Me, Myself and Ike

by K. L. Denman

  “Um, Ike. Remember we said we need that Blackberry? Plus, in case you hadn’t noticed, my computer isn’t a laptop. I have to buy that stuff, plus the solar panel and some books…I was thinking about an atlas too, so they could see what the map of the world looks like now. And then there’s the drugs and the condoms. Man, I don’t think I have enough money for everything.”

  “What? Now you’re telling me you don’t have the money? That’s bullshit.”

  “So I don’t, what can I say?”

  “You think your parents or Fred would lend you some cash?”

  “No. They know I’ve got money, and if I ask for more, they’re going to ask me what it’s for.” I laugh. “You think I can tell them?”

  “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re just going to get the stuff.”

  “How?”

  “Take it. What else?”

  I feel sick. I know what he’s saying. “You think I’m going to steal it? No way.”

  “Way!” he roars. “Get your head on straight, will you? We need this stuff for science, man. For the future. It’s not for us, it’s for them. You’re going to get it.”

  “No,” I say. My voice comes out shaky and whiny. “No.”

  “How much money have you got?” he asks.

  I ponder. “I think around four hundred bucks.”

  Ike snorts. “Really? A lousy four hundred? Well, well, you sure sucked me in, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean all this big talk, like you could actually go through with it, when you knew all along you couldn’t. You were just playing me, weren’t you, Kit?”

  “No. I fully intend to do it. I just didn’t realize… I mean, maybe we’ll have to cut back. Just take a cheap cell phone and a digital camera. Forget the gps and the video and the music. Or I could even leave all the music on my computer, and I’ll take that instead of a laptop.”

  “You’re going to haul your friggin’ computer up a mountain? You’ll be lucky if you make it out of the parking lot.”

  My mind works furiously. There must be a way. And then I’ve got it. “I’ll take a sled. We have a sled in the garage, and all the stuff will fit on that. I can pull a sled up the mountain, no problem.”

  Ike whistles. “Wow. You’re serious, aren’t you? Maybe the sled will work. And maybe you can take your big-ass computer instead of a laptop. So it’s going to look like you did this on the cheap, like you didn’t really care about preserving state-of-the-art technology…”

  “I care about it! I just can’t do it, that’s all. I’ll explain in my manifesto.” I hope those guys in the future can read English. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do about my second-rate stuff.

  It’s as if Ike reads my thoughts because he says, “So you’re really okay with them getting the second-class artifacts? Figures. Goes along with the second-class guy they’re getting too.” I can’t argue with that. Instead I flip the sandwiches and stare at them in the frying pan, watching the cheese melt and ooze, wondering if any of this will show up in my frozen intestines. Maybe Ike is right, time is speeding up. Everything is happening too fast, and I need to slow it down. I reach out and turn the heat on the stove as low as it will go.

  “Tell you what,” Ike says. “Let’s go to the mall and check out the prices on a few things. We’ll figure out how much you can get and then go from there.”

  So we go to the mall. The first thing Ike wants me to do is withdraw all my money from my account so we know how much cash we’ve got. I was almost right; I’ve got $393.

  From there, we go to the bookstore and get a Bible for twenty bucks. We look at cell phones and digital cameras and figure out even the craptastic ones would add up to a couple of hundred dollars. We check out laptops; the low-end models are over six hundred.

  When we move on to the Blackberries, the guy behind the counter lets me examine one. He shows me all the features, and it’s amazing. He says, “Of course, as with all digital recording, some sound quality is lost. But this sacrifice means you can take it with you.”

  Take it with you? As in those jokes about rich guys who want their money buried with them in their coffins?

  No. He just means you can take along the music.

  And it’s got nothing to do with artifacts.

  It’s quiet in the store as the guy demonstrates how to use the video, camera and GPS. Then the store phone rings, and he goes to answer it.

  “It’s perfect,” Ike hisses.

  “I know,” I mutter. “But look at the price tag. Can’t afford it.”

  “So take it.”

  “What?”

  “Right now! He said you can take it with you. He’s not even looking at us. He’s got his head stuck in a cupboard over there. C’mon, Kit. The future needs it. Let’s go!”

  I grab it. I don’t know how, exactly, but I slide the Blackberry up my sleeve and walk away. Within seconds, we’re out of the store. Nothing happens. Within a minute, we’re at the mall exit doors. We walk through, slow and cool as anything, then once we’re outside we speed up, make for the corner of the building, deke around it, and then we’re running. We run across the parking lot, and I think I hear shouts coming from behind us, but we keep going. Pretty soon we’re in the park across the street, dodging between the trees, and Ike is laughing like a maniac.

  It’s only when we’re several blocks away that we stop, panting, in front of the bus stop.

  “See?” Ike crows. “It was easy. We did it.”

  I have the urge to throw up. Maybe I do have a stomach bug. I shouldn’t be out running around. I let the Blackberry slip from my sleeve into my palm. I stare at it.

  “Not here!” Ike says. “Keep it hidden. No one can see this, Kit, you understand? No one!”

  I gulp and slide it back up my sleeve. I clench my fingers tight on the fabric, pinching it shut so the Blackberry can’t escape.

  “I’m going to take off now,” Ike says. “Better if we don’t stick together. See you later, dude.”

  And he’s gone. I wait at the bus stop, breathing in and out; pretty soon the bus comes along. I get on and have trouble getting my hand into my pants pocket to get my change. I can’t let go of my sleeve, can I?

  I press my arm close to my body to pin the Blackberry in place and start working my hand down. The bus driver says, “Got a problem with your arm, kid?”

  Does he know? Can he see the bulge in my sleeve? My fingers close around some coins and I withdraw my hand, turn it palm up, but keep my arm clamped to my side.

  The driver sighs, reaches into my palm, plucks out the coins he requires and waves me to the back. I go.

  I get home and into my room before I bring out the Blackberry, and, man, I hate it. Hate is a strong word, but it’s the right word. I really hate it.

  I turn it on and it starts beeping. Shit! It’s transmitting my location. The gps…I fumble to find the button to switch it off, and each beep feels like a spike in my brain. When at last it falls silent I drop it on my desk and watch it. Does it need to be turned on to work or does it continue signaling when it’s shut off? Was that enough time for them to pinpoint my location?

  And then it dawns on me. That was a low-battery warning beep. I heave out a gush of breath I didn’t know I was holding and realize I have a problem. I’m going to need a battery charger. Maybe someone’s cell-phone charger will work, but I doubt it. And there is no way I’m going back into that store again for as long as I live—which won’t be long—but who else sells chargers for these things? Someone must.

  Okay, I’m thinking more clearly now. I’ll buy a charger—no more stealing no matter what Ike says. I’m just not cut out for that. I can’t believe I freaked myself out about the GPS. The guy in the store explained that the Blackberry’s satellite receiver only works once you sign up for service and activate the unit. Obviously I won’t be doing that.

  There’s a terrible smell in the house. I noticed it when I ran in, but now it’s making me f
eel nauseous. I start checking around and find the grilled-cheese sandwiches smoking in the frying pan. They look like lumps of charcoal, and the frying pan is warped and totally black. Mom’s going to kill me. I look at the clock; it’s only 2:00 PM. So much has happened since we forgot to eat the sandwiches that I wonder for a moment if it’s 2:00 AM. But no, everyone would have come home and we’d have had dinner…Ike is dead wrong about time speeding up.

  I put the frying pan in the sink and run some water over it. Then I put it in a bag and take it outside to the garbage can. I open all the doors and windows, turn on the ceiling fans, spray air freshener everywhere. The house still stinks. I’m lucky it didn’t catch on fire.

  Fire. Is that the opposite of ice? I haven’t thought about fire for a long time. I find one of Mom’s scented candles and light it, watch the flame for a while. The scent is nice so I light a few more and figure for sure this will get rid of the stench. One of the candles smells like roses, and in an instant I’m back in time, back with Melissa.

  We went to a beach party last fall with some of the other kids from school. We’d been together for around six months, and parties weren’t my favorite scene anymore. I wanted to stay home with her, maybe just rent a movie. But she wanted to go, said she’d go without me, so I went.

  At first it was all right. People were just sort of milling around in the dark, gathering driftwood, talking, laughing. Quite a few people had coolers and beer, and those started going around, then a boom box appeared and we had music. The bonfire we got going was huge, and I was content to sit there with my arm around Melissa and watch the flames. I didn’t really notice when a few people started dancing, but Melissa tried hauling me to my feet to join in, and I told her to forget it. I didn’t want to dance. She got sulky, but I didn’t care. I figured it was no big deal, she’d get over it.

  Then this guy I didn’t know showed up. He hung out for a bit, and the next thing I knew he was doing this amazing stunt, swinging balls of fire around on string.

  “Wow,” Melissa breathed. “Fire poi. So cool.” I looked at her but she wasn’t looking back. She was entranced by those spinning balls of fire, mesmerized by their whirling, arcing flight, and maybe by the guy who wielded them too. He had his shirt off and his skin was golden in the firelight. He looked like someone from another place and time, maybe even another species. Someone cranked the music louder and this guy went with it, moving in rhythm with the sound and making the flaming poi, bright against the black night, dance too.

  Melissa jumped to her feet, and her body started swaying. I sensed rather than saw that nearly all the kids were dancing now, synchronized with the fire poi, but it was her I watched. And saw. Saw someone there I hadn’t seen before, a stranger whose body moved in perfect harmony with the poi dancer’s rhythm. I was stunned, disoriented. I tried to get a fix on those dervishes of fire, but I couldn’t. No fix at all. They had become an indecipherable blur, a spinning vortex. I got up and took off, running. I had to get away, far enough away to see only clean, simple black.

  I guess I was gone for a while. Melissa never came after me. When I got back, the fire poi show was over, and the kids were a moving mass on the sand, dancing in clumps and pairs. Those in pairs were grinding against each other, and Melissa was part of a pair. With him. The stranger. I stood way back from the light, stood as one with the dark. It was cold in the dark. Very cold.

  Cold.

  I come back to the present with a jolt and notice it’s friggin’ freezing in the house. I turn up the furnace and go outside so I can check the smell of the air when I go back inside. I’m standing out there when I see Fred’s car coming down the street. Shit!

  I run back in, rushing to close doors and windows and blow out candles. I snuff the last one just as Fred walks in. I hear his footsteps pause, and he mutters, “Phew! What a reek.”

  He makes his way to the kitchen where I’m filling a pot with water for macaroni. “Kit? What’s up with the stench in here?”

  I focus on the water and shrug. “Burnt grilled cheese.”

  “I’ve burned grilled cheese before and it never smelled this bad. Mom’s going to throw a hissy. Maybe we better open some windows.” We race around the house, competing to see who can open the most. By the time we’re done, we’re laughing. I look at my brother, and an ache so fierce and deep attacks my chest that I gasp.

  “Whoa, bro. You still sick or just in really bad shape?”

  I shake my head and start walking away.

  “Kit? Hey. I’m not trying to hassle you. Will you look at me for a minute?”

  I don’t.

  “C’mon. What’s with you? It’s like your spark just goes out, man. Poof.”

  I don’t answer him. I don’t know why he’s attacking me. I didn’t do anything wrong. Fred’s like Mom and Dad. He’s on their side.

  NINE

  Mom gets me after dinner. She asks me to help with the dishes, and when she thinks I don’t suspect anything, she starts talking. “I’m glad you’re feeling better now. Did you sleep most of the day?”

  “Uh. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” She arches a brow and looks at me. “I tried calling a couple of times this afternoon and didn’t get an answer.”

  Figures. She was setting me up. “Oh. Yeah. Guess I did sleep for a while.”

  She nods. “That’s good. By the way, I got an appointment for you with the doctor.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, Kit, I just think it might be a good idea for you to have a checkup.”

  “A checkup?”

  “Yes. Please don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  She sighs. “Never mind. Your appointment is for next Tuesday, after school. I’ve arranged to leave work early so I can go with you. Then maybe we can go out for coffee or something. Just the two of us. Okay?”

  Not okay. The buzz in my head is back, and this time it’s warning me about her. She’s up to something. “I don’t need to see a doctor. I’m fine.”

  “I hope so, Kit. But I’ve been thinking…” Her voice trails off and I can feel her looking at me, like she’s being careful, trying not to slip up. I watch her from the corner of my eye and wait.

  “It’s just that I was talking to a friend of mine, and her daughter suffers from depression. And I was thinking that maybe you might…”

  “You think I’m depressed? As if.”

  “But, Kit, you’re not yourself. And perhaps some counseling or even medication would help. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  So that’s it. She wants to drug me.

  She goes on. “I don’t know for sure, but it can’t hurt to at least talk to the doctor, right?”

  “Wrong.”

  “Kit, please.”

  “You think I’m crazy?”

  “No. Of course not. That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just that you seem so unsettled. Sort of… disconnected. I’ve done some reading, and depression is very common in teenagers. Why should you suffer if there’s help available?”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  She stops then and rests her elbows on the counter, her head in her hands. Takes a deep breath. Another. Then she drops her hands, straightens and turns toward me. “For me then, Kit?” she asks softly. “Just go, for my peace of mind? Please?”

  I feel confused. I know she’s plotting something and I can’t trust her. But I can’t say no to her either. She’s the one who needs to see the doctor. Maybe I should tell her I’ll go, and when we get there, I can explain to him. But next Tuesday? When is that? I try to remember what day it is now.

  “Isn’t today Tuesday?” I ask.

  She blinks. “Yes. But I couldn’t get an appointment outside school hours until next Tuesday.”

  It’s simple. I’ll tell her I’ll go, get her off my case. By next Tuesday, I won’t be here. I nod. “Okay.”

  She smiles and her whole face changes. The lines across her brow slip down and curve around
her mouth. I wonder how she does that. It doesn’t matter. I have a deadline now. I need to get everything ready. I need that charger for the Blackberry.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “Would it be okay if I took the car to the drugstore? I need to get something for school.”

  She squints at me. “You sure you’re feeling well enough to go out?”

  I nod.

  “Maybe I should go with you.”

  “Jeez, Mom. It’s just the store. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

  She hesitates for another second, then nods. “Fine. The keys are on the hook. And, Kit?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For agreeing to see the doctor.”

  “No problem.” I go to the drugstore and head straight for the electronics department. Sure enough, they carry a universal charging unit for Blackberries. I find it hanging on a rack in one of those plastic bubble packages. It’s only thirty dollars. I grab it and then decide I should get a few other things too. I pick up samples of junk food, including gum, a chocolate bar and chips. The chip bag has a Best before date on it. This strikes me as funny, but I don’t stop to think about why. I get a paperback best-seller, a map book of North American roads, and a half-price calendar. I head for the checkout and then remember I need condoms too. I bought them once before, seems like a lifetime ago, when I was hoping things might go that way with Melissa.

  With her, life was perfect. Everywhere we went— movies, biking, out to eat—was lit up just by her being there. I think we were invited to every party last summer, spent whole days at the beach, went on every ride when the fair came to town. It seemed like everyone was always laughing, bubbling with good times. Melissa got along great with my group of friends, and when the inevitable dramas happened, like when Joel had a big blowup with his girlfriend, both of them came to me and Melissa to talk about it. Ben gave me a hard time once in a while about us not hanging out so much, but he worked part-time at the golf course with me, and we had some good times there too.