim
Yeah, I know it’s pretty weird. But it’s true. I just found out about you a few hours ago. Mom is a princess and my big brother is floating in a jar in the tallest tower of the Disney castle. I would have visited sooner but I didn’t know you existed. We’re brothers.
01101010 01101111 01100101
cool story bro
Jim
Do you like it here? In the tower? Is Mickey treating you alright?
01101010 01101111 01100101
I guess you could say they
( •_•)
( •_•)>⌐■-■
(⌐■_■)
fetus well
Jim
Oh, I get it. Feed us well. And it’s like a well of fetuses. You know I’m not sure I believe Mickey about this consciousness thing. I would think if you can make a pun you can be a person.
01101010 01101111 01100101
fag
Jim
What?!
01101010 01101111 01100101
FAG
Jim
All I’m saying is if you want me to I’ll punch Mickey in the nose and we can bust out of here and maybe get you some legs. Get Einstein or Jesus to take a look at you, see if anything can be done.
01101010 01101111 01100101
3edgy5me
Jim
What the hell does that even mean?
01101010 01101111 01100101
u don’t even
Jim
Don’t even what?
01101010 01101111 01100101
bro
Jim
Are you fucking with me? Are you alive? Are you conscious?
01101010 01101111 01100101
nice try, socrates
Jim
I’m just trying to help my brother out. Say something meaningful if you’re in there.
01101010 01101111 01100101
hi every1 im dead!!!!! shivers in jar I dont have a name but you can call me t3h PuNt3d EmBuRRiTo!!!!! lol i mexicant eat food!! thats why i came here, 2 meat ppl like me . . . im a tiny ball of goo (twisted 4 prenatal tho!!) i like 2 watch chefwars cuz they make SOOOOOO much food_ u always want what you cant have lol!!! its my fav show =) i dont have many friends bcuz goos h8 food o/ BOOOOO!!!!! Boos 4 t3h goos h8in food!! lol .. neways theres no scapin 4 me so plz dont give me false hopeses );
EmBuRRRRRRRRRiTo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <----- me gettin twisted o.O haha .. byebye
5
When Jim came out of the castle Cinderella was waiting for him. She was the magical Cinderella now and her pink marshmallow dress filled the pumpkin carriage. Jim climbed in and the white mares pulled them away.
“I thought you were entertaining a prince,” Jim said.
“Oh Jim! He was such an adorable little thing! He demanded to know why Aladdin didn’t just wish for happiness. He said, maybe Aladdin would get Jasmine, maybe not, but at least he’d be happy about it, and he wouldn’t have to do all that dancing and singing. I tried to explain to him, that’s just not how it works, that’s not how any of it works, but he wouldn’t have it. Absolutely adorable! Did you talk to your brother?”
Jim nodded. “Yeah. We had a, uh, conversation.”
“Isn’t he the sweetest thing you ever saw? I wish I could just eat him up!”
“He called me a fag.”
She slapped his leg. “That’s between brothers. I don’t need to hear that sort of thing. So tell me everything. What did you two talk about?”
“I’m not sure. I really have no idea what just happened. I mean, you’ve talked to him before. Do you think there’s a person in there?”
“He’s your big brother. Isn’t that enough?”
“No.”
“It should be.”
“It isn’t.”
“Well what do you know about it? You don’t know. Nobody knows anything about anything. You’re just like your father, always taking things so seriously. Except you’re not really serious at all, are you? Oh I don’t want to talk about your father, it makes me sad. We are not talking about him. Your brother, mommy’s little angel, is beautiful and he’s happy and Mickey Mouse is taking good care of him. And that’s how it works. That’s the way of the world.”
Her anger was sudden. Jim waited for some moments to pass. Then he said,
“Mom, I’m sorry.”
“He’s happy, Jim.”
“Yeah, of course he is.”
So Jim looked out the window. The white mares clopped down a path through some trees and came beside a pond. It was a lonely pond at twilight. It was the kind of pond where a wandering hero might see something new in his reflection. Jim wondered what he would see if he looked down into the water. He wondered if he would see happiness there, or the same old confusion.
“I love you, Mom,” he said.
“I love you too, Jim. Don’t be angry with me. I’d hate myself if you were angry with me.”
“He misses you.” Jim kept his eyes on the pond, for he could not look upon his mother. “He said he wishes you’d visit more often.”
“Oh, did he really say that? I told you he was sweet. There was never a sweeter child, Jim, in all the world. He misses his mommy. My baby misses me.” She squeezed his fingers with her hand. “Where would you like to go, Jim? I can give you a ride, but the magic only lasts until midnight.”
6
Jim knocked at the door and the old man answered with beer in hand.
“Well?” the old man said.
And Jim stood with shoulders squared. “I’m here because I want to get drunk.”
The old man considered him thoroughly. Then he opened the door for Jim to step inside. He said, “I guess that calls for the good stuff.”
The backyard was cut to the same quarter
-inch perfection and high rows of hedges made it private. There was a vegetable garden and a wood shed, a pit for fires and a rusty old charcoal grill. When the old man came out with a bottle of Irish whiskey and two tumblers, Jim was looking upon the weather.
“Does it ever rain here?” he said.
“On schedule.” The old man sat down in the plastic chair next to Jim. He poured the Irish whiskey into the two tumblers. “Gonna be a thunder storm on the fifth. Sounds like a real blower. I suppose I’ll have to get all of this into the garage. Might tape up the windows. I’ll have to go down to Hank’s for a tarp for the garden. That kind of rain, it just brutalizes your tomatoes. If you’re around, I could always use an extra hand.”
Jim took the offered tumbler. He tipped it in the old man’s direction. “Thanks, Dad,” he said.
They drank.
They didn’t speak for a long time. It was a comfortable silence. The old man didn’t have any questions and Jim didn’t have any answers and they drank and they looked at the quiet. They were three tumbles into the night when Jim said,
“I guess you could be happy here.”
“Happy?” The old man peered into his empty glass. “Happy isn’t anything I would know about. Always sounded like a lot of bullshit to me. There isn’t any suffering here, though, if that’s what you mean. You don’t get punched in the gut for no damn reason.”
“Mom leaving wasn’t a punch?”
“She had her reasons.”
“Yeah, I guess she did.”
“You went to see her?”
Jim nodded.
“That’s good.”
“I think she’s happy.”
“Well of course she is. She’s in paradise for Chrissake.”
They filled their tumblers and drank to that. And two tumbles later they were hashing out economics, ethics, and a precise definition for fascism. They were less than a miracle away from solving all three in a single tumble, but a remark was made and they were forced to arm-wrestle until dawn. Jim passed out in the quarter-inch perfection, heavy under fading stars.
XII
1
“So. Jim. Why do you want to become an angel?”
Book of Jim: Agnostic Parables and Dick Jokes From Lucifer's Paradise Page 10