The Birth of Dystopia

by A. Q. Moser

  “Another what?” My head cocked back. I was lost as to what Billy meant by another. I never remembered anything about dolphins.

  “Forget it.” Billy waved his hand to brush away the words that slipped out. “Do you want my autograph?”

  I gave Billy no confirmation to the offer but instead waited for him to make a move. He stood in wonderment. Why dolphins? What was he holding back?

  “Let me get you one. How about an autographed poster? I got lots of them left over.” Billy turned around, looking for them in the vast room. “They’re here somewhere.”

  “Don’t’ worry.” I had no interest once again.

  Why did Billy think I cared for his autograph? In my life, there was no need for an artificial piece of his popularity that so many fans and groupies craved for. My feelings of discomfort left and were replaced by a sense of amusement for having rejected an offer by a rock star. He was not greater than me but an equal—maybe a lesser. My only purpose was to clarify the origin of his video. Maybe he was testing me? He wanted to see how I would react to his request for his insignia? Yeah, he must be testing me.

  “Poster,” Billy yelled while indicating with a writing motion of his right hand.

  The toe-tugger reappeared. “I know where they are,” he volunteered, and scurried off.

  Billy never moved a single inch than a futile twist of the neck. It must be nice to have people fall to your every whim. He removed the expensive gold watch and placed it in his pocket.

  “Party’s not over,” Billy delightfully declared. “You up for the after party?”

  This was an out-of-the-ordinary request. What happened to the inquisitive, I-do-not-trust-this-guy Billy? Were we on the same level? I shook my head, not to his question but in not understanding how the mood changed so suddenly.

  “Are you sure?” Billy asked a second time. “You’re going to miss a good time.”

  “I’m sure.” I stayed on my original stance despite ulterior motives although I was quickly contemplating that I was making a big mistake. This was a definite rejection of an offer by a star. I was proud of myself for not falling to the whims of a celebrity. I was strong in my ways. My presence here and then to talk with Billy and I was more than satisfied.

  Billy’s face went neutral almost borderline into ‘who cares’. “Anyways, one of my guys can give you a ride home. You fine with that?”

  “Sure.” I jumped at the offer. Wait a minute, was Billy testing me? Maybe he wanted to know where I live. Either way, it would certainly beat taking the taxi home. “What time is it?” I looked instinctively at my left wrist even though I did not carry a watch.

  “It’s past midnight.” Billy said.

  “I got to go. It’s late.” I needed sleep.

  “So we’ll meet again,” Billy checked, almost on the verge of a polite suggestion.

  The toe-tugger handed me a rolled-up poster held in place by an elastic band. “Enjoy.”

  I accepted the poster. “Thank you.” Although I had no idea what to do with it as it did not interest me.

  Billy turned to the toe-tugger. “Radio Reyton to give Joel a ride home.”

  The toe-tugger nodded and scurried off.

  “There’s a big guy waitink outside by the back gate entrance. He’s a really big guy so you can’t miss him,” Billy described with the elegance of mockery. “I’m stayink at my home in Upper Toronto. We’ll meet again.”

  “Yeah.” I followed with a simple nod. I had no idea what to make of this suggestion so I turned around and made my way to the exit. I was happy that I had a moment of Billy’s time. It felt good to discuss my nightmare, if only for a moment. And because of this a strange emotion of importance ran through me.

  I forgot about Marie. She was going to be furious with me. I could not imagine her waiting for me on the concert grounds. She must have split as we parted our ways. I could always blame Billy for what happened. “Is there anybody still left?”

  “Everybody was kicked out a long time ago. The concert grounds are closed.” Billy explained. “The after party is at the hotel.” He smirked to one side of his face.

  “Thanks for everything Billy.” A small triumph for me, it was enough to go my way with my chin held high.

  13

  Up the stairs and down the graffiti corridor, I pushed out the door out. Outside was dark and foggy with stage lights still illuminating the main standing area of the concert field.

  I existed in a state of blissful progress mixed with uncertain convictions. A music video has transformed my life leading two virtual strangers to have crossed paths. Never in my wildest thoughts could I have arrived at this point. For a split second I had the urge to scream. Instead I wiped my weary face with the palms of my hands.

  The situation was out of hands. Billy would have to make the next step and contact me. Without any control all my efforts could go to waste. I needed this to work. The truth was out there and I needed it more than air itself.

  The grounds were empty except security scattered throughout the area. Marie was nowhere to be seen. By the fence, two young guards stopped joking around and fell silent as I approached. It was an awkward circumstance, so I hurried by the young guards. They watched, waiting for me to leave to continue their entertaining account.

  I headed deeper towards a back lot, away from the grounds. In the distance were two oversized tour buses; each had a row of roadies leaning against for support. I zigzagged around stacks of steel crates with grey spray painted letters positioned in a maze order.

  Huddled by another fenced gate, an entrance for the band and roadies to use, two suited guards and one extremely large individual carried a quiet conversation.

  The large guy looked my way. “You need a ride?” he asked in a soft childish voice. The width of his arms stretched more than the circumference of my head.

  I nodded, hoping this was the right guy. “Billy said to ask the big guy.”

  The large man smiled. “That’s me. Come follow me.” He turned to the suited guards. “Later guys.”

  The two suited guards waved the large man away, Reyton.

  I trailed Reyton while trying not to follow too close. We crossed the parking lot past the tour buses out to a line of three swanky Cadillac cars, identical to the colour and model. Reyton opened the back door for me to get in. Inside, exquisite leather covered the seats with enough room for me to sleep on the floor if I chose too. He closed the door with a gentle shut and headed to the front. I rested the autographed poster on my lap.

  “Where to, little buddy?” Reyton asked.

  I leaned forward. “Take me to seventy-five Navrina Road please. It’s before Telus Avenue. ”

  Reyton nodded knowing exactly where to go despite the GPS directing the way.

  I sat back in my seat growing weary of the long night that had passed. Wow, it was tomorrow. Nearly a whole night passed at the concert with a portion of that time with Billy. What was the name of that drink I had? Turtles something? I tried to concentrate but my drained mind was all over the place. I had to talk to Marie and tell her my story. I made contact and the best part was Billy said we would meet again. Maybe Marie could join me?

  “What’s your name?” Reyton asked as a gentle giant.

  “Joel,” I answered. “You’re Reyton?”

  Reyton shifted in his seat. “Yup, that’s me.”

  “I know, Billy said so,” I recounted.

  The conversation ended. The passing traffic lights drifted before me like a pendulum passing before my eyes, a repetitive pattern adding to the fatigue. I pressed hard over my eye sockets to help me focus. It was all the same.

  Familiar houses and street names passed. I was almost home. Maybe I should give the driver tip? I did not know how to proceed. Just to be safe, I reached for my wallet for a tip for the free ride and get the money ready. Ten dollars should be adequate­. I could not focus at all. It was best to just leave it at that.

  “Building seventy-five you said?” Reyton verif
ied.

  “Yeah, this is good.” I grasped the rolled poster and passed a ten-dollar bill to the Reyton. I pushed through the door and head for the building wanting to hit the sack.

  Nothing moved as fast I wanted and never had I known how leisurely the elevator climbed up. My plan was to do as little as possible and head directly to my bed. Washroom and undressing were the only things worthy enough to do once inside.

  Inside my place, I ignored the three messages on the answering machine, and went for the washroom. Unwilling to do too much, I went to bed without undressing. I snuggled my head on the fluffy pillow.

  The home telephone rang.

  “Hello,” I answered without checking the caller ID.

  “Yoouu!” A voice pitched to two tones as the word was converted to a two-syllable word.

  Who was this? Why so angry? “Marie?”

  “Yes,” the stern female grunted back.

  “How are you?” I wanted to ensure she was safe.

  “Where were you?” Marie headed directly to the issue, hurt by my actions somehow.

  “Can I explain?” I went on the defensive, unsure how to approach this.

  “What you did was wrong. I’m hanging up,” Marie threatened.

  “Wait,” I screamed, before Marie could hang up. “Don’t do this please. Let’s talk this out. Let me explain.” Why is she acting like this? It was not my fault.

  “Just answer me this, why did you take off on me?” Marie put it so shrewdly.

  “I didn’t take off on you.” I was shocked by this accusation.

  “No, then what did you do?” Marie growled, expecting nothing short of an answer.

  “I … I didn’t take off on you.” I wanted to assure Marie that I was not to blame.

  “Well, you weren’t there when everyone else was out so I waited for over an hour and the park was empty. I was the last one to leave. I was forced to leave. Do you understand that?” Marie explained disenchanted over the matter.

  I felt sorry that Marie was left out in the cold, alone. “I’m so sorry about that but—”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Marie interrupted harshly. “Don’t talk to me.”

  The telephone conversation ended. What just happened? How could I explain the situation without getting a word edgewise? What should I do? Should I call Marie back? Maybe the rolled poster would ease the tension and prove my talk with Billy? What should I do? An ache spread from the back of my head over to the front. It felt like a vein was pulsating irregularly. Tension strained about my sternum; leaning forward to diminish the pain did not help. So I waited till the pain subsided. I made contact with Billy and in return I hurt Marie. How could this happen? Where was the balance? It was a big sacrifice on my part but if it could solve my nightmare issue, it might be worth it.

  I would deal with Marie tomorrow when I could think clearer. Time would make her more reasonable. The shadows in the bedroom meshed about; it was a fatigue-induced hallucination. Some mindless propaganda news would distract me till I fell asleep.

  I shut my eyes. “Radio on,” I commanded on instinct.

  —Worst part yet, people couldn’t even remember what they watched the previous day. Most people remembered things pertaining to holidays or birthdays. It was as if the efforts of the media to entice with constant commercial bombardment were wasted since it produced individuals who’ve become unresponsive to any ploy. Originality has become the number one qualification for these television shows. Draw no borders were the penultimate motto of the media. Decentness was nothing more than a forgotten word.

  Only diehard fans seemed to be the type of people affected by a show’s advertisement. They, after all, boosted the ratings through dedication. Every detail was scrutinized and analyzed. Complaints were returned as to whether a show’s capability to entertain was achieved. Ranking led to more product shots and product shots had to be more obvious.

  Thank you Robert. It’s always a delight to hear your thoughts. Here are some snippets of what is expected tonight. A pre-recorded radio show, there I said it. Yes I’m being lazy tonight but I feel like. I’m calling it ‘Do as I feel night’.

  … Newer television models moved away from the old style of having the TV up against the wall but rather developed into a centrepiece of attraction. It resided right smack in the middle of the coffee table. Problem with this concept was TV viewing can be done from all sides and so it never did well in the consumer market. People just didn’t like someone staring at them from the opposite side.

  … I believe shoes should be just shoes. Forget the tiny computer chip in the shoe, who needs it? Do I really need to know how many steps I make? Or GPS? No. All I need are comfortable shoes. Plain and simple.

  … Typing has ruined penmanship ...

  Weak and thoughtless I succumbed—

  * * *

  The vibrant mirage of the horizon transforms into six multi-coloured birds resembling an adult albatross set in a linear formation. The largest, the leader of the pack, is also the most beautiful with intricate designs in the plumage similar to a rainforest toucan. The birds are in prefect synchrony with each flap of their wings. With a single swoop they spread their giant wingspan and soar low to the ground. Unable to do anything else, I watch as they glide to me. They brush the side of my head, drawing the wind with them. And then they rise upwards to the empty sky. Something is wrong with all of them but I continue to watch them as they disappear into the yonder.

  “They have no eyes,” I realize out loud.

  “Knowing is better,” a deep voice emerged from the behind me.

  The voice draws my attention, as I no longer want to watch the minuscule flatten dots in the horizon of once a pack of birds. I care to know who spoke out but instead I see myself on top of a hill riding a stunt bicycle across a narrow trail. The bike is a stunt bike I had when I was a child. Yellow foam pads cover the handlebars matching banana yellow of the mainframe and the seat. It rides comfortably and yet glimmers like a glow stick.

  On my shoulders, I dawn a faded jean jacket. I feel the open breeze with each pedal forward I make. But the pedaling is automatic, not forced but controlled in a subtle way.

  The open trial spawns patches of long flowing grass grazing the sides of my bare legs. Further out, low-hung tree branches shadow the trial. The ride is peaceful; there is no threat, no danger to be encountered. It is the plainness of my journey that presents the tranquility one expects in these rustic parks. The journey presents a relaxing atmosphere for there was nothing to run away from and nothing to chase. It is a natural movement like no other. The thought of a voice no longer lingered. I am alone and safe.

  The tranquility of the ride and the surroundings make me feel like I belong like it was a part of me. It is as familiar as the back of my hand. And yet, I do not know where I am going. Uncertain of where the path leads me. And from this, I start sensing uneasiness. I become tense and cannot relax. I harbour mixed feelings of knowing and not knowing like trying to recall a past experience while listening to someone else describe it for you.

  I pedal onwards. I can pedal forever, as the ride is effortless.

  And there—to my left—a fair-haired lady tanned dark sitting by the trial. I do not know who she is. She endures a terrible pain; her lips are sealed. Her dark eyes call out.

  I step down from the bicycle. “Are you hurt?” I ask, not sure how to help.

  The tanned lady stares at me with her hands bound behind her. The veins on her temples are pulsating, her mind is working but she speaks no words. Opening and closing her mouth, she struggles to communicate. I cannot understand and so I continue cycling. I carry on because my bicycle propels me onward towards a steep declination.

  I rise up on the pedals to peer beyond the descent. There is an opening in the ground. A bitter cold wind gusts out. I do not want to proceed. On instinct I have a death grip hold on the handlebars as the bicycle moves itself downwards. Fear makes me tremble. I drop my feet to halt the bicycle. Scraping
the ground, my legs are covered by dirt.

  I no longer move let allow cycle. The bicycle is gone. My ankles have changed. They have become thick roots protruding from my legs. I am held firm chained down entrenched by the roots. My fingers—or what once my fingers —are now feelers growing out like potato eyes shaping into tree branches. I have transformed.

  With heavy eyes, I look up to the vast sky seeking for mercy for my ordeal. Is there someone who could help? There must be a God?

  “Help me, please,” I cry in anguish. “I want this to stop.”

  A beam of sunlight penetrates a charcoal grey rain cloud. In the distance, a dazzling rainbow compliments the radiance of the beam. I stretch my hand out expecting to make contact with the rainbow, my glimmer of hope.

  Instantaneously, the sky darkens and night falls. A cold air sweeps through. I fear for the end has come. A breeze flows around me. I do not know where I am anymore.

  * * *

  14

  My eyelids opened and I gasped for air. The awakening was rough and I shifted around in the bed to ease the sore aches in my body. Knowing the reality of another nightmare, I take console in being able to move my legs. A sour smell accompanies every breath I take. The sweatband encompassing my neck left me all itchy. I was cold and scared again.

  But something was different. I made a connection with Billy the rock star. Somehow we shared a common nightmare. I was not alone and that meant more to me than a million dollars. I was not some freak. There was hope in my heart. And with that, I was no longer afraid.

  “Please God, please help me connect with Billy Coax, please do not deny me,” I prayed, serene and dedicated to my cause.

  I bounced up from the single bed and discarded the wet undergarment and swapped the damp pillow covering for a clean one. Thirsty, I shuffled out to the washroom for a drink of tap water. The apartment was so familiar that I needed no light find my way. Still in the dark, I moved to the washroom and showered to remove the stench of the night’s sweat.