Allotted water credits never last the whole month, and these days, the tap is good for nothing but scrubbing floors. Rumor has it, the plumbing system only remains on because no one knows how to shut it off. Some people can afford to drink bottled water all day, but I’m not one of them.There is no sugar-coating available that could make someone enjoy the thought of drinking their own pee, but some times you have to do what you’ve got to do. The Human Excess Liquid Desalinization and Purification Parlors became popular among those of us who don’t trust more than what comes out of us.
I do everything I can to avoid it: snatching half-empty bottles at the park, collecting run-off from the roof when it rains, and even taking the chance of boiling some I scooped off the top of the river. Chemicals have saturated so much of water table in all but the highest peaks that just standing in a puddle can make you sick. Not everyone has the luxury of living on top of a mountain like my cousin. I’ve already been kicked out of all the public pools for excessive mouthfuls when I jump in, and one time they caught me putting my swimming trunks in plastic bags to capture water for private use. Sherry Lindsey Park even threatened to press charges.
With the forecast showing week after week of blistering heat, I’m heading to the HELD & PP! I go to ‘Fresh and New,’ down on the corner of Court and State. Their motto is “Recycle and Reuse, or learn to Reduce!” Fresh and New returns 80% and keep the rest to sell on the black market. Relaxed regulations and a genuine public disinterest allow these parlors to engage in their illegal activity quite publically.
It’s not so bad, I guess. There is no color left, and it certainly tastes better than pool water. They even flavor it for you and put in vitamins for an additional 10%, but I don’t have the time, or water levels left in my body to be worrying about flavored pee. The filtration process is supposed to take 99.9% of all urine content from the water and leave the rest pure and sterile. Still, I saw where it came from, and I just can’t feel good about it.
When I was a kid, the ‘Fresh and New’ was a diner, and the grime is still caked into the corners of the greasy lunch counter, standing out in inky black. The florescent light makes the whole place look over-exposed. The only person here is a plum, greasy man with the thinning hair, sitting at the elbow of the counter, clutching an open newspaper so hard his knuckles are turning white A Television above him drones, FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
It takes about half an hour to process one days worth of urine into drinkable water, and the parlors keep your coffee cup full. The urinals pipe directly into the processing units, letting the greedy bastards squeeze a few more drops out of me while I wait. I forgot to sneak in a soda bottle tonight to help keep what is rightfully 80% mine.
The little blondie clerk comes out from the back when the bell rings. I think her name is Connie. She smiles when she sees me. “How you doing today? Three jugs?”
“I’ve been holding out,” I say, putting the filled milk jugs on the counter and claim a seat on the spinning stool next to the ragged ball of grease. “Hey, whuzzup,” I say. He’s crammed into a stained wife-beater and a pair of sweat pants and smells like pepperoni aftershave. I’d hate to see how much urine he brought in. Above him, the Television drones, “ FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT,” with the words rolling across the black screen in bold, white letters.
The blondie clerk takes my jugs in the back room and returns a moment later with a cup of coffee. Her lips are painted thick and red, giving a seductive smirk as she floats. She can’t be more than seventeen, but already has grace beyond her years and a glimmer in her eye that says, “I’m in charge.” If I even thought about laying a hand on her, I’d be locked up for life, but that doesn’t stop her from dancing in my dreams. She puts the cup down in front of me and produces a dish of creamers from beneath the counter. “That will take a little while. You going to wait for it today?”
“Oh, sure,” I say wistfully. “Still too hot to be wandering around out there.” I give her a big smile as she dances away.
Behind me, the Television continues to drone.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
An oily black fly spirals buzzes my ear twice before landing on the rim of the greaseball’s untouched coffee cup. He makes no motion until I finally swat it away, making him glare over the edge of the paper at me a fraction of a second before his dark eyes returned to the front page.
“I was hoping it would cool off when the Sun went down,” I say, stirring my coffee with a food-encrusted spoon. “You could cook on that blacktop.” I watch him a second to see if he’ll respond. “I’ve been out there working all day in that Sun.” The volume on the Television gets louder until everything vibrates with the heartbeat of each word. “I wish there was a place to process my sweat.”
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
“Can we turn this off?” the greaseball shouts at the blondie clerk.
Connie offers a consoling smile from across the room but doesn’t respond. Greaseball watches her a few seconds before shaking out his paper to regain a hair of his fractured composure.
“It has to stay on all night,” I say. Maybe he’s a foreigner. “It’s the law.”
Greaseball holds up the paper to hide all but his thick, hairy fingers curled around the edges. He mutters something, but I can’t make it out over the steady thump of the Television set.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
I look around for any other section of the paper, anything to take my mind off the words pounding in my brain. Maybe if I could find the Sports, or even the Lifestyle sections, I could stop thinking about it. The only section present is the front page, clutched in the hands of this man. My eyes scan the headlines, but it does nothing to take my mind off the subject. Bombings, shootings, secret plots.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
After a couple minutes of silence uncomfortable on my end, Greaseball says, “This is disgusting,” he spits. “Absolutely disgusting.” He throws a hateful glare up at the Television me and lifts the paper again, crumpling the edges in his fists.
The words pulse on the Television like a strobe.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
The paper lowers just enough so that I can see his dark, piercing eyes. The cold glare screams at me that I should know, he should not have to explain this simple concept to me. Finally, he reveals his plump nose he exhales hard out of. “Aren’t we supposed to be making ourselves out to be the moral beacon of the world? That’s about as farcical as the Drug War!” He stops, panting a few times before returning to the paper.
I remember the days of the Drug War, the way the word pounded blood red on the screen of the Television and the high-pitched wail of the sirens on every corner running 24 hours a day, getting louder with each new criminal captured or executed. Earlier this week, I saw workers dusting off those sirens and making sure they’re still in working order. “Farcical?” I let the word drop from my lips like bitter food. “How can you say that? We are winning against the Fear Mongers. I mean... They caught that one guy... He’s like, number three or something.”
He spins the paper around so I can see what he’s reading. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” He snakes one muscular arm around to point at the headline celebrating the capture. “Did you read this?”
I nod dumbly.
“Weren’t you disturbed at all?” He demands. His eyes widen expectantly over the top of the paper. “In the least?”
“Uh... Yeah,” I stammer, my eyes working over his face. I scratch the back of my neck and sip at my coffee, desperately hoping he will go back to his reading. As much as I fidget, he doesn’t take his eyes off me. “To... Think that... All those other operations were already under way...”
“No, you idiot!” he cries, his words hitting hard enough to snap my head back.
I blink a few times, waiting for some kind of apology, but it isn’t forthcoming. I look around the parlor for some kind of support. Connie is on the pay phone by the bathrooms, her face looking grave and her hand cupped over the receiver to muffle her words. I don’t have time for her to be calling up her friends and admirers on my time. I need some help here.
Finding no support, I turned back to my companion and he continues. “This guy is being held outside our borders, some secret location in some secret country where they scoff at human rights!” His thick finger jabs at the middle of the article. “They are planning on torturing information out of him. Our Heads of State are giving every blood-thirsty, reactionary, little maggot exactly what they want. The whole population is blind with rage.” As he throws up his hands, the paper drops lifelessly on the counter. “That’s one of the premises our country was founded on! Even a werewolf has basic human rights. That’s what we’re about.” He swipes the paper off the counter and says, “Morals and ideals are speed-bumps to be avoided, not standards to be upheld. All in the name of cheap revenge.” He sighs and seems to deflate. “To think I fought to defend this, only to be stabbed in the back.” His eyes sink back to the table. He seems so much smaller now. “Everyone has those rights,” he whispers, sounding nearly in tears. “We try and make other countries see this, not take advantage of the fact that they don’t.”
I stare blankly.
He scowls and shakes his head, seeming to regain his strength, the steel coming back to his voice. “Don’t you understand?”
I continue to stare.
The volume of the Television is steadily increasing to the point where we are practically yelling. FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT It’s almost maddening.
“This goes to show that our supposed leaders are no better than our supposed enemies. We’ve fallen back to more draconian times of justice. An eye for an eye... We are supposed to be a little more enlightened.”
“But... But,” I defend confidently. “But this guy knew more about their terrorist acts than anyone else!”
He gently folds the paper and slams a fist on the table. “Don’t you realize who the real terrorists are? The ones keeping you scared in your house, the ones in suits behind the camera telling you to be afraid. Meanwhile, they gut our rights, put a cop on every corner, a camera in every house, and anonymous hotlines on every speed dial. We all sit here and take it while our rights are removed one by one.”
I dig a dollar and some change out of my pocket and drop it on the counter. “How much longer?” I call out to the blondie clerk.
“Not long!” she yells back, still on the phone keeping herself in the cover of the hallway where she thinks I can’t see. Does she think I have all night to sit around, slurping coffee that’s only going to dehydrate me more? God damn it, I’m thirsty, and if she doesn’t get off the phone soon, I’m coming back there to hang it up for her. Maybe then we can find some way for Connie to make it up to me.
“They don’t take kindly to people who say things like that,” I say, cocking an eyebrow, hoping he will take the hint.
“And just who is that?” he demands. “The people I gave a job? The people I pay to represent me? Do you see them earning their keep?” His dark eyes stay locked on me. “Let them not like it. I am their voice.”
Connie is frustrated now, shaking her head and puffing out her cheeks like the world’s cutest chipmunk, talking angry at someone, but I can’t tell what she’s saying over the constant drone. FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT There is a boyfriend getting punished tonight, at least in my thoughts.
“You’ve got to think about it though, I say, holding out my hands in defense. “Don’t you think this guy deserves it? I mean, look at the death and horror this guy spread.”
Greaseball shakes his head. “The news cryers screamed that in the streets this morning.” He shakes his head and stares me down. “You ain’t just a repeater, are you? People that gotta drink their own pee usually have a better idea of just how bad things have gotten.”
“He executed a whole family...”
“Did you ever meet that family?” Greaseball snaps, slamming those flabby palms down on the counter, rising up off his stool, slopping his coffee out of the cup into the saucer. “Did you ever hear of that family before they captured him yesterday? Have you ever seen a building he blew up? No! Of course not. That family probably never existed until they were murdered. It’s a sham, just a sham to keep you quiet and scared.”
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
Something changes in the fat man, and the whole structure of his face seem to shift, and he retreats back into his body like a big, blubbery turtle, knitting his fingers around his coffee cup that has not even been off the table once, while I’m sitting her clutching an empty one. Something is wrong with this picture. As he mutters, “Fat, bloated greyhairs in their three piece suits, screaming and waving their arms, who even listens?” I crane my neck, hoping the blondie will realize that her customers need more attention than her boyfriend right now.
I finally catch her eye when she looks up and nods, holding up a finger. She says a final goodbye and hangs up the phone, buzzing to me with a deft grab of the coffee pot. She doesn’t even look at my cup while pouring without a splash of incourtesy. “What you boys talking about?” she asks, smiling big, chewing that pink wad of gum with her back teeth. “Politics? War? Dissent? You know that stuff is illegal.”
Greaseball shakes his head. “I know, Carrie, I’m sorry. It just gets me so mad...”
Carrie shakes her head. “I know, honey, but still, you can’t say it here.
When my coffee is creamed and stirred, I ask, “Any idea how much longer on my pee?”
She rests her hand on her hip, Madonna-style, looking down on me with those thinned eyes. She’s about to say something, holding out a finger to me, when she smiles and shakes her head. “This is a terrible setting for a story,” she says. “I mean, look at this, coffee cups, spoons, little splashes of urine on the floor? I feel like I’m in a diner... or a play.” She’s maintaining eye contact with both of us at once, looking back and forth, up and down, and the greaseball has taken the bait, following her back and forth, up and down, left and right, even when she comes back to me. “My English teacher says it’s a cop-out. You know people who don’t like each other will eventually run into each other at a diner, or bus stop, or better yet, a bar, so the writer doesn’t have to spend much time setting up a location.” She smiles sadly and shrugs.
“That’s really interesting,” I say, glancing from her to Stank Greasemo on my right. “The last play I saw was set in a park.”
“It must have been fascinating to watch,” she cries, slapping her hands on the counter. I can’t tell if her enthusiasm is genuine. She talks and chews at once, that pink wad bouncing around on her tongue. “Did they sit on the bench? Dance around the light post?”
I try to remember. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Boooooring! I barely even watch TV anymore. It’s just people sitting around talking. It puts me to sleep! Now print media, that’s where you get away with that kind of thing. Print media is nothing but people talking. I mean, look at you guys, you haven’t moved off your wide loads this whole time, and even I’m just standing in one place yakking your ears off. In the written story, it doesn’t matter, it’s just words. Whether I say I pick up these coffee cups or wipe down this counter is no different if I’ve really done it or not.”
I smile wide, showing teeth, hoping to hold her attention just a second longer. “You could probably go on talking forever.” What kind of a line was that? I look away before Connie’s eyes can confirm just how stupid I sound.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
“Or at least long enough for the police to arrive,” Carrie says, bringing me back to attention, looking right in my eye until she’s sure I’ve gotten the cue. The blood drains out of my face and hands. “I could use a cigarette,” she says clerk says, coming around the corner.
The greaseball’s eyes he knows he’s done, his time is up and he’s drank his final glass of distilled pee. There was a time you could spout off about whatever you wanted to whoever you wanted whenever and wherever you pleased, but those were safer times. Thought breeds action, and action breeds destruction. If someone heard this greaseball shouting and neither of us turned him in, we’d be just as guilty. Is he wrong? I have no idea. I’m not even sure I care any more. I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight. I’ve seen enough prison cots. I don’t take my eyes off him until I’m on the steps outside.
A black Cadillac has already arrived, parked at the edge of the lot with three uniformed agents pushing the doors open and scrambling out. Each advances on the HELD & PP in a single-file line, the first shoving me out of the way as they pass.
I shake a cigarette out of the pack in my pocket and light it. Behind me, the lights flicker, and an agent ushers the clerk out the door. She looks scared. When she comes over to stand by me, I offer her a cigarette.
“Can you believe it?” she asks, looking scared. “He comes here in here all the time. I guess you can’t trust anyone these days.”
I nod in agreement. This time tomorrow, no one will have ever heard of him. An unpopular idea with unpopular results in some detention camp somewhere just out of the public eye where his captors see fit to do as they please. Maybe some day he will be released back into society, covered with thick, purple scars and emotional baggage, cringing any time someone dares to look him in the eye. We all learned the hard way that the world is a big, unfriendly place where bad things happen all the time. We pulled the wool over our own eyes and took ourselves out of the equation until we had forgotten that we are all just wild animals capable of horrendous things when our minds and speech are allowed to wander. Do I agree? Who cares? I’m not dumb enough to say anything.
“Want to get a drink?” I ask the little blondie. “I need something to help me forget this.”
The lights in the parlor flicker again, and that’s when the screaming starts.
I do everything I can to avoid it: snatching half-empty bottles at the park, collecting run-off from the roof when it rains, and even taking the chance of boiling some I scooped off the top of the river. Chemicals have saturated so much of water table in all but the highest peaks that just standing in a puddle can make you sick. Not everyone has the luxury of living on top of a mountain like my cousin. I’ve already been kicked out of all the public pools for excessive mouthfuls when I jump in, and one time they caught me putting my swimming trunks in plastic bags to capture water for private use. Sherry Lindsey Park even threatened to press charges.
With the forecast showing week after week of blistering heat, I’m heading to the HELD & PP! I go to ‘Fresh and New,’ down on the corner of Court and State. Their motto is “Recycle and Reuse, or learn to Reduce!” Fresh and New returns 80% and keep the rest to sell on the black market. Relaxed regulations and a genuine public disinterest allow these parlors to engage in their illegal activity quite publically.
It’s not so bad, I guess. There is no color left, and it certainly tastes better than pool water. They even flavor it for you and put in vitamins for an additional 10%, but I don’t have the time, or water levels left in my body to be worrying about flavored pee. The filtration process is supposed to take 99.9% of all urine content from the water and leave the rest pure and sterile. Still, I saw where it came from, and I just can’t feel good about it.
When I was a kid, the ‘Fresh and New’ was a diner, and the grime is still caked into the corners of the greasy lunch counter, standing out in inky black. The florescent light makes the whole place look over-exposed. The only person here is a plum, greasy man with the thinning hair, sitting at the elbow of the counter, clutching an open newspaper so hard his knuckles are turning white A Television above him drones, FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
It takes about half an hour to process one days worth of urine into drinkable water, and the parlors keep your coffee cup full. The urinals pipe directly into the processing units, letting the greedy bastards squeeze a few more drops out of me while I wait. I forgot to sneak in a soda bottle tonight to help keep what is rightfully 80% mine.
The little blondie clerk comes out from the back when the bell rings. I think her name is Connie. She smiles when she sees me. “How you doing today? Three jugs?”
“I’ve been holding out,” I say, putting the filled milk jugs on the counter and claim a seat on the spinning stool next to the ragged ball of grease. “Hey, whuzzup,” I say. He’s crammed into a stained wife-beater and a pair of sweat pants and smells like pepperoni aftershave. I’d hate to see how much urine he brought in. Above him, the Television drones, “ FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT,” with the words rolling across the black screen in bold, white letters.
The blondie clerk takes my jugs in the back room and returns a moment later with a cup of coffee. Her lips are painted thick and red, giving a seductive smirk as she floats. She can’t be more than seventeen, but already has grace beyond her years and a glimmer in her eye that says, “I’m in charge.” If I even thought about laying a hand on her, I’d be locked up for life, but that doesn’t stop her from dancing in my dreams. She puts the cup down in front of me and produces a dish of creamers from beneath the counter. “That will take a little while. You going to wait for it today?”
“Oh, sure,” I say wistfully. “Still too hot to be wandering around out there.” I give her a big smile as she dances away.
Behind me, the Television continues to drone.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
An oily black fly spirals buzzes my ear twice before landing on the rim of the greaseball’s untouched coffee cup. He makes no motion until I finally swat it away, making him glare over the edge of the paper at me a fraction of a second before his dark eyes returned to the front page.
“I was hoping it would cool off when the Sun went down,” I say, stirring my coffee with a food-encrusted spoon. “You could cook on that blacktop.” I watch him a second to see if he’ll respond. “I’ve been out there working all day in that Sun.” The volume on the Television gets louder until everything vibrates with the heartbeat of each word. “I wish there was a place to process my sweat.”
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
“Can we turn this off?” the greaseball shouts at the blondie clerk.
Connie offers a consoling smile from across the room but doesn’t respond. Greaseball watches her a few seconds before shaking out his paper to regain a hair of his fractured composure.
“It has to stay on all night,” I say. Maybe he’s a foreigner. “It’s the law.”
Greaseball holds up the paper to hide all but his thick, hairy fingers curled around the edges. He mutters something, but I can’t make it out over the steady thump of the Television set.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
I look around for any other section of the paper, anything to take my mind off the words pounding in my brain. Maybe if I could find the Sports, or even the Lifestyle sections, I could stop thinking about it. The only section present is the front page, clutched in the hands of this man. My eyes scan the headlines, but it does nothing to take my mind off the subject. Bombings, shootings, secret plots.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
After a couple minutes of silence uncomfortable on my end, Greaseball says, “This is disgusting,” he spits. “Absolutely disgusting.” He throws a hateful glare up at the Television me and lifts the paper again, crumpling the edges in his fists.
The words pulse on the Television like a strobe.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
The paper lowers just enough so that I can see his dark, piercing eyes. The cold glare screams at me that I should know, he should not have to explain this simple concept to me. Finally, he reveals his plump nose he exhales hard out of. “Aren’t we supposed to be making ourselves out to be the moral beacon of the world? That’s about as farcical as the Drug War!” He stops, panting a few times before returning to the paper.
I remember the days of the Drug War, the way the word pounded blood red on the screen of the Television and the high-pitched wail of the sirens on every corner running 24 hours a day, getting louder with each new criminal captured or executed. Earlier this week, I saw workers dusting off those sirens and making sure they’re still in working order. “Farcical?” I let the word drop from my lips like bitter food. “How can you say that? We are winning against the Fear Mongers. I mean... They caught that one guy... He’s like, number three or something.”
He spins the paper around so I can see what he’s reading. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” He snakes one muscular arm around to point at the headline celebrating the capture. “Did you read this?”
I nod dumbly.
“Weren’t you disturbed at all?” He demands. His eyes widen expectantly over the top of the paper. “In the least?”
“Uh... Yeah,” I stammer, my eyes working over his face. I scratch the back of my neck and sip at my coffee, desperately hoping he will go back to his reading. As much as I fidget, he doesn’t take his eyes off me. “To... Think that... All those other operations were already under way...”
“No, you idiot!” he cries, his words hitting hard enough to snap my head back.
I blink a few times, waiting for some kind of apology, but it isn’t forthcoming. I look around the parlor for some kind of support. Connie is on the pay phone by the bathrooms, her face looking grave and her hand cupped over the receiver to muffle her words. I don’t have time for her to be calling up her friends and admirers on my time. I need some help here.
Finding no support, I turned back to my companion and he continues. “This guy is being held outside our borders, some secret location in some secret country where they scoff at human rights!” His thick finger jabs at the middle of the article. “They are planning on torturing information out of him. Our Heads of State are giving every blood-thirsty, reactionary, little maggot exactly what they want. The whole population is blind with rage.” As he throws up his hands, the paper drops lifelessly on the counter. “That’s one of the premises our country was founded on! Even a werewolf has basic human rights. That’s what we’re about.” He swipes the paper off the counter and says, “Morals and ideals are speed-bumps to be avoided, not standards to be upheld. All in the name of cheap revenge.” He sighs and seems to deflate. “To think I fought to defend this, only to be stabbed in the back.” His eyes sink back to the table. He seems so much smaller now. “Everyone has those rights,” he whispers, sounding nearly in tears. “We try and make other countries see this, not take advantage of the fact that they don’t.”
I stare blankly.
He scowls and shakes his head, seeming to regain his strength, the steel coming back to his voice. “Don’t you understand?”
I continue to stare.
The volume of the Television is steadily increasing to the point where we are practically yelling. FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT It’s almost maddening.
“This goes to show that our supposed leaders are no better than our supposed enemies. We’ve fallen back to more draconian times of justice. An eye for an eye... We are supposed to be a little more enlightened.”
“But... But,” I defend confidently. “But this guy knew more about their terrorist acts than anyone else!”
He gently folds the paper and slams a fist on the table. “Don’t you realize who the real terrorists are? The ones keeping you scared in your house, the ones in suits behind the camera telling you to be afraid. Meanwhile, they gut our rights, put a cop on every corner, a camera in every house, and anonymous hotlines on every speed dial. We all sit here and take it while our rights are removed one by one.”
I dig a dollar and some change out of my pocket and drop it on the counter. “How much longer?” I call out to the blondie clerk.
“Not long!” she yells back, still on the phone keeping herself in the cover of the hallway where she thinks I can’t see. Does she think I have all night to sit around, slurping coffee that’s only going to dehydrate me more? God damn it, I’m thirsty, and if she doesn’t get off the phone soon, I’m coming back there to hang it up for her. Maybe then we can find some way for Connie to make it up to me.
“They don’t take kindly to people who say things like that,” I say, cocking an eyebrow, hoping he will take the hint.
“And just who is that?” he demands. “The people I gave a job? The people I pay to represent me? Do you see them earning their keep?” His dark eyes stay locked on me. “Let them not like it. I am their voice.”
Connie is frustrated now, shaking her head and puffing out her cheeks like the world’s cutest chipmunk, talking angry at someone, but I can’t tell what she’s saying over the constant drone. FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT There is a boyfriend getting punished tonight, at least in my thoughts.
“You’ve got to think about it though, I say, holding out my hands in defense. “Don’t you think this guy deserves it? I mean, look at the death and horror this guy spread.”
Greaseball shakes his head. “The news cryers screamed that in the streets this morning.” He shakes his head and stares me down. “You ain’t just a repeater, are you? People that gotta drink their own pee usually have a better idea of just how bad things have gotten.”
“He executed a whole family...”
“Did you ever meet that family?” Greaseball snaps, slamming those flabby palms down on the counter, rising up off his stool, slopping his coffee out of the cup into the saucer. “Did you ever hear of that family before they captured him yesterday? Have you ever seen a building he blew up? No! Of course not. That family probably never existed until they were murdered. It’s a sham, just a sham to keep you quiet and scared.”
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
Something changes in the fat man, and the whole structure of his face seem to shift, and he retreats back into his body like a big, blubbery turtle, knitting his fingers around his coffee cup that has not even been off the table once, while I’m sitting her clutching an empty one. Something is wrong with this picture. As he mutters, “Fat, bloated greyhairs in their three piece suits, screaming and waving their arms, who even listens?” I crane my neck, hoping the blondie will realize that her customers need more attention than her boyfriend right now.
I finally catch her eye when she looks up and nods, holding up a finger. She says a final goodbye and hangs up the phone, buzzing to me with a deft grab of the coffee pot. She doesn’t even look at my cup while pouring without a splash of incourtesy. “What you boys talking about?” she asks, smiling big, chewing that pink wad of gum with her back teeth. “Politics? War? Dissent? You know that stuff is illegal.”
Greaseball shakes his head. “I know, Carrie, I’m sorry. It just gets me so mad...”
Carrie shakes her head. “I know, honey, but still, you can’t say it here.
When my coffee is creamed and stirred, I ask, “Any idea how much longer on my pee?”
She rests her hand on her hip, Madonna-style, looking down on me with those thinned eyes. She’s about to say something, holding out a finger to me, when she smiles and shakes her head. “This is a terrible setting for a story,” she says. “I mean, look at this, coffee cups, spoons, little splashes of urine on the floor? I feel like I’m in a diner... or a play.” She’s maintaining eye contact with both of us at once, looking back and forth, up and down, and the greaseball has taken the bait, following her back and forth, up and down, left and right, even when she comes back to me. “My English teacher says it’s a cop-out. You know people who don’t like each other will eventually run into each other at a diner, or bus stop, or better yet, a bar, so the writer doesn’t have to spend much time setting up a location.” She smiles sadly and shrugs.
“That’s really interesting,” I say, glancing from her to Stank Greasemo on my right. “The last play I saw was set in a park.”
“It must have been fascinating to watch,” she cries, slapping her hands on the counter. I can’t tell if her enthusiasm is genuine. She talks and chews at once, that pink wad bouncing around on her tongue. “Did they sit on the bench? Dance around the light post?”
I try to remember. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Boooooring! I barely even watch TV anymore. It’s just people sitting around talking. It puts me to sleep! Now print media, that’s where you get away with that kind of thing. Print media is nothing but people talking. I mean, look at you guys, you haven’t moved off your wide loads this whole time, and even I’m just standing in one place yakking your ears off. In the written story, it doesn’t matter, it’s just words. Whether I say I pick up these coffee cups or wipe down this counter is no different if I’ve really done it or not.”
I smile wide, showing teeth, hoping to hold her attention just a second longer. “You could probably go on talking forever.” What kind of a line was that? I look away before Connie’s eyes can confirm just how stupid I sound.
FEAR IT FEAR IT FEAR IT
“Or at least long enough for the police to arrive,” Carrie says, bringing me back to attention, looking right in my eye until she’s sure I’ve gotten the cue. The blood drains out of my face and hands. “I could use a cigarette,” she says clerk says, coming around the corner.
The greaseball’s eyes he knows he’s done, his time is up and he’s drank his final glass of distilled pee. There was a time you could spout off about whatever you wanted to whoever you wanted whenever and wherever you pleased, but those were safer times. Thought breeds action, and action breeds destruction. If someone heard this greaseball shouting and neither of us turned him in, we’d be just as guilty. Is he wrong? I have no idea. I’m not even sure I care any more. I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight. I’ve seen enough prison cots. I don’t take my eyes off him until I’m on the steps outside.
A black Cadillac has already arrived, parked at the edge of the lot with three uniformed agents pushing the doors open and scrambling out. Each advances on the HELD & PP in a single-file line, the first shoving me out of the way as they pass.
I shake a cigarette out of the pack in my pocket and light it. Behind me, the lights flicker, and an agent ushers the clerk out the door. She looks scared. When she comes over to stand by me, I offer her a cigarette.
“Can you believe it?” she asks, looking scared. “He comes here in here all the time. I guess you can’t trust anyone these days.”
I nod in agreement. This time tomorrow, no one will have ever heard of him. An unpopular idea with unpopular results in some detention camp somewhere just out of the public eye where his captors see fit to do as they please. Maybe some day he will be released back into society, covered with thick, purple scars and emotional baggage, cringing any time someone dares to look him in the eye. We all learned the hard way that the world is a big, unfriendly place where bad things happen all the time. We pulled the wool over our own eyes and took ourselves out of the equation until we had forgotten that we are all just wild animals capable of horrendous things when our minds and speech are allowed to wander. Do I agree? Who cares? I’m not dumb enough to say anything.
“Want to get a drink?” I ask the little blondie. “I need something to help me forget this.”
The lights in the parlor flicker again, and that’s when the screaming starts.
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