The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood

by Scott Semegran

  "Hey Jason, remember that video game system you had when we were kids? The one we played Donkey Kong on?" I asked.

  "The ColecoVision?"

  "Yeah, that's it. The ColecoVision. That thing was great. Remember how we'd play Donkey Kong for hours on end?" I asked.

  "Because we thought we could get to the end of the game, right? Even though there wasn't an end?"

  "That's right. We must have wasted thousands of hours on that game trying to get to an end that was never there." It's true. We must have literally played thousands of hours of video games. We were both pretty lazy kids. When our other friends were outside playing soccer or little league baseball, we were inside playing goddamn video games. Maybe that's why we were so pudgy, drinking all of those vanilla Cokes and playing video games and exerting about one calorie every hour. I mean, we were at least moving our thumbs pressing the controller. But besides that, we were pretty sedentary. It's true. "Hey Jason?"

  "Yeah?" He didn't even look at me. He was mesmerized by that goddamn computer game.

  "Do you think there is any way you could leave early today?"

  "Why? What's the rush?"

  "I know you're really busy here at work but I kind of need to talk to you about something."

  "What do you need to talk about? I thought you said nothing was wrong earlier?" he asked. I'm telling you, Jason was a goddamn genius. He knew me all too well.

  "You're right. I did say nothing was wrong earlier. But I still need to talk to you about something."

  "What is it?"

  "I'd rather tell you somewhere else. You know, over drinks and all." Like I said, I was going to have to get him nice and drunk before I told him what a goddamn whore his wife was. I just knew that it would break his heart.

  "All right. Let me go talk to my boss. He usually isn't so generous, though. I'm just warning you now. We may have to sit here until five."

  "OK. But five is only a couple of hours away. Tell him you haven't seen me in years. Tell him we're trying to catch up. Ask him to be generous for once. Tell him you'll make it up by coming in early one day." Jason looked pretty nervous about talking to his boss but he went anyway. I was pretty proud of him for that especially since he was glued to his game of Solitaire. I'm telling you, video games are as addictive as crack. Once you're hooked, you're done for. Your normal life is done for. And if there is any way you can play video games at work, then your work is done for. It's true.

  Jason came back shortly after with a big shit-eating grin. But it was a sincere shit-eating grin, I could tell. My pep talk must have worked.

  "I can't believe it," he said, smiling from ear to ear. "He is being generous today. He never lets me off early. Even when Jason Jr. was sick and Betty had to take him to the hospital, my boss made me finish out my shift."

  "But sometimes you never know if you're going to get something unless you ask for it."

  "I guess so. I guess so." Jason shut down his computer, reluctantly exiting from his Solitaire game, and compiled a bunch of paper work orders. He reminded me to grab my backpack and I followed him into the office next door. He dropped the work orders on his coworker's desk. He dropped them like they were cancer-riddled. His coworker was entrenched in his own game of Solitaire and was pretty pissed off that Jason interrupted him.

  "Hey man! Can't you see I'm working here?!" his coworker said. He was really pissed off. It was hilarious.

  "The boss said I could take off early," Jason told him. I was really proud of him for being so strong.

  "What? Let you off early? What the fuck?!"

  "I guess he's being generous today." Jason smiled and walked out of the office. I followed right behind him. The coworker was livid. He was screaming about having to do Jason's work or some other bullshit about how he was busy. But I knew that he was mad because he had to actually work now. Everyone hated actually working. But Jason never looked back. It must have been some kind of defining moment for him. He walked out of that building as proud as a peacock. It's true. He was strutting like a goddamn peacock. It was great.

  "I can't believe I have the day off early. It's going to be a great day after all," he said. Man, I was really feeling sorry for Jason now. Especially since I was going to be telling him about his whore wife. I felt bad for instigating the whole thing, leaving work early that is. I hate to be the one to ruin someone's day. I thought I was doing a good thing by having him leave early but I realized it was going to be all in vain. I didn't say anything though. I let him bask in his glory uninterrupted.

  We hopped in the turd-on-wheels and Jason accelerated the poor car as fast as it could go. He was really excited about being off work. The car shook and screamed as he shifted gears, pushing the car to its limits. We left the guard at the security gate behind in a cloud of black, putrid smoke and carbon monoxide.

  "It's so great to be off!" Jason said. He was happy as a fucking clam. "This calls for a celebration. The first round of drinks are on me."

  "You're on," I said, smiling at what a fantastic idea that was.

  "What did you want to talk to me about?"

  "I'll tell you at Mitchell's." Mitchell's was this well-known hole-in-the-wall bar right outside of the air force base. Everyone in town knew about Mitchell's. Not only was it a hangout for the personnel of the base, it was the watering hole for this part of town. Even when I was a kid, I remember seeing the parking lot completely full every time we drove by. Everyone who drank booze in this part of town hung out at Mitchell's at one point or another. It was one of those kind places.

  "OK. But don't forget to tell me. Stanford won't be there until five thirty so we'll just have to get started without him."

  And that's where we left it. We headed for Mitchell's with a black cloud behind us and enthusiasm in our hearts. I felt bad about what I was going to tell him once we got to Mitchell's and got greased up a bit on some booze. But I also felt a little excited because Jason was excited to be off work. He kept going on and on about how his luck might be changing and all that kind of shit. It's hard not to feel excited when you are around someone else who is excited. It's pretty goddamn contagious, if you ask me. If you don't get excited around someone else who is excited, you must be a pretty sad bastard. It's true. You probably have a hard piece of coal for a heart.

  Anyway, we promptly arrived at Mitchell's since it wasn't too far from the base. The parking lot was full just like it was when I was a kid. We had a hard time finding a spot, it was so goddamn full. Jason ended up driving over a curb and parking in some grass behind the building. When he went over the curb, the bottom of the car scraped on the cement. I thought the goddamn axle and muffler were going to fall off. But I don't think Jason cared much since he had a nicer ride at home. You know, the beast Mustang he had in the garage. The only reason he held onto the turd-on-wheels was, I think, because it had some sentimental value with his mother. I can't really say for sure, because I wouldn't drive a piece of shit like that no matter how much my mother would have liked it, but I think that had something to do with it. She drove us around everywhere in that car. It was hard not to think about her when we were in it. He put the turd-on-wheels to rest and we went for the entrance.

  "This place hasn't changed at all in years," he said, fixing his hair with his hands. For such a goddamn pig, he sure was concerned about his hair looking nice.

  "Really? I've never been here."

  "After we get our drinks, go check out what's hanging above the bathroom doors. It'll depress the hell out of you. Trust me."

  Once inside, it was obvious that Jason was right about the place. It seemed kind of frozen in time, what, being that it smelled damp and musty and everything was solid wood: the floors, the bar, the walls, the tables and chairs, the bar stools, everything. It seemed cavernous and quaint at the same time, probably because of the high ceilings. But the place was absolutely packed. And all types were there in the smoke-filled room: soldiers, locals, men, women, all ages, all drunk. Some of the patrons were playing
pool while others watched or played darts. But no matter what the different patrons were doing, they were all drinking and smoking. It seemed like everyone was smoking except for me. And a part of me thought that was a goddamn shame.

  Jason pointed to the only empty table and I went for it. Pretty soon, he arrived with a pitcher of beer and an ashtray. I knew he was going to start sucking down the cigarettes. And I was going to be right there with him sucking up all of his second-hand smoke. I was looking forward to it.

  "Go check out the bathroom, like I told you. I'll start pouring the beers."

  He pointed to the back corner of the building and I made my way there, carefully stepping between groups chit-chatting and drinking their cares away. I noticed the only modernization in the place was some video games over by the pool tables. But even those weren't as modern as they should be. They were all games from the early eighties, my childhood heyday. They had a couple of pinball machines, an Asteroids machine, a Pac-Man machine, and lo and behold, a goddamn Donkey Kong machine. I knew, before the end of the evening, that I would be spending some time getting reacquainted with that game. Man, did that game bring back memories. I even counted how many dollar bills I had for quarters, just to be ready.

  The bathroom had a long line but I didn't care. I wasn't there to use the can. I got in line and waited to advance towards the doors. On the walls were literally hundreds of photos of this guy Mitchell standing next to various celebrities. I figured it was the same Mitchell that owned the bar. And he must have been pretty old now, if not dead, because all of the celebrities were pretty goddamn old themselves. There was a picture with him and Bob Hope, another with George Burns, another with some lady who kind of looked like Marilyn Monroe. It was all pretty creepy and old and antiquated. I started thinking about death and it was depressing the hell out of me. I decided I wasn't going to look at the pictures anymore. I looked straight ahead as I moved towards the bathroom doors. And then I noticed what Jason was talking about. Right above the doors, right below the Ladies and Gentlemen signs, were two small signs. They said: Whites Only. I couldn't believe it. Really, I couldn't fucking believe it. I found myself staring at the signs, locked onto the historical significance of it all. Until I was rudely interrupted by the guy standing behind me.

  "Pretty crazy, huh?" the guy asked. He was tall and lanky and all sorts of drunk. His alcohol-soaked breath fell on me like a stinking dense fog.

  "Yes, it sure is." I didn't want to go into it too much because I didn't want to start a conversation with the guy. I mean, his breath smelled of death and I didn't know how long I could take it.

  "You know why they kept those signs there, right?" he asked. I shook my head, not saying a word, trying to hold my breath so his stench wouldn't float toward my nostrils. "The owners wanted to remind people about just how far we've come from the past. It's a pretty powerful statement, you know?" I didn't know what he meant. To me, it seemed like a blatant sign of disrespect towards African-Americans. The stinky guy didn't seem to think so. "It takes a lot of courage to stare at the ugly truths of our past, doesn't it?"

  "I guess so." I walked away without saying another word. The guy was getting on my nerves, what, with his stinking breath and know-it-all attitude. I wanted to be in friendlier company. I didn't want to be standing in line for the can talking to some stinky-breathed freak and wasting all my time. I had to think of a way to give the news to Jason about his whore wife. I didn't want to think about segregation and white-only bathrooms and all of that shit. That was the topic of conversation for television talk shows and documentaries, not standing in line for the crapper. I quickly made my way back to the table.

  "Pretty crazy, huh? You know, the signs and all?" Jason asked. He had poured two beers while I was gone and I was grateful.

  "Yeah, yeah." I grabbed my beer and took a big swig. My heart was starting to feel really heavy, what, with all I was going to have to tell him about his whore wife. I wasn't sure I could go through with it. I mean, I didn't want to necessarily be the catalyst to the end of his marriage. I wasn't sure I wanted that kind of responsibility on my shoulders.

  "Are you sure you're all right? You're acting kind of funny. Does this have anything to do with what you wanted to talk to me about?"

  "Kind of," I said. My heart rose into my throat. I could feel a big lump there in my neck and I was having a pretty hard time breathing and all. I almost felt like I was gasping for air or something.

  "OK. Well, just belt it out. Tell me."

  I took another big gulp of my beer and went for it.

  "Are you and Betty all right?" I asked. He just looked at me kind of puzzled and all. It felt like I was gasping for air all over the place like an idiot.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know, are you guys OK?" Jason looked a little relieved after I asked a second time. It looked like a goddamn boulder had been lifted off his shoulders.

  "You can tell, huh? You can tell that I've been feeling down?" That was an unexpected answer but I accepted it. Anything was better than me having to tell him what a whore his wife was. It's true. I wasn't sure I was up to it anymore.

  "Sure Jason. I can tell." I was pretty fucking clueless actually. He seemed like the same old Jason to me with his vanilla Cokes and his rundown house and all. I didn't know what to say. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong then."

  Jason lit a cigarette and topped off our pints of beer with the last of the pitcher. I could see that his thoughts were rattling around in his head. He took a long drag off his smoke and dropped his head to the table. I thought about how heavy his heart must have been feeling. It must have been feeling a lot heavier than mine. For a brief moment, I felt sorry that I had dragged him out of work early. I really thought that I was doing the right thing. I wasn't trying to break his heart. It just seemed like it might already be broken. And that just made my heart feel heavier. He and I were definitely two sad bastards. It's true. We had heavy hearts plus we were out of beer.

  "Hey, before you tell me, I want you to try something. When the bartender looks over at us, wave your finger like this." Jason lifted his head and I showed him how Ernie the nose-picking barfly from the airport bar waved at the bartender for another drink. "I want to see if he'll bring us another pitcher without us having to tell him what we want."

  And when the bartender looked over at us, Jason waved his finger at him like I showed him. And wouldn't you know it, the bartender turned around and poured another goddamn pitcher for us. And it was the right brand too. Maybe we weren't two sad bastards after all. Maybe our luck was getting better.

  16.

  The bartender promptly sent a waitress with the fresh pitcher of beer to our table. She delivered it with two chilled glasses and a sweet smile.

  "Anything else I can get for you, gentlemen?" she asked. I was amazed. This was a professional goddamn establishment. I guess that's why it's been around for so long. But I wasn't going to make the same mistake I did last time. No matter what, I was going to leave a tip, at least fifteen percent, no fooling around this time. The last thing I needed was revenge from a disgruntled waitress or bartender, again.

  "No ma'am. Thank you," I said. She flashed us another sweet smile and went to the next table with the same quality of fine service. "Man, this place is great. They really know how to treat their customers." I started to pour the next round when I realized that I was getting off track. Jason sat across from me, his heart heavier than before. His head laid on the table as if pinned under a boulder of sadness. "Jason? I'm sorry I got off the subject. Are you going to tell me now?"

  "I guess so." Jason lifted his head and lit another cigarette. He had blazed his way through half a goddamn pack since we arrived. He was really smoking them up. He must have been sadder than I thought. "Let me collect my thoughts."

  "OK. Take as much time as you need." Jason took a long drag off his cigarette and contemplated what he was going to say. So I contemplated what I was going to say at the reading in New York i
n the next few days. I was thinking about giving some background of my former employer and C.E.O. of TechForce, Mr. Hans Fitzsimmons, before I read passages from my book. I thought that a brief summary of his misdeeds might give a little more weight to the selected passage, especially considering that I wasn't going to be reading the entire goddamn book. You see, Mr. Fitzsimmons embezzled millions from TechForce by taking out personal loans and then rewriting the accounting books to show the loans as capital investments. Supposedly, he was giving the C.F.O., Mrs. Gretta Jackson, the wiener-schnitzel-express during his lunches at a nearby Motel 6, thus giving him unfettered access to the accounting books. But I'll go into more detail about that later.

  "OK. I'm ready," Jason said, lighting another cigarette. I was getting the full-on secondhand smoke experience. I might as well have been blazing down the cigarettes too. We were sitting in a cloud of yellow nicotine smoke. It was great.

  "OK. Shoot," I said.

  "I think Betty is having an affair," he said. And just when I thought that Jason didn't get it, he turned around and exposed himself as the fucking genius that he was. I mean, he was a pig and all but he was very sharp. Nothing got by him. It's true.

  "Are you sure?" I asked. I really played it up too. I acted surprised and hurt and shocked and all. He had no idea that I knew just how much of a whore his wife really was.

  "I'm pretty sure. I'm not exactly sure who she's having an affair with, but I know something is going on. And I know it's going on in my house when I'm at work." Jason was a goddamn Sherlock Holmes, that's for sure. But I'll give him some credit when credit's due. He was smart enough to put two and two together. I mean, it was pretty goddamn obvious to me that she wasn't faithful to him. But most people in the world don't care enough to notice that kind of shit about their spouses. Most people don't care at all. It's true.