Mad Skills

by Greatshell, Walter

  Was charity just a by-product of guilt? An extension of greed? Not selfless but essentially selfish, exploiting the helpless to assuage personal fears of helplessness? The weak exploiting the weak? If that was true, saints must be the biggest sinners of all. Evil must be inextricable from good since good couldn’t exist without it. Evil was necessary.

  Mulling over this disturbing idea, Maddy let herself drift through the morning routine, doing simple language and math puzzles and participating in silly dance-along exercises. It wasn’t so bad. At first she resisted, but the other kids were having such a good time that when they clamored for her to join them, she couldn’t say no.

  Finally, lunchtime rolled around. It was a relief to get out of the windowless basement and into the sunlight. Maddy trailed the other kids out onto the quad, then split off in her own direction. Miss Sally’s voice stopped her short.

  “Excuse me—Miss Grant!”

  “Yes?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Over to have lunch?”

  “Lunch is this way.”

  “No, I mean with my friends.”

  “Your friends. How nice! Well, we like to stick together if you don’t mind—it makes it easier to maintain the group dynamic.”

  “What?”

  “You understand. Where would we be if everyone just wandered off in their own direction? Who’s to make sure they get back to class, or prevent them from leaving school grounds altogether? Imagine! That’s why we have our own little corner of the cafeteria set aside just for us.”

  “But I—”

  “I know you’re feeling very independent, but please think of the others. They’re your friends, too. They won’t understand, and their feelings will be hurt when they can’t follow your example. Come on, be a good sport.”

  “But I was supposed to meet someone. I don’t even belong in this class!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I believe that’s for others to decide, isn’t it?”

  “As if it isn’t obvious.”

  “There’s more to it than test scores, Miss Grant. Personal conduct is also one of the criteria. Leadership. The ability to put others before oneself.”

  “Are you serious? I’m not trying to earn my merit badge here. I just want a few minutes free to myself.”

  “I’m not going to stand here arguing with you. Maybe you’d prefer to tell it to the principal. Don’t be a rotten egg—come on!”

  The other kids were becoming impatient with the delay. When they noticed it was Maddy holding them up, they all began clamoring for her to get a move on—they were hungry and didn’t want to lose their favored place in line. Also, the regular students pouring onto the quad were starting to pay attention, to notice her.

  With a sigh, she gave in and followed.

  FOURTEEN

  DIP VAN WINKLE

  FOR a week, things went on that way. Maddy commuted from the stuffy seclusion of home to the stuffy seclusion of Special Needs, with very little peer interaction along the way to hamper the smooth transition. She encountered Stephanie once or twice in passing. As the novelty of seeing the “zombie girl” wore off, people lost all interest in her, averting their eyes and ducking away to avoid facing another awkward exchange. It was so stupid, because Maddy would have loved nothing more than to have a conversation about something other than herself. She was as sick of that topic as anyone—sicker!—and just wanted to forget about the operation and “amazing” recovery. But she knew she still looked like death, and who wanted to be friends with death?

  Furthermore, the whole world had aged a year in her absence. A year was a long time; it would take them a while to catch up … and her as well. During that time, Veggie-Maddy had apparently served as a powerful reminder of life’s preciousness and fragility. Everyone took something from her tragedy. But now that they could talk to her, and realized they didn’t want to, those emotional epiphanies felt cheapened.

  I’m a time-traveler, she thought. Dip Van Winkle.

  At least the local media had forgotten about her, focusing all its attention on the “terrorist attack” on the TV station. Maddy had to laugh about that.

  Then, suddenly, it was Friday. She’d survived her first week … or perhaps survived was the wrong word. More like inhabited. No one had been overtly mean, but since Maddy couldn’t or wouldn’t stop making everyone uncomfortable, they quickly dug a moat around her, diverting all their social energies to either side and leaving her marooned on a quiet little island of her own. In one way, Maddy found that a great relief—nothing was required of her other than she show up, shut up, and be counted. In another way, it was a major drag—nothing was required of her.

  Waiting for her dad after school, Maddy could see Stephanie’s group dispersing for the parking lot, all the cheery senior girls calling to one another, making their plans for the weekend. She didn’t resent them for it … or tried not to. It wasn’t their fault. All week long, she had become more and more aware of the gulf between them—not just the seniors, but everyone in school—and had decided not to fight it. Maddy had no more desire to join in that weirdly inane chatter than they had to inflict it on her. So why bother?

  She watched Stephanie get into her sporty little red car and pull out of the parking lot. But instead of heading away down the street, Stephanie turned up the school driveway to where Maddy was standing. “Hey, kid,” she called. “You want a ride?”

  “Hey, Steph. I’m waiting for my dad.”

  “No kidding, doofus. He called to say he can’t make it. Get in.”

  Shaking her head, Maddy plopped into the seat. “He called you to give me a ride? Unbelievable. Thanks.”

  “No problema. Actually, I’m kind of glad. I feel like I haven’t had a chance to talk to you at all this week. How’s it going?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  “Have they said when they’re going to get you back into regular classes?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, come on, man! You can’t let them keep you in Special Needs. The longer you’re in there, the more you’re going to fall behind the rest of your class.”

  “I know.”

  “Tell your folks to get on them or something. This is ridiculous, seriously.”

  “I know.”

  They drove in silence for a few miles. Turning onto Maddy’s street, Stephanie asked, “So listen, are you really doing okay? Because it’s freaking me out not knowing.”

  “I think I’m okay. I mean, I’m not deeply despondent or anything—actually I feel pretty good. Everything’s just very different from the way I remember it. But that’s probably just me.”

  “Bullshit. It’s not just you. We’re all trying to figure this out; it’s weird for everybody. It’s weird for me, too.”

  “I know.”

  “Stop saying ‘I know’!” She pulled up hard before Maddy’s house. “It’s really annoying since you obviously don’t know, and neither do I. You have to start dealing with this shit.”

  “I know—sorry. I mean I will. Well, thanks for the ride.” Maddy got out of the car and shut the door. “Maybe I’ll see you next week.”

  “Hold up a second. You want to go to the mall tomorrow?”

  Maddy was caught short. “Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow. Like, the day after today.”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  “Cool. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  “Ten. Great.” Maddy watched the car disappear, then went in the house.

  FIFTEEN

  THE MALL

  THE next morning, they went to the mall. Maddy avoided telling her folks until the last second because she knew they would make a big thing out of it, and she just didn’t have the energy. It wasn’t until Stephanie’s car beeped its horn that she said, “I’m going out. Bye!”

  Turning off the vacuum cleaner, her mom called, “Maddy, wait! Where are you going?”

  “To the mall with Steph. Gotta go!”

  “With Stephanie? But, honey,
that’s great! Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Just did! Love you—bye!”

  Maddy had been going to the same mall forever, but she never reflected on exactly why. Over the years, she and Stephanie probably spent more of their weekends loitering mall stores than all their other recreational activities combined—i.e., they were typical American kids. As in most towns of its type, there was little else to do in Denton except go to church. It had been many years since the mall killed Main Street, and nobody missed it, with its meager town library and depressing local-owned businesses, certainly not two hormonal teenage girls. The mall, on the other hand, was their alpha and omega; it was their doorway to a wider world they knew only from television.

  As Stephanie’s car came in sight of the sprawling complex, Maddy laughed to realize its implications. “Jesus Spends,” she murmured.

  “What?”

  She caught herself. “Nothing. Just thinking of all the stuff we did here.”

  “Hell, yeah. We were hard-core. We owned this joint.”

  What had made Maddy laugh was the shocking resemblance of Denton’s two major temples of worship, the megamall and the megachurch. How had she never recognized their similarities? They were so obvious: the same plastic cathedrals, the same seas of SUVs, the same eager customers seeking easy answers. It was no accident that these institutions were remarkably alike, not only architecturally but philosophically. Both traded on human insecurity. Both enforced conformity. Both pitched their wares on TV. Whereas traditionally their ideologies might have been opposed, they had learned it was more profitable to reinforce each other’s base. Play down the Sermon on the Mount in favor of the gospel of P. T. Barnum. Reassure their patrons that God loved a winner, and the only sin was in feeling guilty about it.

  “Sick, dude,” said Stephanie, as if reading her mind.

  “What is?”

  “This! You and me! It’s gonna be awesome. You ready?”

  “Ready when you are.”

  “Let’s hit it.”

  The girls’ mall-going had peaked in seventh grade, then sharply declined as Stephanie outgrew the thrill of following boys and actually started dating them. Since Maddy had no gift for this, being plainer, quieter, and terminally shy around the opposite sex, that put a crimp in their friendship. But it wasn’t until Stephanie hit on Ben that things really got difficult.

  Ben.

  Maddy still vividly remembered the feeling of seeing them together, like being punched really hard in the stomach. She would have rather been punched. But, as with most high-school romances, their relationship fell apart after only a few weeks. Maddy didn’t really know the whole story because neither of them talked about it afterward. Sometimes she wondered if it was because they realized the pain they were causing her. Whatever happened, it was certainly irrelevant now; Maddy had no bad feelings about Stephanie, nor of revisiting this shrine to their adolescence.

  “What do you want to do first?” her friend asked, as they entered the busy concourse.

  “Whatever you want to do.”

  “Don’t do this to me, man. ‘What do you wanna do?’ ‘I dunno, what do you wanna do?’ Come on.”

  Maddy was a bit dazed. She remembered the mall being huge and exciting, sleek as a space station. This place was oppressively grim and shoddy, a cheap mock-up of the shopping Mecca she knew so well. It was ugly if not positively unsafe. There was no fresh air, and queasy saxophone music oozed like poison from the ceiling. “I’m still getting my bearings. You lead the way for now.”

  “Just like old times, huh? Okay, then.” Going up to the mall floor plan, Steph closed her eyes and randomly poked the map with her finger. Opening her eyes, she said, “Ew, that’s no good.” She tried again and hit a lingerie store. “This-a-way!”

  For three hours, they cruised the small boutiques and the big department stores, Stephanie gushing over designer labels as Maddy feigned interest. It was almost unbearable, but she refused to disappoint her friend the way she had her parents. If she was ever going to make it in this world, she had to learn to get along with people, no matter how boring or idiotic they seemed. But why did they all have to be so boring and idiotic? It was maddening. This is why people do drugs, she thought. Or get lobotomies.

  Stephanie noticed Maddy’s glazed look and suggested they stop for lunch. Maddy gratefully agreed.

  Eagerly digging into her pile of General Gau’s chicken, wontons, and pork fried rice, Steph asked, “So how’s it going? Are we having fun yet?”

  “Sure.” Maddy picked at her salad, nervous about pesticides and E. coli contamination. She couldn’t even look at Stephanie’s food.

  “What’s going on? Tell me.”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did. I’m sorry. I feel like I’m ruining your day.”

  “Fuck you, man. I’m here because I want to be here. Because I missed you. So don’t give me that bullshit; tell me what’s going on in your head. Like, what was that all about back there about the shoes?”

  “I just didn’t understand how anybody could wear them.”

  “What are you talking about? Those were expensive-ass shoes! I’d kill for those!”

  “They’re not even shoes! At least with men’s shoes, you can see they were designed for a human foot, but with most of those women’s shoes, it’s impossible to tell what kind of weird hoof goes in there! They’re like some bizarre alien artifact. Whatever they’re meant for, it’s not human.”

  “I think you’re being a little extreme.”

  “Yeah, I’m being extreme because I think it’s strange to want to wobble around all day on two pegs like a double amputee. It’s stupid!”

  “People just want to look good. Heels make women’s legs look longer.”

  “Where did this idea come from? You know what I think the problem is? All these things were designed by Dr. Frankenstein.”

  “What!”

  “Think about it. A mad scientist is not going to appreciate a woman’s body as anything other than crude potential, an unrealized ideal. They’re looking for some abstract concept of aesthetic perfection that has nothing to do with physical reality. That requires that they unnaturally distort them, turn us into freaks.”

  “It’s not mad scientists who are checking out my legs. And I happen to like those shoes! Does that make me a freak?”

  “Obviously, that’s just cultural conditioning. Commercial manipulation mixed with sexual exploitation, preying on women’s fears of inadequacy induced by lifelong exposure to artificial physical ideals. In other words, brain-washing. Stockholm syndrome. Drill that into girls long enough, and they become the enforcers of their own oppression.”

  “Oppression!”

  “Same thing as with the diet industry, the cosmetics industry, the fashion industry, and the boob-job industry. As to why straight men like it, with enough time, any nonsense can be imposed as a cultural norm. I’m sure plenty of Japanese guys used to get off on seeing women’s feet bound up until the bones fused into horrible little gnarled stumps. Likewise female genital mutilation—that’s still standard in parts of the world. I can’t believe I never realized before just how much of our society is based on blind conditioning. Everything could work so much better than it does! It’s kind of terrifying.”

  “Maddy, come on. Do you realize how lame this sounds? I mean, dude. You’re like some crazy radical feminist all of a sudden. Since when did you start hating men?”

  “Hating men? How can I hate men when men have obviously been just as brainwashed? Why else would they need all these sports bars, if not to distract them from a rigged system that punishes their individuality, pits them against each other to see who can be the most soulless drone, humiliates them when they fail, then criminalizes their aggressive instincts? Oh, and chops the protective covering off their junk. Why else would they care about strangers chasing a ball, or watch a car go around a track five hundred times? It’s the same reason a captive lion paces in its cage. They’re not made for this.
”

  “It’s called civilization.”

  “Then why isn’t it more civil? This is less rational than a baboon colony. It just has more stress.”

  “Maybe we should go see a movie,” Stephanie muttered. “There’s less talking involved.”

  The multiplex was at the far end of the mall. On the way, they passed the pet store, Petropolis, all the puppies tussling or snoozing in bales of shredded newspaper. “Aw, cute!” Stephanie said.

  Not so long ago, Maddy would have melted at the sight of these baby animals. This was the same store where she had bought her cat, Mr. Fuzzbutt, and it had always been one of her favorite places in the mall—an opportunity to fondle all the furry creatures her parents wouldn’t let her have. These toys loved you back!

  But this time she felt a chill. Her eyes were drawn to stacks of small, cramped cages in the rear, each one containing a lone puppy or kitten. They looked miserable, paws sore from standing on metal bars all day. Other sections held birds, rodents, or more unusual creatures like ferrets and snakes. Some of the birds had nearly plucked themselves bald, reminding Maddy of patients at the Institute … patients like her.

  This is sick, she thought.

  Like a kick in the head, she realized how the pet store worked. How the pets themselves worked. She tried to slam her mind shut against the awful knowledge, but it was too late—before she knew it, she knew it.

  The dogs had all been genetically engineered, bred and inbred to exaggerate their most extreme physical attributes. It was purely cosmetic; any useful traits they might have once had as work animals were corrupted, making them bundles of disabilities and behavioral tics. For that they were labeled “purebred.” They were about as cute as abused war orphans, half-crazed from the lack of any meaningful purpose to their existence.

  The poor things!

  Where Maddy had once found them adorable, she now realized they were grotesque mutants, barely functional as living organisms, utterly dependent on human beings to keep them alive. They were treated like merchandise. Their only relief was an occasional rotation in the front window, but the sickliest ones never got a break. If they missed their sell-by date, they went out the back door and were sent to discount brokers, who auctioned them online to the highest bidder. Any that still did not sell were picked up at lot prices by medical supply houses for lab experiments. Experiments like her.