Kilroy was Here

by Jeff South

  “What?” I scoff at his attempt at deep quoting. “Where did you get that?”

  “Some stupid motivational poster I saw hanging at work.”

  “I hate those damn things.” We laugh together and it feels nice and warm and I never want it to end, but it must. We group hug one last time and conduct the requisite wiping of tears.

  “I guess I better get going.” I linger instead of walking to the driver’s side door.

  “Drive safe, honey,” Mom says. “Let us know when you get there. Don’t text and drive.”

  “Are you heading straight there?” Dad asks.

  “No.” I finally take the necessary steps to my car door. “I need to make a couple of stops first.”

  *

  Randi Williams sits behind the desk in her new office at Corporate HQ. She forgoes the usual business casual attire and opts instead for a simple black t-shirt with the Corporate logo and pair of jeans. The nameplate on her desk reads:

  RANDI WILLIAMS

  CHIEF OPERATIONS OFFICER

  She stands as I enter and greets me with a tight hug. She gestures for me to sit and she takes her seat behind the desk. Behind her is a window overlooking the parking lot, but not much else. Someone as awesome as Randi Williams deserves a better view.

  “So,” she says through a beaming smile. “You’re off to college?”

  “Yeah. It’s time to go.”

  “You’re gonna do great.”

  “Hope so.” I point at her nameplate. “How do you like your new job?”

  “Growing pains,” she tells me. “I’m used to being in the field, but this is good. I’ve got a lot of ideas I want to implement.”

  “Have you heard from or seen Max at all?”

  “Not since that night.” She spins a bit in her chair and faces her mediocre office view. “I came in early the next morning and he had posted his letter of resignation on my office door. No clue where he’s at.”

  “Grandor’s still out there, too,” I say.

  “Not sure where he’s at. Maybe he found a way through the portal. We’ll find him somehow. We also believe there are unaccounted for Herpezoids and Araneae.” She spins back around to me. “I’m acquiring new resources as we speak.”

  “What did you say to the police? How did this get handled?”

  She shakes her head and laughs a bit. “That took some doing. I spent the whole next morning finding an emergency set of Rube Goldberg Protocols in case of civilian impact.”

  “What were they?” I ask.

  “Apparently Corporate owns a pest control subsidiary here in town.” She stands looks out her window at the parking lot. “We spent the rest of the day sending out mosquito spraying trucks. Except we sprayed the same substance that powered Simon’s Single Shot Photon Freeze Ray.”

  “So, you took away short term memory?”

  “It seems to have worked. People have weird memories of that night, but we were able to doctor some official health department reports to make it look like bad food from the River Luau. Laced with hallucinogens and all that.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” She spins back to me. “I guess you could say we quickly re-engineered tactical meta services.”

  We share a laugh.

  “How did Kevin handle Simon Tybalt’s death?” I ask.

  “That one’s a mystery,” Randi says. “Kevin says Simon had a Rube Goldberg Protocol in the event of his death and honored it.”

  “Did he really will the company to Jeff’s mom? He really was Jeff’s dad?”

  “He did,” she replies. “He was. And Sandra made Jeff chairman in title only. He, of course, thinks he’s some all-powerful entity, but Sandra is the real boss. She’s awesome.”

  “What do you have Jeff even doing?”

  “He was pretty depressed after you blew up his car, as you well know. I put him in charge of our fleet operations center. We’re using Simon Tybalt’s quintonium drive technology to create vehicles like Miss America.” An impish grin spreads across her face. “I cut him a deal. I let him have the prototype of our first upgrade and he agrees to stay out of the way.”

  A knock at her office door pulls us away from our conversation. We turn to see Sandra Harper poking her head in the door. She wears what looks to me like the same sad smile as the late Simon Tybalt.

  “Tony.” She enters and I stand and accept her hug. “Good luck at college.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My son is going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to miss him,” I say, choking back the welling lump in my throat.

  “Randi,” she says to Corporate’s new COO, “I finished debriefing our two new hires. They’ll be a nice fit for the new position we’ve created. Don’t forget we have our appointment later with Dean Larson and the rest of his team in Employee Connections.”

  “Employee Connections?” I ask. “What’s that?”

  “The new title for HR,” Randi says. “We’re trying to shake up some things around here. I’ll meet you at three, Sandra.”

  “Sounds good.” Sandra squeezes my arm once more and offers me a final smile. “Have you said good-bye to Jeff yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I assume you know where to find him?”

  “Yeah,” I smile. “I do.”

  She leaves and I turn back to Randi. She opens a desk drawer, produces a file folder, and tosses it onto her desk.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Tony,” she sighs. “You’re fired.”

  I smile back. She knows I resigned from Corporate the day after The Tragic and Sacrificial Deaths of Simon Tybalt and Miss America, but I assume we need to make it official.

  “This is your exit package.” She opens the folder and takes the top two sheets from the stack. “These are duplicate documents stating you’re leaving on this date officially. You’ll also see the nondisclosure agreement. You can’t disclose what you did here at Corporate. As far as anyone knows, you were a simple mailroom intern. Sign here and here. One for us. One for you.”

  I sign the documents and slide them back to her. She hands me the file folder of information in exchange for the security badge I’ve pulled from my pocket. She looks at the badge and I see tears pooling in her eyes now. I avoid direct visual contact by thumbing through the exit packet.

  “What’s in this, anyway?”

  “Some reminders about proprietary information. Your copy of the non-disclosure agreement. Date you can expect your last paycheck to be direct deposited. Also, if you look on the last page, you’ll find reference to a special token of our esteem for all you’ve done.”

  “Is it another Thanks for Being Awesome gift bag?” I ask. “I still haven’t used my gift card from the last one.”

  “Just read the last page.”

  I flip to the final document, a check stub for one hundred thousand dollars directed deposited into my savings account. I gasp and look at Randi.

  “What the hell?”

  “For school. Good luck.” She waves at her face in an effort shoo away a flood of tears. “You’re a good kid.”

  I try to speak, but can only swallow hard and nod. I turn to leave and she stops me one last time.

  “If you ever need anything.” She grabs something from her desk. “You look me up.”

  Randi Williams hands me her business card.

  *

  I walk through the lobby of Corporate one last time and wave to Jerry and Dale as I stride toward the door. My steps feel light with the weight of my secret job off my back. I exit into the parking lot and prepare myself emotionally for my next stop. A honk from a car pulling up startles me. I turn and see the Cosmic VW Bus rolling to a stop. Marlene Hunter leans out the passenger’s side window.

  “Hey, handsome,” she calls out to me. “Need a lift?”

  I smile and walk to her. Her hair is pulled back in that ever-present ponytail. Her eyes still sparkle. Her freckles still melt me. I look past her and see Clara sitting in
the driver’s seat. She, too, wears her dark hair in a ponytail. She doesn’t smile and I’ve come to the conclusion she never does. It doesn’t change how striking her beauty is.

  “Hi, Marlene. Hi, Clara.”

  “Word on the street is you’re leaving for college,” Marlene says.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I stopped by your house to see you. Your parents told me.”

  “That makes sense.” I feel like I should say something significant and special here. “Yeah.”

  “You’re gonna do great, Tony Pershing.” She reaches out, grabs my shirt collar, and pulls me to her. She kisses me. The strength in my legs disappears and my knees buckle. I place my hand on her face and the softness of her lips causes my pulse to quicken and my stomach to flutter. We’ve shared many kinds of kisses during our relationship. There was the Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow Kiss after our dates. We also shared the Full Blown Sloppy Make-Out Session in my car. There was even more than a few Here, Have A Stolen Peck in the Hallway Before Class moments when we were in school. This kiss very much feels like a This Is the Last One You’re Going to Get, Buddy, So Make It Count kind of encounter. She pulls away.

  “I imagined us going to college together,” I tell her. “It’s what I wanted.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have backed out on prom,” she says with a wink and a sly smile.

  “Touché.”

  “Besides.” She holds up a white oversized envelope with the words NEW HIRE ORIENTATION PACKET printed on it under the Corporate logo. “Clara and I have new jobs.”

  “Let me guess,” I say. “Hunting alien scum?”

  “Something like that. I believe our official title is Dynamic Tactics Facilitator.” She reaches out and takes my hand. Her fingers caress mine and she offers me a sweet smile. “You take care of yourself, Tony Pershing.”

  “You, too.” I say. “Bye, Clara.”

  Clara says nothing, choosing instead to nod in my general direction. The Cosmic VW Bus pulls away and with it takes the piece of my heart belonging to Marlene Hunter.

  *

  I pull up to the front of Someone Else’s Books and walk up to the front door. A sticker I’ve never seen before on the window reads “A Corporate Entity.” I enter the store and find Kevin Raulston placing some books on a shelf and pricing them.

  “Tone-Man!” He sets down the books and offers a broad smile. “You off to school?”

  “Yep. Time to make my way in the world.”

  I glance behind Kevin’s counter into his office area. The maps and news clippings and drawings of Herpezoids are still there. An urn rests on top of his filing cabinet. I’ve never seen it before so I ask what it is.

  “That’s Simon Tybalt.” He walks to filing cabinet, pulls the urn down, and sets on the counter. “This is what he wanted.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve been in contact with him for years. I was an intern at Corporate just like you a long time ago. I knew about the portal because he taught it to me. This was before Corporate became what it is now.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  He sets the urn back on the filing cabinet and returns to pricing and shelving the paperbacks. They’re Western novels.

  “Well,” he says. “I graduated high school. My time as an intern ended just like yours. I had an arrangement with Simon to set up a secret group that would fight the Herpezoids infiltrating our planet.”

  “The book club,” I say.

  “The book club.” He places the last of the Western paperbacks on the shelf and tapes a sign advertising them for a quarter apiece or ten for a dollar.

  “What are you doing to do now?” I ask.

  “Sell old books. Replace them with new old books. Sell those. Rinse and repeat.”

  “What about Herpezoids?”

  “There will always be Herpezoids.” He turns and faces me. “That’s what I’ve been saying for years.”

  *

  Before I left Corporate HQ, Randi Williams informed me of the new Rube Goldberg Protocol for entering the portal security gate at the river. She told me she had them reprogrammed just for me, just for today. I ease up to the intercom box and press the call button.

  “Security credentials, please.”

  “I’m here to see my friend,” I say.

  “He’s been expecting you.”

  The now repaired gate slides open and I enter. Up ahead is the familiar image of Jeff Harper sitting on the hood of his car. The unfamiliar part of this image is the car itself. In place of Miss America sits a station wagon, early 1970s vintage. I pull up next to him and see it’s a 1972 Pontiac Catalina station wagon and, while it’s not the same as Miss America, it’s the kind of car that perfectly suits Jeff. It’s olive green with simulated wood paneling. I get out and walk to him as he stares out at the river. Simon Tybalt’s fishing hat sits next to him on the hood.

  “Nice car,” I say.

  “It’s alright,” he says. “I’m getting used to it.”

  “Have you named it yet?”

  “Not yet. Too soon.”

  We stand for a moment and say nothing. It’s not an awkward silence or uncomfortable lull. It’s merely the unspoken moment between lifelong friends that doesn’t require conversation. We both look at out over the river.

  “Have you listened to any of the music Simon downloaded for you?”

  “Yeah,” he tells me. “Some of it’s pretty good. I really like that REO Speedwagon.”

  “What happens now?”

  “You need to tell the world about us.” His voice is urgent. He faces me, his eyes searching me. “Tell everyone. Write about us in one of those stories you’re always coming up with.”

  I scrunch my face and shake my head a bit. “What? I don’t write stories.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I never have. No desire to start, either.”

  My friend turns back to the river, a little deflated. “Did I know this about you?”

  “Where are you going from here?” I ask him. He lights up one of his Mongalisonian cigarettes and takes a drag.

  “First things, first. I need some smokes. Then, I’m gonna spend some time on Nitz. Maybe find myself or some shit.”

  “Are you taking Leigh Ann?”

  “No,” he says with some sadness. “I zapped her with a smaller version of Simon’s Single Photon Freeze Ray.”

  “Did it impact her memories of what happened?”

  “She just keeps saying she remembers having weird dreams. I dunno. I can’t take her. It’s not right.”

  “Did you break up?”

  He takes a long drag off his cigarette and exhales. “No. But it’s weird now. So, we agreed to give each other some space or some shit. I dunno. It sucks.”

  He offers me a cigarette.

  “I don’t need it anymore,” I say. “I had the nano deprogrammed. It doesn’t work anymore.”

  “I know,” he says. “I had Corporate put it in me.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  I offer a light chuckle. “You’re finally Mr. Roboto.”

  “Like it matters,” he mumbles.

  “Are you okay?” I put my hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  “You blew up my car.”

  “You injected me with a nanotech against my will.”

  “Call it even, then.” He drops his smoke to the ground and stamps it out. “It’s been a wild few weeks. But, hey, I got my own company out of the deal, so that’s cool.”

  “That’s right. You’re Mr. Corporate now.”

  “Yep. That makes me the boss of you.”

  I laugh. “You are not the boss of me. I got fired today.”

  We reach an uncomfortable conversational lull. He looks at me with tears in his eyes.

  “I guess this is it.” He puts the fishing hat on his head. “Time for me to fly.”

  Like a reflex response, we perform our ritualistic handshake: High
five, low five, side-to-side, fly away birdy, turn away from each other, turn back, point at each other.

  “Take care of yourself,” I say.

  “Try not to suck at college.”

  Now I’m doing that thing where I laugh through my tears. It’s a strange sensation, but I like it. Jeff Harper locks me in a bear hug and squeezes tight.

  “I love you, man,” he says.

  “I love you, too.”

  He pulls away, wipes his face, and puts on his aviators. “Well, I said bye to mom. Said bye to Leigh Ann. I’m gonna head through the ol’ portal and go own the night.” He turns toward his car.

  “Hey,” I call to him. “Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.”

  “Domo arigato,” he says. “Mata au hi made.”

  Jeff Harper climbs in his nameless station wagon, starts the engine, and backs up several yards. I shield my eyes as he ignites the quintonium drive. A white beam hits the soft spot above the river and the car speeds toward the opening portal. He disappears into it and it closes behind him. I blow out an emotional sigh and climb into my car. I’ve said my good-byes. My work here is done. I once more regard the site of The Prom Night of Which We Shall Not Speak. Life really is about choices and I realize I shouldn’t fear them. I suppose I could continue working for Corporate or even join Jeff out in space doing God knows what. Instead, I’m going to college. I’m going to leave this behind me and move on to something new.

  I think I’m making the right choice.

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I started writing Kilroy Was Here in 2011 when it was titled something else and, aside from the first chapter, was a completely different story. I didn’t intentionally set up to write a novel. I just wanted to write a funny scene to cheer me up while I was depressed because I was unemployed. I kept writing. I realized I had the bones of a story, so I decided to go for it. Writing a novel had been a dream since I was a kid. I needed to do this for me. I loved it, but it was not without its frustrations, stresses, and moments of wanting to quit.

  You can’t do something like this without the support and love of family and friends who believe in you. I am surrounded by people who gave me more than I knew what to do with: My wife Sandy encouraged me every step of the way and was my constant cheerleader. My daughter Sarah was right there to lift me up. I bounced ideas off my son Caleb, who came up with the idea of the behavioral weapons. My brothers Joey and Chris South encouraged my storytelling and imagination from an early age.