The Reckoning we're ready. you're not.

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine: Pills

Click

Piece of shit jammed on me.

You sure you didn’t just empty out that motherfucker?

Man, I don’t know.  I don’t even know how to check really.  I shouldn’t have even brought this gun.  I wanted to bring Lucille but you were beeping and stuff-

Don’t put that on me.  You knew what time I was coming to pick your ass up.  Don’t act like it’s my fault you were rushing as usual.

Nathaniel was laying on the floor bleeding, crying….. dying.   Popcorn stepped over him.

Show me how to release the clip again.

Are you being for real right now?

Yeah, motherfucker show me how to get the clip out, man.  Why you always gotta make you ask you twice for shit, damn.

Look, gimme here.

Congo, the big one put his gun between his knees, barrel up, while he took the rifle from Popcorn and easily slide the empty clip out.  See? Empty.  You just spray motherfuckers without looking.  Here, with your sloppy ass.

Popcorn gives him a look that says, fuck with me again, go ahead I dare you.  He mutters something under his breath, something I can’t make out but I’m sure he’s talking shit.  It doesn’t matter, I gotta move.   Still on my stomach I crawl towards the shadowy area of the barn.  They’re really fighting now because all I hear is bitch this and bitch that and a couple I’ll fuck you ups.  I belly crawl away making sure I don’t make as much noise as they do.  

Nathaniel is still crying, bleeding and dying.   I can see smoke coming out of the hole in his belly.  I’ve seen this before, it doesn’t end well.

Will you shut the fuck up? with your nappy ass beard.   This is Popcorn talking now.  He’s always talking, that one.  He’s the one that punched me in the face this morning, the one that kicked me in the nuts after he broke my nose. The one that shot Nathaniel in the stomach for not knowing what he was talking about. For not knowing about the pills.   I remember his laugh.

Here, take this.  Congo, the big guy pulls out a shiny pistol from his waistband.  Don’t lose it.  I got that 75 years ago or maybe it was last week.  

They both cackle. Inside joke

Looking down at Nathaniel Popcorn speaks.  I’m going to ask you again and you might as well tell me the truth because your ass is going die in a few anyway.  Where are the pills?

Nathaniel tries to answer.  He tries to tell them he doesn’t know about any pills. That he told him everything he already knows which is nothing.  And why did he shoot him?  Why did he kill him when they don’t even know each other?  Why?

One of the great things about having kids is when they’re a baby, a real little baby; there are moments when you see the entire spectrum of human emotion flash across their face in a matter of seconds.   Looking at Nathaniel now, it’s the same thing only I see fear, regret, anger and then nothing.

Standing over Nathaniel laughing and carrying on about someone who had said something to someone about something Congo and Popcorn didn’t notice Nathaniel’s last moments as a person.  They didn’t have the privilege of seeing Nathaniel realize he was slipping away. That the hole in his stomach stopped hurting and his eyes were giving in to a deep, deep, sleep.  At the very end he said something. He said something but nobody heard.

Screaming from the house.  Martha.

Tell me old man where are the muthafucking pills?

Why you yelling at a dead man? Can't you see his ass is dead?

Aw what the fuck.

I’m telling you, your ass crazy.

More screaming from the house.  Martha.

They cackle again not hearing or not caring about the screaming.  Martha.

On my belly I crawl deeper in the shadows.  I want to get away not just from Popcorn, Congo and what’s his face in the house with Martha but from Nathaniel and the look of sadness and regret on his still face.  From the smell of blood and burnt flesh, from the sounds of Martha’s screams, from my broken nose and my swollen nuts.  I think of my son.  I think of my boy.  I think of being with him.  Wanting to hold him and tell him that it’s ok. That it will all be ok.   To please, just take the pills.  Please be careful what you do with them, be careful who you show them to.

Screaming from the house.  Martha. Martha.

He ain’t talkin.

Not no more he ain’t.

More cackling from these two.

This is Popcorn talking now.  Let’s bounce.  We gotta find that other motherfucker. The one I fucked up this morning?  He’ the one we’re looking for.   Talking to Nathaniel he says I thought it was you but I was wrong.   I guess you didn’t know what I was talking about. haHA!

What I tell you? Talking to dead people means you crazy.  You crazy.

Popcorn cackles and slaps Nathaniel in his dead face.

Let’s go, man.  I need to get back to my REAL TIME, I’m tired of this shit.  I’m starting to feel sick.

That’s what happens when you don’t know what you’re doing.   When you just bounce around time swallowing what doesn’t belong to you.  I’m standing now, a few feet from them and Nathaniel.  Congo is the first to speak

Quit playing, I’m sick.  Give us the pills.

More screaming from the house. This time it’s not just Martha.

There are no pills you dumb ass.   That’s what I was trying to tell you before.  They make you swallow them when you first get here.  The time released capsules know when you’re time is up and it’s wind chime city.  Boom, you’re gone.  

Popcorn, the little one stood a few feet from me holding a very sharp, very shiny knife.  The big one, the one they called Congo from the mean streets of Skokie, IL with his shaved head, fair skin and hazel eyes fell to his knees in agony.  

My friend needs to bounce back to his time and place and you need to quit playin’ with me and get me my pills.

His eyes dart back and forth between me and his little brother Congo.

What’s happening to him?

He’s got to go home

The house is on fire but we don’t’ notice.  Windows shatter from the heat I suppose.   I hear screaming from the house but it's not Martha.

I feel weird, Popcorn.  I feel really weird. I feel like-

A really nice warm breeze came from the house fire blew Congo away mid-sentence.  It was startling how sudden it was.  Both Popcorn and I looked at where Congo was standing just a half second ago but he was gone.  The wind blew him out like a candle and now he was no more.

In the second I had to look at Popcorn I saw the full spectrum of human emotions flash across his face.  Then he was gone too.

I sit and watch the house burn to the ground.  Martha didn’t get out but neither did what’s his face and that makes me smile.  Everyone is dead except for me but that doesn’t mean I can skip my chores.  I wait for the house to burn to the ground then I rebuild.

It’s lonely now without Martha and Nathaniel but I’ll keep busy and that helps till I hear the wind chimes again.

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine:

A motel room in the early evening. There is a queen size bed that is made and, although the television is off, we hear the set from the room next door. There is a small fridge, a dresser and a closet. A man comes in from what appears to be the outside. He slams and locks the door. He dials his cell phone. Man: Yeah…a motel, on 214…I don't know... He puts his fingers between the blinds and peers through the window. Man: It's a giant blue sign, how many could there be?… Fine He puts his phone in his pocket and begins pacing. Man: Shit. He sits on the end of the bed. He is breathing heavy. A woman walks out from the bathroom in a towel. She screams and jumps back, then he screams. She dives to the floor and he jumps back. In a moment they both have guns in their hands. Woman: Who sent you? Man: What? Woman: You heard me. Man: I'm not here for you, because of you, you know…. shit. Woman: What are you doing…what do you want? The woman lunges towards him and tries to pull down the collar of his shirt and he pulls back. Man: I told you I'm not here for you. He studies her and the room. Man: Go put your clothes on. He peers out the window again. She is still for a moment, her hair drips down on her face. She slowly gathers her clothes. The man turns around as to not see her as she awkwardly slides on clothes under the towel while keeping the gun pointed in his direction. Man: I didn't think anyone was in here. He dials his phone again. Man: Where the fuck are you!!! Yeah well there a woman in this room. Her room, whatever.  Oh my…you got to be kidding me. Blue lights begin to flush through the tiny spaces of the blinds. He hangs up and begins to pace. The woman watches him for a moment and puts her gun down. Man: Yes as much as I'd love to assault a random woman in an some shitty motel, it really isn't my primary business. Sorry. Woman: Who you running from? Man: Ahhh, speeding tickets I've never paid. The woman packs up her things. Man: You traveling? Woman: Oh me, I live here, in a shitty motel...I'm on my way to a wedding. My sister's...she lives here. She looks under the bed, grabs a sock and throws it in her bag. Man: Older? Younger? The woman glances around the room. Woman: Older. The man watches as she picks up her watch from the dresser. Man: Then why wouldn't you stay with family? The woman grabs her bag and walks towards the entry way. The man jumps in front of her. Man: Wait. She moves to the other side and he moves with her. Man: Please. She pushes through towards the door, then turns towards him. Woman: Helping some random guy in a shitty motel room isn't my primary business. Sorry. All of a sudden she drops to the ground and her body is motionless. The man pulls open her right eyelid and places his phone an inch from her open eye. There are three beeps. He looks down at the face of the phone and waits. He begins to dial the phone. Man: I just did a read....and nothing. He opens her left eye, three beeps, nothing. He pulls her hair back off her neck. Man: 59H2F4n0001. He closes his phone and paces. Woman: Uhhh, ahhh. I didn't think people still did that. Man: I couldn't let you leave. Woman: Well you won. I can't even move. He opens his bag and pulls out a bottle of water. He throws the bottle toward her. It hits her stomach and rolls off. She tries to move her arms but only her fingers move. He walks over to her and props her body up. He picks up the bottle, unscrews it and puts it to her lips. Man: Who are you? Woman: Oh come on, I'm sure you know by now. Her arms begin to move and he moves away. Man: I need you to say just until they pass. She throws him the water and he takes a sip. Woman: Why don't you tell me everything. Man: My name is John Lucas. I work alone. I'm a decoder. There was a leak yesterday. My number was officially listed this morning.  My image has been disclosed…wait, wait…what did you ask? What did I… Oh my…..Oh shit… I didn't think people were still using that. The woman tosses an empty vile in the trash. She pulls herself up using the end of the bed, one leg is still numb. Woman: That's everything? You're kind of boring John. She begins to walk to the door again. He steps in front of her, they both stop and stare at one another, frozen. Then she breaks off to the right and goes to the door. Just then we hear a knock. They turn and look at each other. He steps into the bathroom as she opens the door. The woman suddenly has a southern dialect and an innocent demeanor. Officer: Officer Kyler. The officer flashes a badge. Officer: How long have you occupied this room? Woman: Why since yesterday officer. How come? Officer: Have you seen this man? He hold up an image of the man. Woman: Ohhh… well.. ohh…Can't say that I have. Is he dangerous? He looks dangerous. Officer: Can I see some ID? She passes him her ID. Officer: Oh, Ms. Collins... Woman: Yes, that is the one. With the hearings I came to town, but we thought it best that I maintain a low profile by staying...here. Just in case things... She casually reads his code off his badge. Officer: I'm so sorry to bother you. Give my regards to your husband. Thank you for your time. Woman: My pleasure. She shuts the door. We see the man slide out from behind the bathroom door. Man: Mrs. Collins? Woman: (In her southern dialect) Darling I'm a number of things but I ain't no senator's wife. She pulls out deck of ID's and fans herself with them. She tosses one down on the bed. Woman: Go fish. Man: Who are you? Woman: Getting caught up in labels and names feels so very 21st century. She opens the refrigerator and cracks open a beer bottle using her gun. Woman: So any fun ideas on how you plan on getting yourself out of here? The man studies her. She turns on the TV and flips through the channels. Man: Those your original eyes? Woman: Why thank you. Man: You have no iris scan? Woman: I thought you'd never notice. The man sits next to her on the end of the bed. Man: Who are you? She hits the remote against her thigh in an attempt to get it to work. Woman: It feels warm in here. Man: Who are you? She continues to stare straight ahead. Man: Who are you?!? She looks directly at him. Man: Are you… He moves back a few inches on the bed. Woman: Whatever I am, I think I'll be around for a while. She lifts her shirt up enough to see at least 20 bullet wounds on her torso alone. Woman: Now do you need help or not?

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine: Second Interlude

PSSSSHKT!

Say again and brace for impact!

I never had to save anyone.

Come again.

Come back now.

Come back.

Come back, please.

Roger.

Back it up

This kids got gills

Anybody got a Bucket of Rain Water?

Dad sits down with his Photo Album

the one that’s white

and covered in Dog tags

and time zones

This Lady’s pregnant

Hold the labia while I tweet this pic

Michigan smells like Whale Song

I wanna be an exchange student forever!

Or until my accent comes back

They always come back

Accents

Neptunes Daughter

Perfigliano

and a psychic dog walk into a bar...

It was a natural birth

Bathtub

Nursemaid

flip cam

everything

This your First Period?

Impressive.

There’s history in science and

Whose Dog is this!?

He inseminated in my petri dish

Someone check his windchimes

and see what year he’s from

He’s been riding this

underwater Choo Choo Train

since he first stepped off the Airbus  

(blub)

(blub)

(blub)

(blub)

[choo][choo][choo]~Woosh~

You are rising

floating

emerging

out of a deep sleep

There is no reason at all to wake up

Nothing woke you

It is very dark

and you are peering around the room

your eyes attempting to adjust

to take in this unfamiliar furniture

the foreign arrangement of this room

All you can muster from your foggy

sleepy brain is the wordless question

Where am I?

This is not my bedroom

this is not my home

It usually takes a few seconds

a few blinks and rubs of the eyes

but soon you remember the American Airlines flight

How you sat so far back in the plane you thought you’d wait forever for all the folks yanking their belongings back down that narrow aisle. Now you remember how your sister picked you up at the airport and got a parking ticket as you were putting your bag in her trunk. You felt guilty knowing you weren’t going to help her with that ticket even though she was there to fetch you and you only.

Oh that’s right, she took you out to sushi, you had wine in her living room, you were surprised by how many keepsakes she kept from your childhood home and even the home of your grandparents. She put you to bed in the guest room at the end of the hall. It all comes back. That is the room you are peering at now in the darkness.

But for a few seconds there

the Challenger exploded

OJ was found innocent

Kurt Cobain died

and none of it made any sense to you

in your time capsule

buried in front of the local library

We make sense of things

by putting them in order

but really nothingmakes any sense

  Not at all

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine:

On the eve of my twenty-first birthday, I nearly drowned. Or very nearly drowned, or was close enough to drowning that in retrospect I (occasionally) silently and (rarely, only when it comes up) publicly cite this incident on my last day of being twenty as the closest I’ve come to dying – at least that I recall – which seems seminal.  Or formative.  Important. Right? Anyhow. The night of my twenty-first birthday, I drank Flaming Dr. Peppers, of course. Not drinking for the first time but for the first time legally, so there’s a distinction there. Or could be.  A Flaming Dr. Pepper is one of those drinks where a shot is dropped down into a beer and this one tastes like Dr. Pepper, sorta, and it’s on fire when it is bombed into the half a beer, which puts the fire out and it’s a whole thing. On the night of my first birthday (which isn’t when I turned one year old- your first birthday is your actual BIRTH DAY, y’know… when you’re BORN- even though we call turning One a first birthday, it’s the second one, which means every year since has been one number off, ‘cause it’s more of an anniversary than a birthday, really) I was in an incubator because I was blue blue, because I was six weeks early and back then that was really early, so when I came out blue they put me in the incubator and I spent several weeks there until I could handle using my lungs on my own and then I went home. When the circumstances of me being in what I call the Baby Microwave come up (seldom) in conversation, that’s what I call the incubator: Baby Microwave, because it’s a self-deprecating name for it and takes away some of the awkwardness of having arrived early and frail. My MOM and DAD were watching ‘Charlie’s Angels’ on their new color TV, it was like the second or third episode ever, and my dad was loving it and my mom went into labor six weeks early, so dad didn’t finish watching the episode but instead went to the hospital because his wife’s water broke. Sometime around the time I was twenty-six I built a contraption which I drove off a three-story platform into Lake Michigan. Not on my own, I was the only one driving but not the only builder. The reason was because a bunch of other people also built these contraptions as a part of a contest to build things and fly them off a platform into the Lake while spectators watched the production.  I had a hard time walking for a week or so because instead of building a contraption which broke apart, thereby taking most of the force of impact, I (We) built one that would survive the crash, thereby making me the absorber of the velocity, so naturally I was very sore. It seems to me that maybe wanting to have a good survival story is essential.  Most generations before mine have gained good survival stories by great wars or bus boycotts or huge waves of social change or fleeing famines in Europe.  The men who survived these things got their stories and good nicknames: big guys named “Tiny” and scrappy little guys named “Murph” and these guys still get together to swap stories and call each other by names that they gave each other to take their mind off of the fact that on a daily basis they were perilously close to dying or losing a part of their physical being.  Not that I would want to go to war or anything, but I would like a cool nickname and you can’t give yourself a nickname- it’s just not protocol. The thing about the almost-drowning that is (mildly) interesting to me is that I am a strong swimmer and very comfortable around water, but it was October and when I was in the water I had warm clothes on and they got very heavy when they were wet so I started to take my boots off, meaning I guess I didn’t panic and how I remember this experience probably is much more dramatic than it was because wouldn’t I have felt panic if I really was that close to dying – the whole Life-Flashes-Before-Your-Eyes thing didn’t happen. Does that diminish the experience? When I trained to be a lifeguard we had to learn how to defend ourselves against a drowning victim and practice getting away from them because a drowning person wants to be on top of the water and they’ll try to climb on your head and that will pull you both down, making rescue impossible.  So the maneuver we learned was, as the drowner reached for your head and neck, to grab them by the wrist and kick them as hard as you can in the stomach, thereby knocking the wind out of them so you can get away, then you keep your distance until they tire out, because an unconscious person is way easer to pull to safety than a flailing person who wants to climb on your head.  You are just supposed to wait and then you get to be the Hero. I never had to save anyone when I was a lifeguard, which is too bad because that would’ve made a great story.

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine: Winchuski

The dog’s collar says “Winchuski”.  No number.  No address.  No microchip.  Yes, I felt around the scruff.  No chip.  Just “Winchuski”.  What am I supposed to do with this thing?  Jo always tells me to keep the gate locked when I play music in the garage.  Says it’s not safe.  She’s unsure around Latinos.  Here’s some water good girl.  Fourth walk around the neighborhood and nobody is claiming “Winchuski”.  I haven’t even had anyone express a concern.  I guess we look like we belong together.  Probably my beard.  It’s got that redgrey thing happening.  At this point my dog breed would be: Bonaduce border collie. Crap.  Sal Nattano watering his grass.  Nooooo.  Shitters. Pass.  I can’t handle the awkward conversation...  Turning around.  Nope, crosshairs, and…I’m back. “Luker.” “Hey, Sal. Hi.” “You got a new friend?” “Nope.” “What’s her name?” “Winchuski.” Sal’s petting her.  Breathing kinda panty.  He’s balding?  He’s back. “Winchuski!!!??  Luker, you are something rich!  How’d you come up with that one? “It’s not my dog, Sal.” “Hunh.  Too good looking to be a stray.  You check the tag?” “Of course, yes.” “And it just says Winchumski?” “Winchuski.”

“Fine.  I’m trying to offer some help.  Maybe take her to the shelter downtown if you can’t.” “I know.  I’m going to take her to my sister’s house.” “Why?” “Bye, Sal. “Fine.  OK.” I’m not taking “Winchuski” to my sister’s.  She lives in Jacksonville. It’s just easier to say because Sal’s never met my sister so she can be anyone I need her to be at any time.  Last Superbowl Sunday, my sister came in town with her two little kids.  I watched the Superbowl, stoned, by myself.  Win.  Sal dropped a couple Boston cream pies off. Win. I should actually call my sister.  6:08. East coast is 8:08…  Nah.  Where’s Jo?  Is my phone dead?  “Winchuski” is peeing.  Again.  She’s peed seven times since I started looking for her home.  Again.  On Dr. Yamamoto’s Rosemary bush.  Eight.  Egghh.  I have a stray dog with a urinary tract infection.  Yamamoto- “Luke.” “Hi.” “This is your new dog.” “No.  The dog walked into my yard while I was playing.” “Ah huh.  What’s the name?” “Her name is “Winchuski”.” “Why?” “Not sure.” “It’s a surprise for Jo?” “No.” “Jo doesn’t like a dog?” “She does.  It’s just that the dog showed up through the gate- “Maybe keep the gate closed.” “Yes.” “He hungry?” Dr. Yamamoto heads into his house to get some homemade beef jerky, I’m guessing.   He’s yelling from the house.  I’m yelling from outside the house. “The dog?!” “Yes.  Winchester.” “Winchuski.” “Are you sure that’s the name?” “It’s right on the tag.” “Winchuski?”   “Winchuski?!!!!”  “Winchuski!!!!!!!!!!!”

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine:

8/28/1994 Dear Mermaid Journal, Today totally sucked!  Being the only mermaid in an all girls Catholic high school is such a curse!  This year is going to be hell!!!  For starters, I have to take showers to hydrate in-between periods, which means I’m always walking into class late and wet!  Plus I have to hydrate in the gross girls locker room.  Even the gym teacher Mrs. Placek, was checking out my tail fin.  As if! I tried skipping before lunch so I could sit at a good table, but that turned disastrous.  One minute I’m eating my sandwich and talking with some really fun girls, being normal, and the next thing you know the whole cafeteria is throwing water on me to keep me alive.  They ended up putting me in the pool until things calmed down.  Worst first day ever!  I don’t know what to do… Oh well, at least it can’t get any worse from here.  Right??? Mood: Cautiously optimistic What I’m listening to:  Oasis  “Live Forever” 8/29/1994 Dear Mermaid Journal, I was wrong. Things got worse!  I totally laid eggs during English class.  I didn’t even feel it coming. The girl behind me started to complain about a smell and then everyone started to smell it and then I noticed that under my skirt a billion eggs just started to fall onto the floor.  Oh my God!!!  I wasn’t prepared at all.  I was so embarrassed.  It was a mess!  The janitor came in to clean it up right away.  You think he’d just sweep them up and throw them in the garbage can.  But no, he put them in mason jars.  Then he asked, “You think I could eat this like caviar?”  Weirdo! My stupid mother had to come all the way from Jackson Pier to save me.  She brought me a new skirt and a Caribbean bottom feeder fish to put in my panties to control my flow.  I was soooooo embarrassed!!!! On the bright side, I met a cool sophomore girl named Vanessa.  She was telling me that at her old school they had a girl from Texas and by her Sr. year she was like the coolest girl in school.  Gives me hope too I guess!  She also invited me to her improv comedy show on Friday.  She doesn’t seem that funny, but I want to check it out!  I know my Mom and Dad were planning on swimming to St. John’s this weekend to watch the whales give birth.  I hope I can get out of it!  More importantly I hope this whole year doesn’t suck like today and yesterday did!  Yuck! Mood: Don’t ask! But looking forward to the weekend. What I’m listening to:  Nirvana “Heart Shaped Box” R.I.P. Kurt! 9/24/1994 Dear Mermaid Journal, A boy asked me to the homecoming dance at Notre Dame boys academy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Ok so I know that it’s not that big of a deal, but it is!  I didn’t think anybody would want to take a stinky stupid fish to homecoming.   His name is Jeremy, he’s a Senior and he’s a friend of Vanessa’s. He’s also on the Cross Country team and he looks like a young Rivers Cuomo from Weezer!  Will he kiss me? Will I freak out and need to Hydrate like fifty million times?  Will I miss most of the dance because I’m in the stupid school pool?  I sound like my mother.  Always thinking the worst.  Everything will be fine Coral!  I just got to keep telling myself that. Vanessa and I have been getting to be really good friends.  She’s planning on diving down for a visit if she can get her Mom to buy her all the Scuba gear.  She really wants to see our place.  I’ve never had a real friend over.  Not to say that the rock crabs and the porpoises aren’t my friends.  They just are too… fishy.   I need to be a teenager and not worry so much about stuff like Hurricanes, Sharks and Red Tide.  I want to go to concerts and hang out with boys and stuff that the other girls do.  The sea is so boring!!!  It’s so big and empty.  And when something exciting does happen, usually it’s because somebody I know or my parents know either got eaten by a predator or they got caught in a net or on a hook.  I wish I could just live on land all the time! Oh well, no time to get down about my crappy home life.  I have to go shopping for a homecoming dress! Mood:  Excited What I’m listening too:  Weezer!!!                   10/29/1994 Dear Mermaid Journal, Where do I start?  I’ve been living away from the ocean for a couple of weeks now.  I had a blow-out fight with my bitch mother and got kicked out of our ship wreck.  So I’ve been staying in my friend Vanessa’s bathtub.  Her parents are divorced and her Mom travels a lot for work so it’s no big deal.  A bathtub is definitely not as comfy as sleeping in the ocean, but it’s all I have for now.  Vanessa is such a good friend. The fight all started because I asked my Mom about egg fertilization.  It was an honest question.  She told she wasn’t ready to have that kind of talk and told me I could never see Jeremy again.  She said she knew this was going to happen.  She should have never sent me to school on land. Blah Blah Blah.  And then she dropped the bomb on me, I was going to live with my Aunt and Uncle in Gulf of Mexico.  Whatever! So I ran away. I don’t know what to do.  I can’t live on my own in the ocean.  I’ll get eaten or caught.  I can’t sleep in Vanessa’s mom’s tub forever.  She’s got her own issues besides me to deal with. I haven’t seen Jeremy since our talk.  Life sucks!  To make things worse, I’ve started to really fall behind in school now.  I haven’t been going.  I don’t know what to do. Mood: Scared What I’m listening to: Hole’s “Doll Parts” 11/11/1994 Dear Mermaid Journal, We started seeing each other again after running into each other at a Halloween party.  He came dressed as a Centaur.  At first I took offense, but he wasn’t trying to be a dick, he wore the same costume the last 2 years.  I was dressed as a sexy slave.  We started to talk and I told him all about my last 2 months.  He responsible, so he called his step mom and asked her if it was ok if I stayed in their pool.  So I started to live at Jeremy’s house. At this point I was like Whoa! Like a year ago I barely ever left the ocean, now I’m living in a pool at my boyfriends house.  Crazy right? His place is amazing though.  Big house.  Nice pool.  His step-mom is super nice to me.  She’s super cool.  Like a sister.  And I still really like Jeremy.  I just don’t want to go back home.  Not yet. Mood:  Nervous What I’m Listening to:  Ace of Base 11/13/1994 Dear Mermaid Journal, So I guess me and Jeremy are going to be parents… Well, naturally, me and Jeremy started to spend more time together.  We were getting really close.  Like really close.  Anyways, one thing led to another.  We were messing around and kissing and he was touching my orphus and then he got naked and got into the pool and the next thing you know he completely fertilized all of my eggs.  So now I’ve been watching over like, I don’t know, like, 10,000 eggs waiting to be hatched.  Crazy huh? Jeremy is acting really cool about it though.  He is being supportive and he is totally going to take responsibility for everything.  He is looking for a job right now.  Plus, we can stay in his parents pool for as long as we need.  I wish my parents were cool like his.  Needless to say I still haven’t talked to them so I haven’t told them that they are going to be grandparents yet.  I’m sure they would disown me!  But I don’t really care anymore, because I love Jeremy so much and I want to be with him! Mood:  Love             What I’m listening to:  “Creep” TLC 11/17/1994 Dear Mermaid Journal, In a baby castle, just beyond your eye, Your baby plays with angel toys that money cannot buy. Who are you to wish him back into this world of strife, No, play on your baby, he'll have eternal life. At night when all is silent and sleep forsakes your eyes, You'll hear his tiny footsteps come running to your side His little hands caress you so tenderly and sweet, You'll breathe a prayer and close your eyes and embrace him in your sleep. Now you have a treasure that you rate above all others You have known true glory, You are still his mother. After an unfortunate bird attack, we said goodbye to several thousand of our babies today.  I go to the bathroom for 5 minutes to brush my teeth and put cream on my orphus and when I come back out to the pool, gone.  Jeremy told me he saw the bird land in the pool and by the time he got outside it was too late.  The vet told us that several thousand more eggs would not make it and to consider any egg that makes it full term lucky.  He then took a look at my orphus and told me to stay in the pool for 24 hours to help heal my infection.  The uncle then scooped the remainder of eggs into mason jars and took left with the vet. Jeremy and his step-Mom reassured me that the vet knew what he was doing.  The family trusted him ever since he saved the family terrier from anal cancer the year before. Mood: Heart-broken What I’m listening to:  “Streets of Philadelphia” Bruce Springstein 11/18/1994 Dear Mermaid Journal, This morning was bitter.  Still in the pool according to the vet’s orders.  Found out that none of my babies were going to make it.  Truthfully, I knew this could happen.  Armies of sea horses protected the mermaid eggs in the sea.  Mine were being kept in an in-ground pool.  I should have known better.  Jeremy spent all morning consoling me.  He made me a special breakfast and  just floated with me. I miss my parents.  I miss being in the ocean.  This weekend I would be going to the Octopus festival.  I’m thinking about contacting my parents to see if I can come home… Mood:  Don’t want to talk about it. What I’m listening to:  Nothing. 11/29/1994 Dear Mermaid Journal, This will be my last journal entry.  I’ve decided that life is no longer worth living.  My parents won’t let me come home or even talk to me.  Jeremy and I broke up and I have no place to go.  I’ve been sleeping in a retention pond near Highway 6 for the last week.  I’m sick, I’m tired, I’m depressed and I have no one.  I’ve decided to walk to the desert tonight.  Without any water I should be dead by noon tomorrow. All I ever wanted was to be a normal 14 year old high school girl.  But I kept forgetting I really am.  I’m a mermaid.  But now I don’t want to be either.  Life isn’t worth living if you don’t have the people you love the most, love you back.  But I know if I told my parents the truth about Jeremy and the bird attacking my eggs, they would never talk to me again anyway. Suicide is the only option… If someone ever finds this journal please tell my parents what happened to me.  And please give them the necklace that I have wrapped around this Journal.  And tell them I love them and I’m sorry.

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine: First Interlude

(blub)

(blub)

(blub)

(blub)

(blub)

  Mermaids

Wait, merpeople appear

perhaps always there

just now witnessed by the subject

Witnessed by Math

Witnessed by Biology

Witnessed Civics

and Gym

and Art

and Shop

But most importantly

the merpeople are witnessed

by the subject of a test

a woman whose blood is replaced

by a special kind of juice

A juice so concentrated

and full of antioxidants

she can survive the rigors

of even the most hostile of environments

Or relationships

  Would you want to meet her?

Someone so tough?

and brave?

and practical?

and glorious?

Someone who could survive it all?

Never to suffer a lack of courage?

  A Wolverine of sorts

but this time metal is “juice”

  And what is her kryptonite, you ask?

(For every superhero has a very secret thing or place

the back of the heel when he or she was dipped in the river)

Where or what was hers?

She doesn’t know.

Will it ever be discovered?

  Soft as rising bubbles

weightless in the water

strong and vulnerable

brave and shy

She weaves

and dips

and rounds

the underwater mountains

  Sea monkeys see

  (blub)

(blub)

(blub)

(blub)

(blub)

  >blip<

>blip<

>blip<

>blip<

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine: Window View

FADE IN

  EXT. THE OCEAN- DAY

EXT. Swooping down from the SKY, CLOUDS and TREES and the CLIFFS of Portugal.  CRASHING FOAM below the Cliffs. We dive below the surface through the water past the rocks and coral reef and schools of swarming mackerel and bubbles in the deep. Greens and blues and sun shadow turtles and jelly fish bobbling past sea rays and Lobster herds. Monk fish, eels, and octopi. We dive deeper and further out to sea past a couple of hump back whales until we see a glow below. It is the SUBMARINE CRUISE LINE'S: BALTROX. The closer we come to this mammoth ship, we hear a country/reggae tune over a radio.

  SONG VO

Hello, I am a submarine. My name is peter the submarine. I have a blow hole and a cottonwood walking stick. Been up and down this trail from the mountain to the coast. Take a look at these shoe-boots.

  Tracking around and away from the massive ship we see inside where passengers are busy with vacation activities such as sitting at a computer, playing ping pong, taking calls, butchering meat, laboratory tests, classrooms, handball, water slides, you name it this submarine-cruise ship has it all. As we pass the front of the ship, the country song fades away. Silence. RADIO CRACKLE.

VO

And now a word from our Captain.

  CAPTAIN VO

Gutten Tag, Meine Dame un Herans.  Good morning. It is a new day. Good things. Possible. Hope, charity, Trust, Sacrifice...

  The massive ship floats closer. The closer it gets, the closer we zoom in on the CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS.

  INT. CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS - DAY

  The CAPTAIN's quarters. Captain is speaking melodic reminders into the microphone on a desk.

CAPTAIN

...discipline, and persevere, and diligence, and forthcoming, and responsible, and focused, and...

INT. MESS HALLS - DAY

  The food promenades are full of passengers young and old quietly eating while half listening to the Captain's voice from the speakers on the walls.  Many have already been drinking since ten.

  CAPTAIN VO

...lucky, and encouraged, and emboldened, and up to snuff, and rigorous, and...

  INT. BOILER ROOM  - DAY

  MEN are shoveling white glowing rocks into blue burning furnaces. STEAM pisses into the air. They are covered in steam and listening to the Captain from the speakers on the wall.

  CAPTAIN VO

...tough, and brave, and practical, and glorious, and nifty, and better than nifty...

  INT. PILOT'S DECK - DAY

  The Deck is full of buzzing busy conversation amongst well dressed OFFICERS.  Underneath all of the conversation, the Captain's voice can be heard from the speakers on the wall.

  CAPTAIN VO

...and sacrifice, and vultures, and lion heart, and thunderous applause, and golden gates, it's happening, we can do it, and team work, brothers...

  INT. THE CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS - DAY

  The Captain's quarter's is well lit. He sits at a carved desk facing the open ocean floating up towards us.  The carvings recount the heroics of Captain Nemo against the furies of the Sea.  The Captain finishes his pep talk prayer.

  CAPTAIN

...and trust us, and someday, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty place from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to watery death. We shall arrive upon the shores of Lisbon at approximately 6 am tomorrow morning.  And we will-

  A DEEP THUD trembles throughout the Submarine that quiets even the MESS HALL, the OFFICER'S MESS, and even the steam within the BOILER ROOM. Like the breath of doom, it has caused fear, and it is gone. The captain's reaction echoes from the speakers on the walls.

  CAPTAIN VO

uh-

  The Captain's EYES refocus and return to the page beside the microphone upon the Dark Belgium Walnut Pine.

  CAPTAIN

Thank you and have a pleasant afternoon.  

  BOILER ROOM, MESS HALL, AND OFFICER'S MESS

  Everyone returns to their meals, drinking, shoveling coal, steering the ship.

  INT. CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS - DAY

  Captain hangs up. He sighs. He stands, unzips his uniform and steps into a bathrobe into the next room where PRETZEL lounges on a Ukrainian polar bear skin love ottoman. Pretzel wears gold diamond bracelets and snake skin socks.

  PRETZEL

How did it go?

  CAPTAIN

Exhausting. The cowards. Brandy?

  PRETZEL

Portugal.

  CAPTAIN

Pardon?

  PRETZEL

We're headed towards Portugal aren't we?

  CAPTAIN

Savages, morons. Yes. Portugal and then Algeria, Egypt, Rhodes, Azerbaijan, and back.

  PRETZEL

What was that noise?

  CAPTAIN

What noise?

  PRETZEL

Stop that! The underwater thunder sound.

  CAPTAIN

The what?

  PRETZEL

Like a giant put his butt cheeks on the side of the metal ship and farted.

(she imitates it)

  CAPTAIN

Uhm.

  PRETZEL

It was like, all bass! Not a beat or anything fancy. Just bas, then, it was gone. What was it?

  CAPTAIN

...Shark Wave.

  Captain, casually slams a snifter of brandy as casually as a snifter of brandy can be "slammed".

  PRETZEL

Shark?

  CAPTAIN

Wave.  Is this about getting caught? Is that what this is? Don't worry, no one will ever know you are here.

  PRETZEL

I'm not worried. I know what they'll do to me. What would they do to you?

  CAPTAIN

It would be different.

  PRETZEL

Yeah, I know, but what do you think they would do?

  CAPTAIN

Maybe, I don't know, beat me up a little bit.

  PRETZEL

No, really? Me? I'm kicked off the ship. You? I don't know. What are they going to do to you?

  CAPTAIN

They're not "going" to do anything. I'm fine. We're fine. Everything's fine.

  They kiss.

  PRETZEL

So let's say one of them walk in right now. Sees me. Sees you. Puts it all together. I'm not supposed to be here!

  CAPTAIN

Do you want to get off in Portugal, is that it? She kisses him.

  PRETZEL

I'm just saying I wanna know what would happen to you if you got caught with a passenger in your quarters.

  CAPTAIN

My Cabin.

  PRETZEL

What did I say?

  CAPTAIN

You said Quarters.  It's cabin.

  PRETZEL

I have a right to know what they are going to do to you.

  CAPTAIN

You keep talking about it like it's gonna happen. Nothing's going to happen.  No one is going to find you. Everything you need for the whole trip is right here. The bed, the Jacuzzi, the living room area, the Nordic Track, robot room service, iTunes, blue ray, yoga mat, stationary bike.

  PRETZEL

I told you I didn't need the stationary bike.

  CAPTAIN

I like it better than the Nordic Track.

  PRETZEL

Why don't you use the treadmill?

  CAPTAIN

Why don't you relax? Everything is going to be fine. You're here now, isn't that proof enough?

  They kiss.

  CAPTAIN

Besides, we'll have the whole night together before Lisbon.

  PRETZEL

and then?

  They kiss.

  CAPTAIN

you are free to choose and i am free to want you to choose me.

They kiss.

  PRETZEL

What about that short weird looking guy-

  CAPTAIN

Mick?

  PRETZEL

-yeah Mick, what if he walks in here and sees me. He seems like he'd run and rat you out the Submarine Cops. Then what?

  CAPTAIN

First of all, they're Submarine Security Officers, and second, I probably wouldn't make it out of this room alive.

  PRETZEL

Really?!

(really excited)

  CAPTAIN

Because I would die from loosing you.

  PRETZEL

Oh-

  CAPTAIN

-Wait, why did you get so excited?

  She kisses him.

  PRETZEL

You love me?

  CAPTAIN

I love you.

  PRETZEL

You're sweet. They kiss.

  CAPTAIN

Do you love me?

  PRETZEL

Yes.

  CAPTAIN

Do you trust me?

  PRETZEL

No.

  CAPTAIN

Why not?

  PRETZEL

Because. You're hiding something from me about hiding me.  Out of fear you are hiding me. No matter how much you give me you are still hiding me from the rest of the world.

  CAPTAIN

Just the ship really.

  PRETZEL

That's not the point. The point is, we're both hiding.  And you're the only one who knows why.   

  The Captain's FACE can not hide he knows what she is talking about.

  PRETZEL

I know you know what I'm talking about. If they find us; if they find me here; something will happen to the both of us.

  CAPTAIN

Just a slap on the wrist really.

  PRETZEL

Bullshit!

  She is up and off the Polar Bear and striding towards the ocean view. Captain follows her to the endless window between them and the hovering depths. Their faces are lit by the glow below the ship upon the bottom reefs and sloping coral forests. Pretzel's tears are silver in the light.

  PRETZEL

Maybe I should get off in Lisbon.

  CAPTAIN

Huh?

  PRETZEL

Maybe you're right.

  CAPTAIN

OK.

  PRETZEL

OK.

  They kiss. He lifts her up and carries her over to the Polar Bear Skin Love Ottoman. Her legs wrapped around his chest and Golden White hair spilling down his the captain's back. Setting her on the couch he whispers.

  CAPTAIN

Maybe you should stay.

  PRETZEL

No, I'm pretty sure I'll get off in Lisbon.

  CAPTAIN

Seriously?

  PRETZEL

Yeah. What?

  CAPTAIN

What?

PRETZEL

What?

  CAPTAIN

Why?

  PRETZEL

Cause you said I could. Why won't you tell me what they will do to you if they find me.

  CAPTAIN

Seriously?

  They make love while having a normal conversation.

  PRETZEL

Cause now I gotta know. I'll never be able to let it go. I have to know what they are going to do to you.

  CAPTAIN

First of all, stop talking about it like it's gonna happen.

  PRETZEL

Oh, it's gonna happen.

  CAPTAIN

What?

  PRETZEL

If I stay on this ship, it's gonna happen. Someone or that weirdo lieutenant-

  CAPTAIN

Mick

  PRETZEL

Whoever. Somebody's gonna know.

  She gets excited and throws a bowl of goldfish across the room smashing against the giant window of sea.

  CAPTAIN

Look, nobody's gonna know.

  PRETZEL

That's exactly my point. Why does nobody have to know all the time. Why are you hiding me?

  She slaps the Captain's haunches. The Captain makes bubble sounds with his finger and his lips. She flips him. He flips her. Polar Bear GROWL!

They collapse across the wet floor, beside the flopping goldfish and the broken glass. They are holding one another in each other's eyes. The glow from the ocean's light. They kiss.

  PRETZEL

What's happening?

  CAPTAIN

Your Husband awaits you in Azerbaijan.

  A KNOCK at the door.

  ...to be cont...

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine: Dad Time

Dad left when I was four because he said living with us was unsustainable. He didn’t tell me that then, though. He just told me he loved me, and he loved Mom, he would always be in my life and he would always be my dad.

Now I stay with him for one week on top of every month. I’ll be at the kitchen table for breakfast or at my desk at school or back at the kitchen table doing my homework, and I’ll hear wind chimes. Then I’ll blink and there will be two capsules sitting there next to me where there wasn’t anything before. One’s always red and one’s always blue. That’s how I know it’s time for a visit.

I’ll pop them in my mouth and swallow. (At first, when I was little and before I could swallow capsules, I would have to chew them up and I could feel little pieces of grit swarming around my mouth like a colony of tiny spiders.) Then I’ll blink and I’ll be with Dad in 2074.

Dad’s not from 2074, but we have to meet in the middle. We stay in the same motel room because Dad says there aren’t many places around anymore that have the kind of bathroom I need. Plus he says he has to be careful what I see. He’s afraid of being Amished.

I never minded at first that there wasn’t much to do. I was just happy to be with Dad and we’d spend most of the week wrestling and jumping on beds and watching movies and playing video games and eating the smoke that came out of the table.

But now I get bored because I’m not little anymore. And that’s an understatement if ever there was one. I meant it before when I said I stay with Dad one week on top of every month. Not out of every month. On top of it. See, when the week is up and the pills wear off or whatever, I blink and I’m right back at the kitchen table or my desk or the kitchen table. Like I never left at all. So while everyone else lives four weeks every month, I live five. That adds up after awhile. I’m in Seventh Grade and all my classmates are thirteen, but because of spending time with Dad, I’m more than two years ahead of them. I’ll be twenty-one when I finally graduate from high school.

When I wake up the pills are on the corner of my nightstand. My hand stops halfway to grabbing them. I usually take them as soon as I see them—without question, but today I don’t. Today I question.

I put my hand back in my lap and just look at them. For the next minute my face warms, my lips numb, and my heart beats faster. And then it passes and I go to the bathroom instead. The pills are still there when I return. Insisting.

I won’t take them.

It’s not like I don’t like Dad. I’m not mad at him. I just don’t want to go right now. I don’t want to go just because he says so. I have my own opinion, and it should be considered. No one asked me. Well, maybe I have something to say about it.

I cram the pills into the pocket of my jeans before I go downstairs for breakfast.

Mom’s in the kitchen eating peanut butter toast with coffee and watching the morning news from WCTS out of Three Sisters. Wind chimes sound while I pour a bowl of cereal, and I find two pills on the place mat when I sit down at the table. Mom can’t hear the chimes, but she sees the pills.

“Aren’t you going to take those?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmmm.” Mom doesn’t like when I go stay with Dad, but she tries not to say anything bad about it. She doesn’t talk much about Dad at all. I think she’s mad at him, and I think maybe he never told her he was from the Future until he was leaving.

“Should I, do you think?”

“I think this is between you and your father,” she says. She’s staying out of it. But I see the corners of her mouth twitch.

The pills are still on the kitchen table when I leave for school. There are only 432 people that live in Dinkel, so we don’t have a school except for Dinkel Elementary which ends at Grade 6. This year I started taking one of the two buses hauling eighty some odd Dinkel kids over to Sawdust City every morning to either the high school or the middle school. There are a dozen of us in Seventh Grade. A dozen new kids on the first day of school mixed in alphabetically with a hundred other kids. The Sawdust City kids call us Dinks but not to be mean or anything. That’s just what their parents call our parents.

My stomach is twisty the whole bus ride while Mikey Winchuski tells me about the time his Uncle Nathan got dared to eat cow shit and he did.

At school I hear the chimes and find two pills waiting for me in my locker. I go to stash them with their twins in my pocket, but they’re not there anymore. They’re in my hand. Same pills.

It feels easier to not take them this time, though. For a moment I think about tossing the pills in the trash. I even hold them over a bin, but I don’t let myself. I never said I didn’t want to see Dad. I never said I wasn’t going to go. I just want a say in when. Throwing them away would be trouble, and not just for me. If anyone found the pills, Dad would get Amished for sure.

So I put them back in my pocket.

The bus always drops us early so there’s still ten minutes before first bell. I head down the hall toward the Band and Choir rooms. There’s an exit at the corner where the hall turns toward the Art and Shop rooms. Nobody watches the double set of doors, so I can use them to leave. There’s no alarm, but the doors lock behind me, so I can’t get back in that way unless I prop them open. I use pencils. Ticonderogas.

To the left of the loading dock where the Shop teacher gets supplies are three huge brown metal dumpsters. Tracey Taffinder pokes her head out from the space between the first and second and waves me over. She always acts like everything annoys her. Rolls her eyes a lot. When I get to her she says, “Gah. About time.”

“Yeah, I thought maybe you weren’t coming.” Georgia Qaddumi is back behind Tracey; she’s up against the wall. She’s like a Spider Queen waiting in the shadows. Georgia and Tracey are 8th Grade girls, and they smell like cigarettes and drink purple Kool-Aid and vodka they steal from their parents. They are not popular girls--they’re bad girls. Angry girls. Tracey’s short and round with kinky, hay colored hair and big glasses in clear plastic frames. She’s our look out.

Georgia likes to make out. She’s got a nice butt, small top and short, spiky brown hair. Some zits but not bad. One day a few weeks after school started, she had Tracey shove me over by the Juice! Machine where she was waiting. She told me I had big shoulders for a 7th Grader, and she called me Farmboy even though I don’t live on a farm. After that we started meeting at the dumpsters.

We make out for 5 minutes and then Tracey tells us time’s up.

“If you tell anyone about this, my stepbrother will kill you.” She always says stuff like that. Her stepbrother is nuts. He starts rock fights by whipping a rock at someone who’s not looking and yelling “ROCK FIGHT!”

Georgia and Tracey leave together to walk around the loading dock and around to the front doors. I go the other direction to pull my pencils from the doors. I’m all shaky from making out, and when I put my hands in my pocket to feel Dad’s pills, they’re not there.

When I get to Ms. Punchi’s room for first period English they are on my desk. When I exchange books between bells they are on the top shelf of my locker. When I sign out the bathroom pass during Study Hall they are on top of the toilet paper dispenser in the stall. By lunch the tinkling of wind chimes comes so frequently the cafeteria sounds like the part of a wedding reception where the guests clink their glasses with knives and forks and spoons to get the bride and groom to smooch.

Mikey Winchuski is telling me about jujitsu moves he learned online last night while at the same time working the contents of his lunch tray into his mouth a piece at a time. (He never bites anything. Instead he tears his chicken sandwich into bite-sized pieces with his hands and slips them into his mouth as he talks like he’s feeding stuff into a garbage disposal.)

I am sick of his story.

I am sick of wind chimes.

Mostly, though, I am sick of the two pills that have just appeared on my lunch tray.

In a second I moan-scream and chuck them across the cafeteria. The moment they leave my hands, I regret it. I wish they were on a string so I could pull them back, but I can’t. The blue pill hits the floor beyond a table of Eighth Graders (Georgia and Tracey are there) and slides under the glass fronted display case filled with stuffed ducks. The red pill veers left, falls short, and plunks into Mason Cykovich’s mashed potatoes.

Mason Cykovich is more nuts than Georgia’s stepbrother. He cuts the sleeves off all his shirts to show his big arms, he has a full man’s mustache, and he pierced his own ears with a stapler. After school he chases elementary school kids up trees, and I heard a story that last year he got in trouble for throwing a bike over a fence, but I don’t even know what that means really.

Plunk! goes the pill, Stab! goes Mason’s fork into the potatoes, and then both are in his mouth. I hold my breath and the whole world freezes. A silent alarm goes off making my body feels like it’s being assaulted by a siren even though it’s completely quiet. I cringe. Two glowing janitors enter my peripheral vision and meet up where Mason sits still. They go to work on him with these high tech windshield ice scraper things. He comes away in wisps and curls and leaves behind a Mason-shaped blankness in the world. One of the janitors leaves while the other vacuums up Mason’s remains, and just as he finishes using an attachment to suck the blue pill out from under the taxidermied birds’ case, the other janitor returns with another Mason. He looks around like he can’t believe what he sees, and when he notices me he waves. I wave back and discover I’m not frozen at all. I can move. The one janitor fills the Mason-sized blankness with the new Mason, and the janitor with the vacuum comes to my table with two green pills in his hand. Green pills.

“Take these pills, you blip,” he says

“What does your face look like?” I ask him.

“Eat them. Now.”

He seems mad, so I do, but instead of swallowing them I chomp them hard and chew with my mouth open so he can see. The tiny spiders coat my mouth and I ride the wind chimes forward not to the motel room in 2074 but to somewhen and somewhere else. I wonder if I’m in Dad’s time finally.  

When I face left, we’re outside in some sort of park with a pond and ducks and benches and trees. When I face right, we’re in an office—like a normal office with a big wooden desk and cabinets and comfy leather chairs. Dad’s leaning back against the front of the desk with his arms crossed and two big creases cut vertically between his eyebrows. He’s wearing a dark suit I’ve never seen before, and as soon as I make eye contact with him, he becomes fixed in my perception. No matter where I turn my head, no matter where in the room my eyes look, he is in front of me. When I turn back to make sure the park is still there—and it is—he is in front of me. He even slips in under my eyelids when I blink.  I stop looking around and let him go back to leaning on the desk.

“What are you doing?” he asks me. I don’t answer. I don’t have one. I hadn’t been thinking about that. Dad’s almost yelling. “Do you know how much trouble you've put me in? It took us 53 days to send your little friend back, and we had to scrub half his brain before we finally could. You're lucky he's a blip on the screen.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“What?”

“Blip on the screen.”

He crosses his arms in the other direction and shifts his feet. He lets out a little huff. “It means someone who's not impactful. Someone who doesn't make a discernible difference to the progress of history.”

“It’s a figure of speech?”

“No, there’s an actual screen.”

“One of the janitors called me a blip.”

“Well sometimes it’s used as a pejorative.”

“So I am important?”

“You’re important to me.”

“Groan,” I say.

“Grown? What?”

“I’m only important to you one week a month.”

“For you,” Dad says. “I spend every day with you.”

“What?”

“What, what? There are a lot of things you don’t understand, and it’s not your fault you don’t understand them, but that doesn’t mean you can live your life like those things don’t exist.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about right now!” I shout. My hands are fists.

“I know. And even if I could explain it, you’re not ready to understand because you’ll expect it to be complicated when it’s not. And right now it doesn’t matter much anyway.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks at my eyes. “We’re not going to have our weeks together for while, at least not on my end.”

“I’m being Amished.”

“Because of me?”

“No, it’s my fault. And I’ll be okay. It’s only temporary. I can handle a couple of years of church and farming with a weird beard. Speaking of which...” An assortment of pills had appeared on his desk while he was talking. Blues, browns, and whites. “I wish we had more time, but I really have to take these now,” he said, scooping them up in his hand.

I’m crying. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“You won’t even know I’m gone,” he says. “I’ll send for you tomorrow, if you want to come.”

I nod and wipe my nose and snuffle like a toddler. He takes all the pills at once.

“And just think, I’ll have so many stories to tell you about life on the farm.”

I hug him as hard as I can, and when I look up at his face I see his beard is already coming in everywhere but his upper lip. Then he’s gone and so am I--back to the cafeteria.

“Did you just whip something?” Mike Winchuski asks me.

“No,” I say.

“Are you crying?”

“Yes.”

Mikey eases back into telling me about his moves. I watch Mason Cykovich for a while and wonder what he remembers. I wonder if somehow he knows he’s a blip and that’s what makes him nuts. I wonder if anything would change if I told him. I wonder about Georgia and two greens and if Mom ever saw Dad’s office/park.

Mostly though I wonder what Dad meant when he said he spent every day with me. And I listen for the tinkling of wind chimes.

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine: Arnold

  Right out of high school, my Dad enlisted in the Navy.  He did so because he wanted to avoid the draft, this was the time of Vietnam, and going into the Army was like a death sentence, or that’s what my Dad was thinking at the time.

     Each generation has its war, and each war is of a new kind from the one before it, so the people of each generation need to figure out the contours of their war, and then strategize around what they’ve learned about it.      Going into the Navy was how my Dad dealt with his, because his war was fought in the ruthless and humid Vietnamese jungle, to the great advantage of the Vietnamese of course, who would have nothing against American weapons out on the featureless water, where raw power rules.           At first, my Dad was stationed on submarines.  He’d never been on a submarine, he’d never even seen the ocean.  The only water he ever went out on was the Raccoon River in Iowa, on which he and his brothers would take their little boat sometimes to go fishing, catching mostly crappies.  They were Iowa kids, my Dad and his brothers, solid as oak and naïve to the world.      My Dad ended up being the youngest guy on his sub, by some quirk of his birthday, so he came under constant harassment for that, and then they found out his name, who knows how they got that information, Frank Arnold Golwitzer, which, when the math is done right, comes out FAG, and so there was a lot about that too, as you can imagine.        The sub would go out for months, far out into the ocean, in the deep black ocean, the sub going down and then up, down and up, knee bends to shake off the rust from the previous war.      Once in a while my Dad would get assigned to lookout duty, so he’d have to go out on the sub’s catwalk out on the tower, there by himself, the tower a little lookout just above the water’s surface.  He says you couldn’t believe the silence, everything like it’s been shut off, except for your own breathing, which makes breathing almost terrible.  And the darkness too, too much to believe, the ocean and the sky together one black, and the stars, the stars in both, one set real, the other reflected, but what does it matter which is real, you are out there alone in the midst of that all, it is enough to make you dizzy.      The story he tells about his time on the sub is that he went crazy, that he could no longer stand being on the sub, so he went nuts.  I ask him, “You went crazy?  What do you mean?”  I am incredulous.  Him, suffer a lack of courage?      When we are children the power of our parents is physical, it is a threat, whether they know it or not, but we know it, and then we grow up, but they’ve stopped growing long ago, and soon we equal them in height, and so they lose some of that mythic baggage, which I think is a relief to them.  They’ve spent too many years being minor gods and, unlike the big ones, minor gods don’t mind coming back to earth when their job is done.      He explains, again, that he was the youngest of his crew, that he didn’t fit in, that they called him FAG relentlessly, that the silence of the ocean was like death, that he came from a place where the sound of cicadas was like an all day motor, but one that could put you to sleep, and that he could not put into words how much he missed my Mom so he had other men write the letters for him.      He decided to go crazy, this was a choice on behalf of survival, like what the chimp does when it fakes a limp to make himself less appealing to the hungry tiger.      On that morning, he slumped from his bunk, moaned slightly, laid his slack body on the cold steel floor of the submarine, and squeezed himself into a ball.  He curled up into this ball and would not be moved.  Others in the crew approached and asked him what was wrong, but he didn’t answer, he was mute.  Someone poked him with a shoe, as if he was some animal which had just curled up and died.  But he wouldn’t move.  He repeated to himself in his mind, “I’m going crazy, I’m going crazy, I’m going crazy,” an actor attempting to convince an audience of himself the better to convince others.      And so they declared him unfit for further service on the sub, but he remained in his ball nevertheless for the remainder of the sub’s time at sea.  The crew were surprisingly attentive, perhaps more so than they had been before.  At night they laid blankets on him, and for meals they set plates of food out before him.  He says now that they would pass him back and forth like a medicine ball when things would become too tedious on the sub, and that he didn’t mind all of this strange attention, maybe because he felt more useful than he had before.      When they finally returned to port, one of his crewmates grabbed him up and carried him off the sub like some huge exotic jewel they had found in a far off land.      He was not discharged.  Apparently this sort of thing had happened before, the navy was ready for it, men who became like rare diamonds under the pressure of the ocean.  Back in port,  they undid him, unfolded him, gave him back his arms and his legs, and then put him on a battleship.      The battleship put him closer to the war, sure, but it was alright, don’t worry.        The battleship was better, you were always in the open air on it, never went under water.  And he didn’t really see much combat.  Occasionally they would load a big shell into a canon and then send the shell across the water towards the jungle, but not much would happen after that, except a fire might break out for a little while.      On the battleship, and this was where I was going with this in the first place, he met a man named Gus, Gus Rethwisch, his friend, who would survive the war, as did my Dad of course, to become a world-class bodybuilder.  You should have seen Gus, Gus was enormous.  When he came to our house in Omaha he could barely fit through our doorways.      Later Gus would appear in the film Running Man, which also stars Arnold Schwarzenegger.      As a gift, my Dad asked Gus to get Arnold’s autograph for me, which Gus did.  I remember receiving it in a manila envelope one day in the mail.  Inside the envelope was a thin piece of white cardboard, so that the signed still wouldn’t get bent in the mail.  The still showed Gus towering over Arnold, the two of them in some mortal lock, about to go at it, it’s that moment in all movie tussles when you’re supposed to believe it could go either way.      I remember being surprised at how much taller Gus was then Arnold, Gus had probably three inches on Schwarzenegger, and how much stronger he looked too.      But it doesn’t matter, you know, this was just a still from the film, a brief stop in the film’s story, and after that moment, I mean in the movie, not in real life, in real life they probably stopped and had a coffee, but in that moment in the movie, Gus, or Gus’s character, gets cut in half by his own chainsaw, which is a pretty terrible way to go, but which is also amazing to watch, even if it’s someone you know.      No, the moment is not surprising, there is nothing revelatory about it, you know it will be the chainsaw as soon as the chainsaw appears, just like you know Gus will not survive the moment Gus appears, because months before you have seen the movie poster and above the title is Schwarzenegger’s name, not Gus’s.      You want to say, That’s not fair, that you can’t preordain it like that, that it’d be nice for once to see what one of the other guys can do, just once, but, still, let’s be honest, you want Schwarzenegger to win, even when it’s him against someone you know, because it wouldn’t make sense any other way, even if he doesn’t start with the chainsaw, you know it will end up in his hands someway.

[thereckoningisready]

Submarine: Opening

Deep below the surface

there are Men

Only Men; no Women allowed

It's been this way for hundreds of years

  And there is no reason for the men of Zangrap to suspect there are women in disguise swimming among them as their nuclear submarine sinks deeper

and deeper

and deeper

Deeper than anyone has ever been before

The Men have found a new bottom

  Some Men grow stronger

and less afraid as the submarine sinks

while others grow sadder

They wonder if they will ever return

to their lives above the water

  High above the water

above the air and into space

there are Women

Only Women; no Men are allowed

It's been this way for hundreds of years

  And there is no reason for the Women of Bantrox to suspect there are Men in disguise walking among them... in Space!

  Space!

The distance between things

What separates up from down

here from there

Man from Woman

There is space between all things

Without it black and white would be gray

or possibly

bwlhaictke

  Thank God for space!

Thank God for Men refined under pressure!

Thank God for Women empowered by freedom!

  But what happens when the Men decide

they’re tired of having no Space?

Of tiny cramped quarters

and sweaty arguments

under hot pipes...

  And what happens when the Women decide

they have too much Space?

Too often wanting

to hang out with another lady for lunch

and not being able to find her

‘cause Space is too big?

  They meet in the middle

They only know Where.

And Where they are is Earth.

A place in the middle

A place without extremes

A place without dreams

A place with Chickens and Bricks

Flowers and Murder

TV’s

Tomato Paste

Saltwater Taffy

Banana Seat Bikes

and Burgers and Fries

A place with Penny Auctions

Flat Bottom Boats

and Million Dollar Diapers

  They meet on Earth

during a designated time

called Now

and also in the Past

and also in the Future

But the Future will end

and both will retreat

Men to the water

Women to space

  Hey Ricky, wrap it up, sub’s leavin’!

Coming! So, Sarah, I need to catch that sub.

Yeah, I should get back to space.

Just once

though

let’s make it so there is no space

between my penis and your vagina.

About that...

  Space

Contraction

The Unknown

The Familiar

Take off

Submerge

  I'm… sorry… we don't have…

  Time

  What do we have then?

Our memories?

And where do they live?

Where should I visit them?

Where you are?

Where I am?

Or are we fools?

Do they live at all?

  5...

4...

3...

  By living we are proving we are enough

  2...

1...

[thereckoningisready]

Introduction to Submarine

The Reckoning commenced a little experiment about a year ago. Egged on by our geographical dispersal, we attempted to come up with something creative that might bring us all together again, at least in an on-line capacity. After intense deliberation, we settled on a writing project, specifically, a written Harold, which we will assume we invented until someone proves otherwise.

  In October of 2011, we received from one of our Tuesday night audiences a suggestion to begin our written Harold—the suggestion, now the title of the piece, was “submarine.” (Provided by a nice young gal named Sarah Becker.) From there, we followed a pattern dictated by the Harold: using a google document, we first composed an opening, building it together by individually adding sentences, thoughts, images, and jokes and whatever else came to us based on the suggestion. Next, we assigned the first three scenes to the first willing writers in the group, and those people were given a month to compose whatever they wanted based on the opening. Those first beats were shared and then followed by another group writing session. After, the next set of writers used those first stories as inspiration for their second beat pieces, and so forth and so on. 

  The composing of this took several months, and then several more months were spent compiling the individual pieces together and then revising them for consistency in style and tone, this latter part of the process being driven largely by the projects Prime Driving Force, one Dr. Charles McCrackin. (Not a doctor.)

  We’ll start today by posting the opening, and then post the rest of the individual parts over the next couple weeks. So, thanks for coming by, and we hope you enjoy it. Tell your friends if you liked it, your enemies etc.

[thereckoningisready]

Gainsville, 2010?

YouTube description:

Theatre Strike Force, from the University of Florida, invited The Reckoning down to perform.

[thereckoningisready]

"Surgery" Part 6--the final chapter!

[thereckoningisready]

"Surgery" Part 5

[thereckoningisready]

"Surgery" Part 4

[thereckoningisready]

"Surgery" Part 3