Anthropolowhat

[anthropolowhat]

“We’ll get a neon sign, maybe give it a different paint job,” Carl said. “Can you see it? People will line up down the street, just waiting to hire us.” 

“Detectives don’t normally have a storefront,” Jim said. 

“Well,” Carl replied, “we’re not normal detectives.” 

“Yeah,” Jim said. “I guess you’re right.” He paused and looked down the street. “It’s not a bad location,” he said. “Mass Ave is a ley line, so if there’s anything weird happening, we’re bound to see it.” 

“That’s what I thought too,” Carl said. “And the best news is, the landlord’s willing to cut us a deal if we agree to do a couple jobs for him.” 

“What kind of jobs?” Jim asked, his voice suspicious. 

“Oh, just some exorcisms, some properties where some spirits have been giving the tenants trouble,” Carl said. “Nothing too big, shouldn't take more than an afternoon.” 

Jim frowned. “Last time you said that I ended up in another dimension for a year--” 

“--it was a year where you were, but back here it was only a couple days,” Carl replied quickly. “Anyways, you should at least see the space before you make a decision. Wouldn't it be nice to get out of that van?” 

“Alright,” Jim said. “I’ll bite. We can at least look at the space. You got a number for this guy, right?” 

Just then the door opened, though no one was standing on the other side. Both men looked at each other. 

“You first,” Jim said. “This was all your idea, after all.” 

Carl sighed. “Fine, whatever. It’s really a great space, rent seems decent, and we’re just a block from that juice bar you like so much!” 

“If I get possessed again, I’m going to be pissed,” Jim said, following his partner through the door. “I’m just putting that out there right now.” 

[anthropolowhat]

Daniel ran his hands frantically over the rough brick, fingers scraping, nails probing the cracks and the edges. “It was here,” he said. “It was right here, just last night.”

They were about half-way down the alley, and as Daniel searched, Amanda leaned against the opposite wall. She stared at her phone, only partially listening to the frantic ramblings of her boyfriend. “Maybe it was a different alley,” she said. “It was dark, maybe you're not remembering it right.”

“No,” Daniel said. “It was this alley. I remember because it's right next to the Qdoba.”

“Oh,” Amanda said, her voice a sarcastic drawl. “Well, you do love that place.”

“Amanda,” Daniel said, turning to his girlfriend with an exasperated expression. “Will you help me, please?”

Amanda sighed and put his phone in her pocket. “Alright,” she said. “What did it look like?”

“It was a big metal door,” Daniel said. “Ten--maybe twenty feet tall, ten feet wide. Big frame around it, made out of wood. It seemed massive. The door itself was open, and there was a light coming shining out from whatever was behind there. I’d never seen anything like it.”

“A portal,” Amanda said. “I heard some stories about these popping up around town, but never one this close to the circle. How did you end up in this alley?” 

“Larry's bachelor party,” Daniel said, turning red. “I was kinda drunk, and I had to duck somewhere so that I could—I don't know how to say this—relieve myself.”

“Oh god, Daniel,” Amanda said. “You could have gotten arrested.”

“I know that!” Daniel said. “But I had to go. Anyways, you know I'm zipping up, and boom--right next to me there's this great big glowing door. I heard someone calling, a voice from inside. I was just about to poke my head in when I saw police lights.” 

"So you never did see who--or what it was,” Magda said.

“No,” Daniel replied. “I started running, soon as I heard the siren.”

“Probably not a bad idea,” Amanda said. “Given that you'd just committed a crime.”

“It was an emergency!” Daniel said. “If you had been there, you would understand.”

Amanda shook her head. “Alright, well Daniel--whatever you saw last night, it’s not here now. But you’re sure?” 

“As sure as I’m standing here,” Daniel said.

“We can try again tonight,” Amanda said, “we can run home, grab some sensors, see if we can pick up any readings from this place.” 

“So you don’t think I’m crazy?” Daniel asked, a hopeful expression on his face. 

“Oh no,” Amanda said, “you’re crazy. But that’s why I keep you around.” She smiled and turned to leave the alley. 

“Come on,” she said. “After all this talk, I want some nachos.” 

[anthropolowhat]

Sneak attack

It wasn't hard to tell where the robot attack was happening, because by the time that Jack and Margot landed a bit away from the scene, the former power plant was up in flames. Jack floated to the ground and placed Margot down gently. He looked at the flames then turned back to his assistant. "Stay back," he said. Margot nodded. Any retort she might have had for the Captain died on her lips when she saw the look on his face. She pulled out her cell phone. "I'll call for backup," she said. Jack turned back towards where Amber sat atop the robot. He saw Rufus leaning against a tree a short distance away, looking intently at his cell phone. "That's the guy from last time," Jack said. "He doesn't really look all that interested." "Yeah," Margot said. "That's kind of weird." "They don't realize we're here yet," Jack said. "That's good. I'm going to try and take out the robot first," he said. "Shouldn't you wait for backup?" Margot said, panic lacing the edges of her voice. "No time," Jack said. He looked once more at Margot and took a deep breath. He reached for her hand once more and gave it a squeeze. "Okay," he said, releasing her hand. In the next moment he said something to himself, shot up into the air and headed straight towards the robot.

[anthropolowhat]

An advocate for all seasons

We are at lunch, and the light's so bright that the spots in my eyes are back, floating in my vision like a hundred worried thoughts. I try my best to ignore them, willing to pay the price of poor sight for the chance to see the sun again.

We are talking, and she tells me that she is scared of losing herself in her upcoming marriage. She is afraid that getting married will be the end, that she won't ever have anything after that.

As she continues to speak, I realize that I can't relate, having no stars in my own constellation with the same coordinates. But I have been lost for a very long time, and there is something in her sadness that I recognize.

And in the next moment I found myself speaking a foreign language, doing my best to handle the odd angles on the accents and the syllables. I don't find many occasions to speak in the language of hope, and yet there in the light, with minutes to go before heading back into the war, no other idiom was possible.

I told her the stories that I knew, and I pointed out what stars I could recognize. And soon enough, I could see her find the love for her fiance once again, banishing the fear that had threatened to overwhelm her.

After lunch, my mind was quiet and my heart was calm. For a minute, I wondered whether despair was truly my mother tongue, or if those sweet sounds I found in hope foretold of skies yet undiscovered.

[anthropolowhat]

Schematics

Rufus did his best work at night. I think that the lack of light and the absence of sound gave his scattered mind the ability to focus on the particulars. When it comes to creating sophisticated death machines, such precision is impossibly important.

On this night, Rufus was hunched over his workbench, carefully soldering a wire onto the circuit board of his latest creation, a device that immediately switched traffic signals from red to green, and vice versa.

It wasn't a huge display of evil prowess, but Rufus figured he needed to start small this time. Last time he'd taken his killer robot out for a spin, Captain Stupendous had smashed it to pieces. The scene replayed in Rufus' mind, and he frowned as he remembered watching the superhero obliterate his beloved creation.

Rufus looked down at the small contraption in his hand, no bigger than a television remote. This would be a good start, he thought to himself. It could cause a few car accidents, and then he'd see where it went from there. Rufus was nothing if not a practical supervillian.

Rufus put the soldering iron back in its holder, and turned to the computer that sat on his desk. He'd have to work out a few more calculations before he built the next component. He was only a few keystrokes in when he heard a crash at the door.

"Baby?" said a female voice at the door. "You down here?"

Rufus jumped off his seat. "Shit," he said to himself. He had brought home some girl from the bar, and thought she was fast asleep in his room.

The young woman padded into the room, all bare feet and wearing Rufus' t-shirt.

"Hey," she said, smiling. "Couldn't sleep?"

Rufus sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, desperately searching his brain for a name to attach to the pretty face before him. "Yeah," he said. "Sometimes I come out here when I can't sleep."

Internally, Rufus kicked himself. He normally kept the door to his laboratory closed at night for this exact reason. The last woman that had been in here was Logic Girl. For a moment, Rufus was distracted by the memory of his former love. In the next moment, he had to jump out to keep the young woman from touching one of his creations.

"Hey," Rufus said, grabbing the young woman's hand in his own before she was able to touch the laser cannon that sat on the shelf next to his workbench.

"These are so cool," she said, twining her fingers with Rufus's own. "You said you were an inventor--are these what you were talking about?"

"Yeah," Rufus said. He felt a swell of pride at the wonder on the girl's face.

"You've got so many," she said, looking up at the shelves that lined the walls on each side of the work bench. "How long did it take to make all these?" she asked.

"Years," Rufus said, standing next to her. He still hadn't let go of her hand, lest she wander off farther into his cavernous workspace. "I get an idea, get it half-built, and then put it up on the shelf. Never seem to be able to finish one."

The young woman squeezed his hand. "I know what you mean," she said. "I've been trying to finish my degree at IPFW for seven years." She looked down at the floor. "Life keeps getting in the way."

"Yeah," Rufus said. He saw a bit of light go out of the girl's eyes, and Rufus frowned. "There's actually some really cool stuff in here," he said. "Do you want me to show you?"

The young woman smiled, and Rufus felt his heart lighten. "Sure!" she said.

Rufus let go of the young woman's hand and reached for a ladder. He clambered up to the tallest shelf and brought down what looked like a small telescope. He put it on the workbench in front of him, wiping the dust off with a shop rag.

"What's this?" the young woman asked.

Rufus grinned and handed her scope. "Use this and take a look, over there," he said, pointing at a far wall.

The young lady looked through the scope and gasped. "You can see right through that wall!" she said.

Rufus grinned. "Cool, right?" The young woman laughed in response.

"That was one of the first things I ever built," Rufus said. "I was just really copying something my Dad designed."

"Your Dad is an inventor too?" asked the young woman.

"Yeah," Rufus said. He thought of the last time he saw his father, standing astride a mega tank and taking down the Space Needle and half the city of Seattle in the process. "In a way, he was," Rufus said. He tried not to wonder where his parents were now, and grabbed the young woman's hand again.

They ran from invention to invention, and Rufus astonished the young woman with his home-made hovercraft that she rode nearly to the ceiling. He showed her the raincoat that made the wearer invisible, and even the prototype jet pack he'd never quite fixed to work correctly.

"How did you learn how to do all this?" The young woman asked.

Rufus shrugged. "Well, I went to college, got myself an Engineering degree. After that, I worked for my Dad for a bit, and then just came out here. I dunno, I guess I just picked it up as I went along. The Internet helped alot too--I found a bunch of these plans online."

"Well, it's cool," she said. "My Dad used to work out in the garage all the time, tinkering with the family cars. He loved it."

Rufus smiled. "Yeah," he said. "It's just fun to sit out here and think of things to build."

Just then, the young woman saw the curtain that covered Rufus' killer robot prototype. "What's under here?" she said.

"Oh, that's nothing," he said.

"Oh, come on," she said. "It can't be nothing. It's gotta be over ten feet tall!" She pulled at the corner of the curtain, and the fabric slid off the sleek metal.

Rufus' greatest creation stood before them, all menace and metal in the low light.

"Wow," she said. "What's this for?"

Rufus felt his heart sink. "Just a prototype," he said. His mind scrambled for what to do. Here he had a girl whose name he'd forgotten, standing half-naked in his t-shirt, having just discovered the very thing that he planned to use to destroy the city.

"It looks dangerous," the young woman said, poking a finger at the blades on one of the robot's arm.

"Yeah," Rufus said. "It's pretty dangerous. But don't worry, it doesn't work. It's just for testing."

"Well that's good," the young woman said. "You built all those other cool things. I'd hate to think you built something that hurt people."

"Ah, nah--no way!" Rufus said, feeling his heart sink even further. He down to a low shelf and picked up a small Viewmaster. "Hey," he said, his voice breaking a bit. "I've saved the best for last."

"Oh!" the young woman exclaimed. "I had one of these when I was a kid--you put in the little card with pictures, and then when you press down on the lever you can see the little scene play out."

Rufus smiled a sad smile. "Yeah," he said. "Well, check out what this one does."

"You have to tell me what it does," the young woman said, turning the device over in her hands.

"Have to try it to find out," Rufus said.

The young woman smiled at Rufus, and in that second he felt his heart break all over again. She held the Viewmaster up to her eyes and pressed the lever.

In the next moment, a flash filled the room. The young woman collapsed to the ground, passed out cold.

Rufus sighed and picked her up. "It erases your memory," he said to the now unconscious girl in his arms.

He carried her back into his apartment. He put her back in his bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Then he went back downstairs and kept working.

[anthropolowhat]

Rufus finds a reason

On Wednesday night, Rufus dragged himself out of bed, logged onto his computer, and accidentally found out the former love of his life had gotten married. Rufus found out when he checked Facebook, because it seems that's how we learn so much about our friends these days. We don't let go--we can't let go. The connections remain, suspended forever in space and time by a digital tyranny, a congenital inability to let go.

And, as with most bad news delivered via Facebook, it was accidental. Rufus didn't go about searching for news on Logic Girl. He'd blocked her profile ages ago. Rather, a friend of a friend posted a picture, and before Rufus could stop and think, he found himself clicking on the picture and confronting the smiling, radiant face of Logic Girl, holding flowers and looking beautifully lost in her now-husband's eyes. 

Rufus found this picture late at night, crouched over his computer on his workbench. Though he hadn't worked on the robots in months, he still made his way out to the shop every night with a cup of coffee and his laptop.

The realization came over him slowly. His chest felt tight, and his vision narrowed. He knew Logic Girl had been seeing someone for the last year or so. It made sense, in a way, he told himself. Rufus knew that getting married was a thing that other people do in their late twenties. 

In the next moment, Rufus felt with full force an overwhelming sense of loss. His heart dropped out the bottom of his chest, and his shoulders slumped. I think a part of him always thought that they might get back together, if Rufus could have just convinced her that he hadn't meant to be so horrible. 

But now that possibility was foreclosed. I think Rufus knew it was always foreclosed, really. He just didn't want to confront it. Rufus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He sighed as a wave of regret and repressed emotion came crashing up, threatening to overwhelm him again, just as the sadness had done before. 

In the next moment, Rufus closed his laptop. He looked out at his discarded kingdom, all rusted metal and half-finished projects. On the far side of the cavernous garage, his robot army stood incomplete. 

He looked at his workbench, covered in dust and discarded parts. He picked up a ray gun he'd finished the year before. He turned the gun over in his hands, admiring his craftsmanship. 

He opened the side panel of the device, and inspected the circuits and wires that he had designed from scratch. Rufus wished his own heart had a similar system, so he could start over again. He looked over at his robots, and wished more than anything that he was one of them. 

But the burning in his chest continued, and in the next moment, tears fell on the ray gun, still gripped in his hands. 

Rufus took a deep breath and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He felt a circuit in his mind close. Some part of his brain had been re-activated, rebooted by the shock of seeing her. 

"Well, fuck it," he growled. He flipped on a switch on the wall, and the whole garage was illuminated. He picked up a rag and started to clean off the workbench. 

He didn't stop working that night until the entire garage was spotless, and the half-finished robots gleamed in the morning light. 

He collapsed into bed exhausted. His heart was empty, and his mind was empty. He slept soundly for the first time in months. 

He was going to destroy this city, once and for all. 

And if he was lucky, he'd go down with it. 

[anthropolowhat]

Purposeful incarceration (Matt, when he was still locked up)

Matt frowned, hunching over the small desk and staring at the blank notebook in front of him. His prison-issued uniform was itchy, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been brought to the meeting room about half an hour ago and locked in to await his counselor. It seemed all Matt did was pass the time in a series of small rooms like this. The cinderblock walls were painted a dull green. The security camera blinked at him from the wall. In his hand, he rolled his pen between his fingers. Because violent criminals couldn't be trusted with regular pens, the prison had removed the outside plastic cover and provided the inmates only with the ink cartridge. Matt turned his attention from the blank notebook to the thin tube of plastic in his hand. It was so flimsy that he had to grip it right up near the tip to use it, lest it bend and be rendered useless. Writing with the damn thing always led to a cramped hand later. Matt sighed, and with some considerable effort managed to write his name in the upper right-hand corner of the paper. Just then, the deputy unlocked the door to the meeting room. Behind the hulking prison guard, Matt saw his counselor, Dan. Matt internally winced. Dan was insufferably cheerful. Dan thanked the guard, and the door slammed shut behind them. "How ya doing today?" Dan asked. Matt shrugged. "Okay, I guess." "Do you have your assignment?" Dan asked. Matt looked at the ground. He pulled his notebook towards him, as if to shield it from Dan's view. "Well," he said. "Ah, well, I got real busy working in the kitchen. They had me peeling potatoes all day yesterday and I didn't have a chance to get it done." His counselor looked at him skeptically. "You've had over a month to get this done." Matt continued to avoid his counselor's eyes. He didn't say anything for several seconds. Finally, he looked up at the wall. "Couldn't think of anything to write," he said. The counselor frowned. "You know that you can get a time cut if you finish your treatment," he said. "I don't see how this is part of treatment," Matt said. "Nobody else in my block has to do this." "We're trying something new," Dan said. "So I'm a guinea pig?" Matt said. "Well, yes," Dan said. Matt laughed. "Jesus," he said, "always something with you people." Dan ignored the comment and looked at the man across the table from him. "I'm not saying it has to be perfect," he said. "I don't care about spelling or grammar, if that's what you're worried about." "I can spell," Matt said defensively. "Man, you know I finished my G.E.D. last year." "Yes, I know," Dan said, "and that took eight months off your sentence, didn't it?" Matt huffed, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms. He didn't say anything. "What's your deal?" Dan said. "All I did was ask you to write an essay about yourself." Matt looked at his counselor. Just as before, he was silent for several moments. After a period of time, he uncrossed his arms and wiped a hand across his face. "You're not gonna want to read that," Matt said. "Why not?" Dan asked. "Because I'm a criminal," Matt said. "What the fuck do I have to say about anything? I need to just stay locked up here and leave it at that." Dan looked at the man across the table. "Well, if that's your goal, why the hell did you finish your G.E.D.?" Matt glared at his counselor. "I just like learning," Matt said. "That's all. I liked learning all that stuff. Made the time go by faster, studying and all." "You did exceptionally well on all of the English subjects," Dan said. "I really think you would enjoy this, if you'd just give it a chance." Matt shook his head. "You're not listening," he said, his voice rising. "I don't got anything to say." Dan crossed his arms. "You're not getting out of this Berdan," he said. "You need to have that essay done by next week, or I'm going to get you kicked off kitchen duty." "Man, that's some bullshit!" Matt said. "That's a good job." "Well," Dan said, standing up and pressing the button to call the guard back to the room. "I want that essay." Dan sat back down and leaned over the table. Matt had leaned back again, glaring at the surface of the table. "Listen," Dan said. "I'm not saying it has to be the next fucking War and Peace. I just want you to write down what you have to say. And whether you tell me a story about something from your past, or you tell me about something that's going on in your life today, I want you to write it down and I want you to tell me the story." Matt relented, and he slumped down in his chair. "Fine," he said. Dan smiled, and a moment later the prison guard opened the door. Dan stood up and walked to the door. Before he stepped into the hallway, he turned back to Matt. "You know I can't get you kicked off kitchen duty. I'm a fucking counselor, not the damn Warden. Now have your essay for me next week, alright?" Matt looked at Dan. He shook his head and laughed. "Fine," he said, laughing again. "God, fine, okay, I'll get it done tonight." The prison guard told Matt he'd be back to take him back to the block in a few minutes. The door closed, leaving Matt alone with his paper and that poor excuse for a pen. He looked at the blank expanse before him. "Well, fuck it," Matt said. He started writing the first thing that came to mind, writing about the first time he ever stole a car. By the time the guard came back to get him, he'd filled ten pages.

[anthropolowhat]

Dinner service

Towards the end of dinner service, Matt took a second to lean against the counter and breathe. It had been a long night, but the food was perfect. They'd gotten out all of the tickets on time, and with the final table seated and fed, Matt knew it was time to start cleaning up. Julie came in to say her goodbyes for the evening. She'd been the first cut, so after all the silverware had been rolled she was able to head out for the evening. "Night!" she called out, waving and smiling at Matt. Matt felt his heart flip over in his chest. He smiled back, managing a wave. She closed the door and Matt sighed. Ever since she'd started dating his brother Elliott, it had been torture to see her at work. Back home, he filled notebook after notebook with useless poetry. Some counselor in one of his stints in prison had suggested writing things out when he was sad, and he found the technique worked, to a point. After that, only a good punch could work it out. But tonight before he could either write or fight there was still work to do, and so Matt turned back to his station, cleaning up the debris that had managed to slip past him. He and Roberto were lugging several large bags of trash back towards the dumpster when Matt almost ran over Maria, the small hostess about his age. He turned the corner with the bags and Maria squeaked. Roberto laughed behind them. "Hey!" she said. "Woah!" Matt said. "Didn't see you there, I'm sorry." "Don't worry about it," Maria said. "Just watch where you're goin, okay?" She smiled and held the door. "Let us know if you boys wanna go out for a drink. Some of us are going out tonight." "We'll be there," Roberto said. Matt shot a look at the other man. "Who said anything about we?" Roberto smiled and pushed Matt with the bags of trash. "Come on man, I don't want to go out smelling like a bunch of fish bones." Maria laughed and headed back in the building while the two men headed out back to the dumpster. "Man, I don't want to go out tonight," Matt said. "I'm tired." Roberto threw the bags in the dumpster and wiped his hands on his pants. "Hey, I'm just trying to be a good wingman for you, that's all." Matt looked at Roberto. "What do you mean?" Roberto laughed. "Man, are you serious? Ever since Maria started she's had a thing for you." Matt thought back over the last few months since Maria was hired. She did stop by the kitchen to chat with him, but he figured she was just being nice. "Seriously, she told Amber about it," Roberto said. "Who's Amber?" Matt said. "That server that worked here for a few months, the one I took home a couple times?" Roberto said, grinning. "The one that did the--" "--oh yeah," Matt said, stopping him before he could tell the story again. "Yeah, I remember that girl." "Well anyways, I know you're hung up on Julie, but you should give Maria a chance," Roberto said. "I'm not hung up on Julie," Matt said. "Okay," Roberto said, his voice making it clear he didn't believe Matt at all. He headed back towards the restaurant, and Matt followed. "Man, you got a smoke on you?" Roberto asked. "My pack is out." "Of course," Matt said, handing him a cigarette. Matt took one for himself as well, and after lighting it took a long pull. "So Maria," Matt said, "wants us to go out tonight." "Yeah," Roberto said. "So we're in, right? I already texted Amber and she said she'll meet us out." "Wait," Matt said, "so you're still seeing her?" "Would you give that up?" Roberto said. Matt shook his head. "I guess not." Roberto looked at Matt, and put an hand on his shoulder. "Listen man, I don't know what it is you're going through, but I do know what might help." Matt looked at his friend and sighed. "Well," he said, "it sure as hell couldn't hurt."

[anthropolowhat]

half day

Jack Stupdendous, Fort Wayne's resident superhero, flew in his fifth-story open office window, trying his best to be quiet. He was just getting into work around one in the afternoon, and he was sure to get an earful from his assistant Margot. He faintly remembered that she had set up an important meeting that morning, but he had been comfortable in bed with his latest fling, the weathergirl Candice Cane, and figured he'd take a half-day.

He shouted out a hello, but heard no response from Margot.

Jack frowned, Margot should be around. She was so dependable it bordered on obsessive. Jack counted on that to keep him out of trouble.

Jack walked through his office into the main area, and saw Margot sitting at her desk. She had her headphones on, staring blankly at the screen. Jack saw the glow of the computer screen reflected in the tears on her cheeks.

"Woah," Jack said. "You okay?"

Margot, started by Jack's presence, flailed wildly for a minute. She tried to stand up, but was quickly brought back down by her headphones. She pulled them off quickly, trying to wipe away the tears on her face.

"Oh Jack," she said. "Sorry, didn't see you there."

Jack nodded. "Oh, no worries. I just wanted to say I'm sorry about being late." He winced, waiting for the inevitable lecture.

Much to his surprise, Margot sat back down in her chair and sighed. "It's okay," she said. "It happens. Wasn't that big of a deal anyways. We can rescheudle the meeting with the developers for another day."

Jack looked at his normally domineering assistant and felt unsure as of what to do. He stood there in front of her desk. Margot sat back down and stared at the screen in a weak attempt to get some work done.

Jack hesitated for another moment, then took a step forward. He sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms.

"What's going on?" Jack said. "You're upset."

"It's nothing," Margot said. "Really, it's nothing."

"Well, if this is nothing, we're both in trouble," Jack said, attempting a joke. Margot glared at him through the tears.

Jack smiled, glad to see a bit of Margot's fire return. In the next moment, he had an idea.

"Hey," he said. "Come on, we're going to go somewhere."

Margot protested, shaking her head. "But what about the presentation for Friday? We've gotta go over the talking points."

"Tomorrow," Jack said, "come on, let's go."

"Fine, fine," Margot said, "but only because I can't concentrate."

Jack grinned. "Awesome," he said. "You're gonna like this, I promise."

They made their way to the first floor and stepped out into the parking lot.

"Am I driving, or are you?" Margot said.

"Neither," Jack said, picking her up and shooting up into the sky. Margot was too shocked to even scream.

The landed a few minutes later, on top of the Lincoln Tower. Jack set Margot down as gently as possible, but she still stumbled, sputtering at her boss.

"What was that?" she said.

"It was faster than a car, wasn't it?" Jack said, laughing. "Besides, we saved on gas and everything."

Margot huffed, and then turned to survey the city. "Wow," she said. "I've never seen it like this."

"Yeah," Jack said. Jumping up to a higher ledge, he pulled down a folding chair and a red cooler. "Provisions," he said. He opened the folding chair and motioned for Margot to sit. Opening the cooler, he pulled out two cans of beer.

"Not the coolest," he said. "But they'll do in a pinch."

Margot smiled and took the beer from Jack. She sat in the chair, and Jack sat on the ledge, perched precariously high. 

"Be careful," she said. Jack looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

For the next few minutes, neither of them said anything. It was early afternoon, and the city continued its weekday business below them.

"I never bring people up here," Jack said, more to himself than Margot, "but it's really my favorite place to just sit and think."

"Yeah," Margot said. "I can see why."

Jack smiled and pulled out two more cans.

"It's just that--well, my boyfriend," Margot said suddenly. "We broke up. He said he couldn't see it working out, because when he gets out of graduate school, he's going to have to focus on his career." Margot took in a sharp breath. She hadn't meant to tell Jack what had happened.

Jack nodded. "Sounds like an asshole," Jack said.

"No," Margot said, "I mean, not really. He's just trying to do what's best for both of us, and if he can't be there--" Margot trailed off, and the tears overwhelmed her again. She covered her face with her hands.

Jack jumped down off the ledge and kneeled down next to where Margot sat. "Hey," he said. Margot kept her hands over her face.

"Hey," Jack said again. "I hate to break it to you, but you don't disappear when you do that."

"Well, I wish I could," Margot said, her voice muffled. 

Jack huffed. "Come on," he said. "It's gonna be okay. It really is. You'll get through this. He's a dick, I'm sorry but that whole graduate school bullcrap just no excuse. Now, can you please just stop with the hands?"

After a moment, Margot complied, sniffling as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. She looked at Jack with red eyes and wet eyelashes and managed a half-smile.

Jack smiled back. He felt something in the bottom of his chest, something sturdy and warm, something that felt like a foundation. Though it was a new feeling, Jack found that he didn't mind it. 

"Alright, you ready?" Jack said.

Margot looked in the empty cooler. "Well, we're outta beer. Maybe we can make a supply run and come back, just for a little bit?"

Jack grinned, his brilliant smile stretching from ear to ear. That new feeling in his chest set tight, as if it had a place there. "Alright," he said. "You ready?"

He didn't wait for an answer, and in the next moment, they were off in the sky again.

[anthropolowhat]

After work, on a Tuesday

Matt came home from work around midnight, wired from that night's service at the restaurant. Even though it was the day after Labor Day, they'd been slammed with reservations and the kitchen was busy up until the last order, half an hour after they officially closed for the evening. Matt pulled off his shirt, wincing at the effort. He'd managed to burn himself when the new guy got water too close to the fryer. Matt had shoved the kid out of the way when he saw the bowl tip towards the fryer, but he wasn't fast enough to keep the damn thing from exploding. Matt walked into the bathroom and examined the burns on his arms in the mirror. He knew there would be new scars to add to the old ones. After he surveyed the damage to his forearms, he took stock of the rest of his body. He knew he wasn't nearly as attractive as his brother. For a minute, he wondered whether they were really even related. Though Matt knew they were brothers through and through, he still resented his frame, short and stocky compared to Elliott's willowy silhouette. Back in California, in high school, girls always seemed to favor his brother. Matt's frown turned into a grimace as he looked over his torso. His beer gut seemed larger than it used to be, and his prison tattoos had faded even more than he had remembered. He ran his hand over the scar from the knife wound on the upper part of his stomach. Even though it had been nearly ten years old now, it still hurt from time to time. Part of him wondered whether the pain persisted because he'd started that particular fight. "Jesus," Matt said out loud, to no one in particular. He grabbed a shirt off the floor of his bathroom, and padded back into his bedroom. Matt lay down on his bed, on top of his comforter. He tried not to think about work. He tried not to think about Julie. He tried his best to think of nothing, and when that didn't work, he went to the kitchen for something that would make him forget about everything.  

[anthropolowhat]

Mark 16:26

I am standing in a church. I am standing in a church, and I am hungover. It is Saturday morning, and I am at a memorial mass for a friend of mine from law school who has killed himself. The funeral was last month, in Evansville, and I couldn't go. But I am here now, and I am hungover. I see some of the same faces that were at a different church, last month, when we gathered together to remember the other one of my classmates that did the same thing, in much the same way. I see the same faces, and we say the same things. It was too soon. It doesn't make sense. We knew he was a handful, but life seemed so good for him. The familiarity of the routine brings me no comfort. He is dead. Teresa is dead. I have a headache. I have a headache, and my mind is reduced only to particulars. The altar is in front of me, ten feet tall and more ornate than even the Cathedral back home. I look at the back of the church, and I see more faces that I recognize. There above the parishioners, I see a quote writ large on the wall. What shall a man give in exchange for his soul? For a minute, my hangover evaporates. My headache ceases. I repeat the words to myself. For the rest of the service I think of little else. When I leave church after mass, the sun is bright and the air is humid. My mind is quiet and empty, save for those words still echoing inside my head. "I don't know," I say out loud, trying to answer the question and banish it from my mind. "I really don't know."

[anthropolowhat]

Introducing James Ritter

"I believe in you," his client said over the phone, shouting over the noise in the common room of the jail. "I've talked to other people about you, and they say you're a fighter." James sighed, gripping the phone a little bit tighter. Other clients had told him that before, but he didn't believe them. The client had asked for an impossible outcome, and this late in the afternoon James didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't think he could convince the prosecutor for home detention. His client had picked up a new case, and the court never looked kindly on multiple felonies. "It's just that, since I've been in here, I've found God," his client said. "And now I'm clean. And I've got a clear mind. And I've talked to my wife, and I'm just so glad that I got caught before I killed myself. And I know you can do this for me, Mr. Ritter." "We're certainly going to try," Ritter said. "I've had you screened for community corrections, and hopefully they'll recommend home detention again. And I've e-mailed the prosecutor, so I should have an offer for you by the end of the week." "I got myself an up-and-coming lawyer," his client said, "so I trust you. I think we're going to get it all done next week." "We will," Ritter said, trying as hard as he could to believe even half as much as his client. "We'll get it done and we'll get you home, one way or another."

[anthropolowhat]

We were driving to dinner. My father was visiting. We were headed south on Meridian Street back towards the city, and from the passenger seat I stared out at all the big houses that lined the west side of the road. In the back of my mind I thought back to the first time we visited Indianapolis, back before I joined in on whatever war I've been fighting these past few years. "You always have the most incredible stories about work," my father said after a few minutes of silence. "You should write them down." I frown and stare out the window. I want to tell him that I'm tired. I want to tell him that I wish I'd never gone to law school, that I wish I'd never signed up for this job in the first place. I want to tell him that I feel like I've never helped one damn soul in my entire time that I've been fighting this war, and that I only tell him the stories because sometimes, it makes me feel better to tell somebody what happens, so that someone else can be a witness to what has happened. But I don't tell him any of that. I tell him I'll think about it. Then, I change the subject and ask him how everyone is doing back in Ohio.

[anthropolowhat]

By the pool

We were all sitting and talking, enjoying the weekend afternoon when in the next minute my friend called out and wondered whether we could talk in private. We headed over to some benches over on the far side of the pool, away from where our friends were sunning and splashing in the apartment's new pool. "Everything okay?" I asked. "Will you still be my friend if me and Mark have a kid?" she asked. The words come out in a rush, as if she'd been holding the question in for some time. I blinked, surprised at the question. I knew that my friend and her husband had been considering having a baby for a few months now. "Of course," I said. "I mean, why wouldn't I?" "It's just that sometimes you say things," my friend said. "And I know you think that I have everything figured out, and I know that sometimes you make jokes about me living in 'domestic bliss' or whatever." "Well," I said, slightly embarrassed. "I mean--" "--and it is really, really great," my friend continued. "I mean, I love him so much." "Yeah," I said. "It's just that sometimes I don't know if I'm ready," she said. "I don't know what to do sometimes. I'm not the kind of person that picks out preschools in the first trimester. I figure that if you love your kid and you do your best, everything works out." "That sounds about right," I said, unsure how to respond. "And sometimes," she said, "I miss that freedom you have when you're single." I took in a sharp breath. "What freedom?" I said, scoffing. "Freedom to binge drink? Freedom to get blackout even though we're way too fucking old to do that kind of stuff anymore?" I stared down at the ground, feeling as the shame and anger welled up in my chest. This was a conversation we'd had many times before. "You don't really understand," she said. "You can do whatever you want, whenever you want." I shrugged, still unconvinced. When I looked up, all my doubt evaporated. My friend stared back at me and for a minute, time stopped. And in that space between seconds I stood in wonder at how two such different girls could understand each other so completely, even though we are both in such different places in life. "I think you're going to make a great mom," I said after a minute. "And your kid won't be crazy like Sarah's." My friend smiled. "I know, right?"

[anthropolowhat]

By the pool

We were all sitting and talking, enjoying the weekend afternoon when in the next minute my friend called out and wondered whether we could talk in private. We headed over to some benches over on the far side of the pool, away from where our friends were sunning and splashing in the apartment's new pool. "Everything okay?" I asked. "Will you still be my friend if me and Mark have a kid?" she asked. The words come out in a rush, as if she'd been holding the question in for some time. I blinked, surprised at the question. I knew that my friend and her husband had been considering having a baby for a few months now. "Of course," I said. "I mean, why wouldn't I?" "It's just that sometimes you say things," my friend said. "And I know you think that I have everything figured out, and I know that sometimes you make jokes about me living in 'domestic bliss' or whatever." "Well," I said, slightly embarrassed. "I mean--" "--and it is really, really great," my friend continued. "I mean, I love him so much." "Yeah," I said. "It's just that sometimes I don't know if I'm ready," she said. "I don't know what to do sometimes. I'm not the kind of person that picks out preschools in the first trimester. I figure that if you love your kid and you do your best, everything works out." "That sounds about right," I said, unsure how to respond. "And sometimes," she said, "I miss that freedom you have when you're single." I took in a sharp breath. "What freedom?" I said, scoffing. "Freedom to binge drink? Freedom to get blackout even though we're way too fucking old to do that kind of stuff anymore?" I stared down at the ground, feeling as the shame and anger welled up in my chest. This was a conversation we'd had many times before. "You don't really understand," she said. "You can do whatever you want, whenever you want." I shrugged, still unconvinced. When I looked up, all my doubt evaporated. My friend stared back at me and for a minute, time stopped. And in that space between seconds I stood in wonder at how two such different girls could understand each other so completely, even though we are both in such different places in life. "I think you're going to make a great mom," I said after a minute. "And your kid won't be crazy like Sarah's." My friend smiled. "I know, right?"

[anthropolowhat]

When the middle is an end.

Matt had a bourbon waiting on the table when O'Reilly walked through the door of the tavern. "Shit," the officer said, sliding into the booth and picking up the glass. "What a rough shift." Matt grunted. "Yeah." He held out his arm, newly bandaged. "Grease fire," he said. O'Reilly whistled. "Ouch," he said. Matt shrugged. "Right at the end, had a really bad run," O'Reilly said. He looked down at his drink, swirling the liquid in the glass. "Suicide attempt. Just terrible." "Yeah," Matt said. "Can't even imagine." "I mean, I've been there," O'Reilly said. "I mean there are times when it seems pretty dark. But I just don't get--I mean, I don't know." Matt shook his head, staring off into space. O'Reilly wondered what he was thinking about, but knew better than to ask. Matt took another long drink from his glass. He sat it down on the table and motioned for the waitress. "Sometimes it's just you and the devil," Matt said. "And you gotta decide which one of you is gonna come back." O'Reilly looked at Matt, who stared back at him. Neither man said a word for a minute. "Know what I mean?" Matt asked. O'Reilly nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I do." 

[anthropolowhat]

Test results

When the professor posted the results of the test outside his office, John and Kate raced to check out the results. "I know I missed at least four questions," Kate said, rushing to keep up with her much taller friend. "I didn't even have enough time to fill in the bubbles."

John agreed. "Fucking multiple-choice," he said. "I'm a slow reader, it was impossible to finish the whole thing." 

They marched down the hallway, grumbling and predicting doom, until they turned the corner to the Professor's hallway. 

"Be quiet," Kate said. "He's probably in his office." She jumped in front of John, putting a finger to the paper to find her test number. 

"Crap, was I forty-seven or forty six?" she wondered out loud. "Definitely forty-seven," she finally concluded. 

When they both found their scores near the top of the class, Kate jumped for joy. 

"We did it!" she said. 

John smiled and pulled her into a hug, lifting her off the ground. He sat her down gently and smiled. 

Kate's face was beet red. Ever since she realized she was in love with her best friend, she'd tried her best to keep her distance from John. 

John, to his credit, wasn't completely oblivious that his friend had been acting differently since that night she'd picked up him up at the basketball court. He looked at her, perplexed. "You okay?" 

"Yeah," Kate said, shaking her head as if to erase the warm feeling in her chest. "Yeah, of course! I'm assuming that ice cream is in order." 

John smiled. Kate knew that he loved celebrating with ice cream now that he had gotten sober. 

John offered his arm. "Shall we?"

Kate took up John's offer, though a small voice in her mind told her it wasn't a good idea. They weren't three steps down the hallway before John cracked a joke that made Kate laugh. She completely forgot about her earlier hesitation. Down the hall, their professor yelled for the people in the hall to be quiet. The two friends took off running, laughing quietly.