Tag: fiction

As Victor made his way down the bridge towards the skyscraper vessel that would take him from Texas to the ISS, he could only think of his son. As a single father for the past eight years, Victor tried to spend whatever time he could when he wasn’t working with Sam. Clumsily playing catch in the yard, cheering on their losing team at the local stadium, or sharing a laugh over a meal of burgers and milkshakes. He found himself reminiscing of these times with each step towards the unknown.

Victor pulled the safety belts taut around his body until he was wrapped like a braciole, his helmet partially restricting his peripheral view of the cabin. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead from the suit of armor to protect him from the elements. He was still remembering. Remembering not just the good times but the not-so-good ones as well. He thought of his ex-wife dragging her oversized luggage out the front door of their old home. He thought of Sam with tears in his eyes, his face scarlet with anger, because he had been late for picking him up from school again. He thought of the mountain of papers on his desk at home that he wished he could ignite into the night sky à la Fight Club, effectively ridding him of his financial responsibilities.

It’s unusual to find in this day and age, but being in this line of work was all Victor ever wanted to do with his life. As a kid, he would make little space sounds with his mouth from the cabin of his cardboard ship in his backyard. His room was ornate with glow-in-the-dark stars and planets. He had to be forcibly removed from the theater after the end of a show at the planetarium, his eyes hypnotized and his mind brimming with stories of the world outside of his own.

In high school, he probably saw Apollo 13 a dozen times. Wasted all his allowance on seeing that movie over and over again. And though It didn’t sway his feelings about going to space one day, he did become an enormous Tom Hanks fan. Not overly popular, he focused on his studies – math, physics, etc. Victor’s goal was to get into a good school so he could one day look down at the Earth and think about how small his peers were.

After flipping and pulling an array of different switches and levers, he heard the voice of the control room in his ear. He started to converse about his mission with the woman with the raspy voice on the other end and though he sounded ready, mentally he was ready, emotionally he couldn’t be sure.

On Sam’s tenth birthday, he had taken him to Disneyland, their first vacation together since the separation. Through all the Mickey Mouse waffles, souvenir hats, and miles of drudging through the California heat, Sam was beaming. Victor would never forget the look on his face that long weekend. That face was the battery that energized his ability to complete his mission. Everything he did was for that face.

Eighteen months wasn’t such a long time, was it? It would go by like a snap of the fingers. Sam would be thirteen when Victor returned home. A teenager already? Jesus, where does the time go? Victor was hopeful that Sam would still possess the same youthful glow, low-maintenance spirit, and admiration for his father when he returned. He hoped he understood that he couldn’t decline this mission for reasons he couldn’t yet understand and that what happened between his mother and Victor wasn’t his fault.

Victor worried Sam blamed himself for their separation. That somehow, he was the cause of the fighting, the adultery, and the spitefulness. In truth, Sam made the situation a world easier to deal with for Victor. Having a single source of honesty and truth in his life was the greatest gift he could ever receive.

What kind of a person would he be when he returned? Sure, Sam might change a bit just by staying in his Aunt’s home with her crazy four other kids and yappy dog, but how would the mission change Victor? He didn’t have a clue. From what he could ascertain from the others who had completed missions such as these before, he would feel somewhat alien upon returning, at least for a bit. It’s ironic that the ones born on Earth, full of distinctly human experiences only to leave for a short time, feel alien when they return home.

Victor thought of his sister, the future but hopefully temporary guardian of Sam and her rambunctious litter of adolescents running around her expansive mansion in the hills. They had money as her husband was a big-time hedge fund manager. They rarely sat down for dinner as a family, attended each other’s sporting events, and never shared the special moments Victor did with Sam, even with their more humble surroundings.

While the station counted down a number at a time in his ear, Victor mouthed the prayer he had left by Sam’s bedside before he left. Not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination, and not setting foot in a church in decades, the mission made Victor grab on to whatever semblance of hope he could find. The countdown ended – flames shot out from beneath the ship that rattled the entire place like a six-point-five magnitude quake. Victor opened his eyes, the memories still firm in place, as he began his ascent into the unknown.

James Gramercy worked 60 hour weeks. Before daybreak, he made the hour-long train ride from the suburbs into the city, and at dusk, he would take the train back. His exhausted eyes, when they could stay open, traced the lines around the train car, the steel doors shaking with the wind and each bump of the track. He could count on one hand how many others rode the train at this time.

When James returned home in the evenings, his children were already asleep. His wife, Pamela, herself weary from taking care of the house and the children, frequently would doze off on the couch after cleaning up from supper and performing the nighttime routine for the children. This carousel spun indefinitely for the couple, never stopping to change course.

On Thursday evening, James stepped off of the returning train and nearly broke his neck on a piece of paper on the ground. After catching his balance, James picked up the paper and examined it. There was a photo of a man and woman of above-average attractiveness, laughing at each other. In bold sans-serif font across the top, it read, “Pleasure Salon.” Next to the photo of the models, the caption read, “Come take care of your troubles the way you take care of your hair.”

James exhaled from his nostrils and laughed to himself. “What a load of crap,” he said under his breath. He put the flyer in his briefcase and headed for home.

Upon returning home he found Pamela sprawled on the loveseat, shockingly still awake on her phone.

“Hon, check this out.”

James tossed the flyer on Pamela’s chest.

“Hmm. What do you think? Are you going to go?” she asked.

“What?! No way!” James was surprised she thought to ask him that.

“That stuff sounds like a waste of money and time.”

“Well, I know several people who’ve gone to these new salons before and they said they’re pretty incredible!”

“Really? Like who?”

She looked up at James with a forgiving face.

“Like Erica and Randy Walters, and also Victoria Strauss went just the other day. She said she goes practically every week! And Erica and Randy said it saved their marriage.”

“No kidding. Well, maybe we should give it a shot. How about this weekend?”

“We can’t this weekend, we were going to take the kids to the beach remember?”

“Oh yeah. Damn.” James said disappointedly.

“But you should go! I can take the kids, it’s no problem, really.” Pamela said.

“Really? No trouble?”

“Really. Go ahead and try it out and let me know how it goes. I’m interested to see if it works for you!”

“Well alright, then. It’s settled. Saturday I’ll try out this “salon”.”

Saturday morning came around and after Pamela drove off with the kids to the beach, James got on his bike and rode the 5 miles to the salon.

He parked his bike near the entrance and locked it in place.

The front door swung open, a ding sounded, and a woman looked up from the front desk at James.

“Hello, sir! How are you today?”

“Fine, thanks. This is the pleasure salon?”

“Why, yes it is!” she had the demeanor of someone who had taken one too many doses of Zoloft.

“Just sign in here and we’ll walk through how it works.”

James filled out his information on the waiver, left his wife’s cellphone as the emergency contact, and checked the boxes declaring he had no allergies or history of open-heart surgery.

James slid the form back to the woman at the desk and she happily took it from him and scanned it into the computer.

“Alrighty, James. You ever been to a tanning salon?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Okie Dokie, well it’s really simple. First, you’ll go down the hall to room number five. Make sure to take all your possessions out of your pockets and put them in the locker outside the room before you go in. Then, you’ll need to disrobe down to your underwear and put on the special goggles we have in the room. There’s a dial next to the pleasure bed, make sure to turn it to the setting that says, “Medium” and not anything further. You have to work your way up to go farther. Since this is your first time, just go to Medium, okay? That’s really important.”

James nodded.

“Finally, after turning the dial you just get in the bed, and it will automatically close once you’re in. The bed will open when the session is over. You don’t have to worry about opening it.”

“So what do I do when I’m in the bed?” James asked.

“Just think happy thoughts! The bed takes care of the rest and you’ll come out of your session much happier than when you went in. Guaranteed!”

James gave a little smile and started down the hall. There were photos along the hallway of happy-looking models. Tossing their babies in the air, riding bikes, and eating beautiful meals. The whole place had a floral, coconut smell. James couldn’t tell if people were in the other rooms since the doors were closed, but he had a suspicion there were.

At room number five, James closed the door behind him and found himself in a ten-by-ten room with just a chair, something that resembled a tanning bed, and a coat hanger. He put his clothes on the chair and squinted at the dial next to the bed.

The dial had ten settings, the lowest read, “Infant” and the highest had a print that was too small to read as if it had been rubbed off over time. James set the dial to medium and the bed opened. He put on the goggles and lied down on the mattress-like bed.

A quiet ditty played as the bed’s door began to close around James. He took a deep breath, preparing for whatever was to come.

Within seconds, James felt his face turn into a smile. He felt euphoric within half a minute. James began thinking of his family at the beach, having a blast. He saw his wife’s smiling face, glowing and youthful. He saw his children laughing and playing in the sand. He could smell the ocean, feel the breeze, and hear his family’s voices. It was so real!

As James was enjoying his session, a maintenance worker who was repairing a bed left the room adjacent to his and slammed the door behind him. The dial next to James’ bed fell to the right from the force.

James began to see things in even more vividness. He saw himself scratching the winning lottery ticket, drinking champagne on a terrace on the Amalfi coast, and shaking hands with the president.

A technicolor haze existed throughout what James was experiencing, though he didn’t notice. It was a surreal, hedonic paradise. Everything he wanted was coming true, he thought.

“I hope this never ends.” James thought to himself. “I could go on like this forever.”

After some time, the session cut to a close, the bed opened in the small room again. James removed the goggles and sat up. He felt drunk. Stumbling, he got up from the bed to put on his clothes again. He fell to the ground on his hands and knees. He was enraged. He couldn’t remember what had just happened or even where he was.

He looked up at the large framed poster in the room, it displayed a colorful advertisement for a pleasure salon, an experience that promised to whisk your worries and doubts away from you.

James felt nothing in the realm of pleasure. He felt nauseous, his head was throbbing and his eyesight fuzzy. Wincing, he looked left towards the dial next to the bed. The dial was turned to two o’clock. He couldn’t make out what the dial said.

“I can’t tell what it says,” James grunted.

“Print’s too damn small.”

James finally stood up, clumsily put his clothes back on, and left the salon. He had regained his balance by the time he returned to his bike out front. He threw his leg over the top tube and went on his way back home.

An hour later, Pamela and the kids arrived back at the house from their day at the beach. The front door flew open and the kids ran in to greet their father.

“Daddy!” the kids shouted. They jumped into his arms and he held them close. Such a scene never failed to make James smile. Today, James felt nothing.

As an electrician, you don’t get a lot of opportunities to sit down with people and just talk. In a small town, you’d think everyone knows everyone, like in the television shows. Nobody really asks me for much here except if I want a glass of water while I’m working. Water and electricity aren’t friends, you know?

Erin was the first person to actually ask me how my day was going, maybe for the last few months. She was taller than me, though not a difficult feat, but her presence was comforting like we had been friends for years.

“Busy these days?” Erin asked.

“Doing just fine, ma’am. Are you new to the area?” I asked back.

She told me she had grown up in a nearby town, but she moved around here so her kid could go to a better school. Apparently, the schools in this area are some of the better ones in the county. News to me, since I feel like I learned squat in school. All I know I learned as an apprentice.

Her job was a quick one, I was finished in about an hour. Just some faulty wiring that came with the older homes in the neighborhood. I’ve seen it a hundred times. She invited me to sit down afterward and have a glass of lemonade.

It was the best damn lemonade I’d ever had. Not overly sweet, definitely sour, and goes down smooth. She said it came from a mix but I never can get it to taste like that when I make it myself.

We sat at the small wooden table in the kitchen with our glasses of lemonade. It felt natural even though I never do this with any clients. The conversation, also natural. We talked about our histories, interests, and favorite foods. I felt like I was in a casino, where I couldn’t tell how much time was going by, nor did I really care. My next job wasn’t for a while and I was enjoying her company too much.

When she smiled her eyes formed these creases next to them. They looked like crow’s feet but she was too young to really have them. Her laugh reminded me of my ex. Funny, that was the one thing I still liked about her. I even found myself laughing a few times. My cheeks were starting to get sore from all the smiling.

The door opened and a young boy who looked about 6 or 7 strolled in. “Momma? I’m home!”

“So you are my angel,” Erin said.

“Who’s this guy?” the boy asked.

“He’s the electrician, sweetie. He and I were just having a friendly chat after he finished his work.”

Still smiling, I checked my watch. My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of my head. 

“Damn!” I yelled. “I missed my other job!”

“Oh my, that’s too bad. Let me reimburse you for the job you missed,” Erin said.

I told her it was fine since I had no clue what the job was beforehand. Weird that I didn’t get a call from the client or HQ, though.

The boy kept staring at me like I owed him money. Erin was asking him how his day was at school, his eyes darting back and forth between us.

I got up to leave, feeling like I overstayed my welcome.

“I better get going. Thanks for the lemonade, it was the best I’ve ever had, really,” I said.

“Oh, don’t be silly. I enjoyed the company,” Erin said.

I gathered up my tools, threw them in the box, and headed for the front door. Erin wrote me a check for my time, and with a tip of my hat, I was on my way.

As I was walking to my truck I couldn’t believe how long I was there. A short job turned into an all-day recess. I did enjoy myself, though. Can’t help it when you meet someone you just feel at home with.

“Hey mister!” the boy ran out of the house.

“Um…d-did my mom tell you anything about my dad?”

I was confused. “What do you mean? Why would she tell me about your dad? That’s none of my business.”

“Just wondering,” the boy said. He was rocking his weight back and forth on his feet. “I’ve never met him, but I remember her saying something about electricity between him and her. I wanted to see if, well, you being an electrician and all, if she said something about that.” The boy looked at me with his head tilted to the side, waiting for an answer. He talked about adult feelings like it was nothing.

“Kid, when adults talk about electricity, sometimes they’re talking about a connection, you know? Like when two people meet and they click. It just works,” I replied.

“Oh. Well, something about you feels kinda weird to me. Like you and I are friends or something,” the boy said.

Looking at him closer, he reminded me a lot of myself when I was young. Hell, he even looked like me too. “We can be friends, if you want,” I said.

“Really? Cool!” the boy said.

His eyes lit up. Sea blue, just like mine used to be. I ruffled his hair and told him to go back inside. He ran back to the house and waved goodbye, smiling from ear to ear.

I got back in my truck, tossed my tools in the passenger seat, and looked back at the house. I started to get kind of emotional. Not crying or anything, but sort of like the feeling you get when you watch a movie where the two people finally make up after a long fight. They talk about how they really love each other and talk about how they’ll never fight again.

I had a feeling this job would stay with me for a while. Like when you wear a cotton sweater straight out of the dryer. Warm and clean. It would just come with me.

I sniffed and turned the key, looked into the sunset, and started for home.

“Uh, hello?”

A puzzled expression of uncertainty comes from the other side of the screen.

“Can I just give these to you and you can handle the rest?”, I hold up a folded piece of notebook paper.

“Erm… that’s not really how this works. You must say those aloud, my son.”

“Oh, sorry. Let me start over. I meant to say: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been about 5 years since my last confession.”

“Go ahead.”

I proceed to tell the priest about the incident. I try to not leave out any important details, while also protecting the identities of those involved.

Minutes pass by as I stare at the floor, yapping away. It’s been so long, it feels strange to speak for this long without having someone else chime in or interrupt.

The smell is starting to get to me. It’s nostalgic but stale. Like a really old book that hasn’t been read in a long time. It feels like nobody has sat in this seat for years, but I know that’s not true since this is one of the busiest churches in the area.

I guess my confession turned more into a soliloquy after some time. I didn’t even know if the priest was still there or had gone to lunch. It didn’t matter as long as I could offload what had just happened.

“So, Father, if you’re still there, what should I do? I’m kind of at a loss here.”

“I’m still here, my son. To answer your question—“

My phone begins to vibrate, the box amplifying the vibration to where it’s just as loud as having the ringer on. I check the caller ID, and sure enough, I can’t ignore it.

“Sorry, I gotta take this.”

The priest raises his finger as if to ask me to wait for a second, but I grab my phone and step out of the confessional immediately.

As I walk away, out of the church and back onto the main road, I’m thinking to myself: “Wow, that actually helped. I feel so much better!”

My bosses’ stern voice on the other end of the call is like an everyday sight I’ve become accustomed to. It has no effect on me anymore. I’m half-listening, half-thinking about why I gave up religion in the first place.

Hell, if I can take what I need from it and not worry about the rest then that’s good with me. I guess that’s how I treat the other things in my life, anyway. Work is first, everything else comes after.

I want to change, but I’m afraid I’ll lose my identity in the process. I’ll keep trying to chip off the paint, layer by layer until I can start over the right way. Baby steps, I suppose. Baby steps.

The ship painstakingly slid up to the dock. The sailors couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of them. They might as well have had saran wrap over their eyes.

“Captain, did we hit the dock?”

“I don’t think so, Williams. It feels like we’ve still got a few yards to go.”

“Well if you feel it…”

“Don’t use that tone with me, Williams. We’ve all had a long day so cut the attitude.”

Williams tilted his head away with a wormy smirk. Apparently, sarcasm wasn’t appreciated during such focused times. He flipped up his collar and began to squint, facing the biting cold.

“I can’t see a damned thing!” “We might as well have our eyes closed for god’s’ sake.”

“Keep it moving, keep it moving. We must be getting close.”

A thunderous roar erupts as the boat begins to furiously dance.

“Captain I think we found the dock.”

“Williams, if I could see you right now, so help me God, I would clobber you with my telescope.”

The men trepidatiously hopped from the deck, finding their footing on solid ground for the first time in what felt like ages.

One foot in front of the other, both of them thought to themselves.

“I guess keep walking–slowly– until you reach a wall or somethin’.”

“Aye aye.”

Another journey in itself just to get from the boat to a wall. Great.

The thickness in the air seemed to grow heavier with each step. Both men simultaneously have their hands on their shoulder-bags as they cup their hands near their eyes, unsuccessfully attempting to shield their eyes from the cloud-like fog.

A minute passes by, or was it just a few seconds? Thin laughter overcomes the men as they notice a clearing ahead. It’s an archway, maybe leading to a town center or courtyard, although it doesn’t matter where it goes as long as it’s out of the current situation.

The captain reaches the clearing first, breathes a sigh of relief, and removes his hand from his face, the fog no longer posing a threat to his vision.

“See, Williams? I told you we’d be out of that mess in no time.”, the Captain assured.

The captain turned around to a wall of fog just outside the archway, as dense as ever. No sign of Williams. Slightly puzzled, the Captain continued forward into the arched area.

Williams was always getting himself into trouble wherever they sailed. A clumsy prankster and a sloth most of the time, it wouldn’t be unlike him to stumble and lose his way, fog notwithstanding.

Through the archway, a grass-covered clearing was a welcome surprise. A fountain emblazoned with an emblem of the city, presumably, sat at the center of the clearing. The sky above was a light periwinkle with a dusting of clouds. The weather was mild, much like a clear spring afternoon back home.

The captain checked over his shoulder for Williams as he strolled closer to the fountain, blades of grass folding underneath his thick-soled boots.

Maybe it was the long day or the trip from the boat to the clearing, the captain’s mind was tired. The men had run out of water earlier in the day and hadn’t had a morsel of food since the bread and milk at dawn.

Not a small man by any means, the captain was dwarfed in size by the cast stone fountain. He kneeled down, his joints cracking as he supported himself with his elbow on his thigh. Faces stared back at him, intricately sculpted into the outward-facing ring of the fountain. Strangers to him, he thought. He didn’t recognize any deity or world leader in the faces’ construction.

The captain shouldered his bag further up his torso, then reached out his weathered hand to the clear fountain water. At long last, an answer to one of his problems. He didn’t care whether the water was potable or not, it could’ve had insects floating on the surface.

He slurped as much as his hand had the capacity for, relieved, the water was ice cold. He closed his eyes in appreciation of the gift, absorbing his surroundings. He shoved both of his hands into the fountain, deftly bringing water to his mouth repeatedly. With a crazed look in his eyes, he dropped his bag, got down on both knees, and drank to his heart’s content, more still.

“I’d lay off if I were you.” an unfamiliar voice said. Frozen, the captain lifted his head, looking into the eyes of the face before him.

“That water’s not free, buddy.” the face said.

Bewildered at the notion of a talking face in the fountain, the Captain assumed he was delirious from dehydration or perhaps overtired.

Unconvinced, he persisted nonetheless, drinking as much purifying water from the fountain as his hands could shuttle into his mouth.

This continued for another minute or so, before the captain finally stopped, as if he were a marionette being controlled by strings. He stood up immediately, and jumped head-first into the fountain. His entire body vanished.

The face in the fountain looked to its left, felt a sense of familiarity, and gently acknowledged the new face beside it.