Peter chewed the inside of his cheeks raw. It was better than grinding his teeth, he didn’t have strong teeth, plus it was an obvious sign. He sat back on Adam’s couch with his feet spread way out, drinking glass after glass of tap water, trying to stop his hands shaking from anger released adrenaline.
“Really?” Eunice said, with gleeful fascination.
“Oh yeah,” said Fargas, “I’ve been all over. Everywhere I go it always happens.”
“Well, uh,” she said, quickly glancing up and down at him, “you ought to lock yourself up.”
“It ain’t me, babe,” Fargas said, smiling.
Peter chewed the inside of his lip.
“These things happen,” Fargas continued. “They always happen. It happens to everybody and it’ll happen to you.”
“Yeah, but not soon I hope.”
“Aren’t you curious what’s on the other side?”
“I’ve always been fascinated by death, but I never wanted to get too close up to it. Not until I’m a feeble old hag.”
“Me? I’m pretty eager to find out what’s waiting after death, even if it’s nothing, you know? To know! … but, uh, I’m not that eager.”
They laughed. Peter chewed, then sipped.
“So death follows you around, huh?” Eunice said.
“In a way. Seen a lot of it. I used to think if I got away from the big city, hid out in the small towns I could escape it. Or at least most of it. Nothing doing. You go to some small town in Iowa to get away from big city life, big city death and BANG! First murder in twenty years.”
She leaned in and put a hand on his chest, “are you a serial killer, Mr. Fargas?”
He laughed, uneasily, but only from the flirtatious placement of the hand, not the accusation.
“Maybe,” he said, “maybe I have a double life I don’t know about. Better not spend the night with me, I kill in my sleep.”
CLANG!
Eunice and Peter exchanged death-ray stares. “Sorry,” Peter said, “glass slipped.”
“Yeah,” Fargas continued, “ain’t never seen a dead body though. They’re just always off in the background.”
***
Justin knew where they had gone. He could pinpoint from years of experience the exact alley the video had been shot in. He knew downtown exceptionally well, better than most. He thought about it the whole way down on the metro bus. If the man was not there, in the alley, he could most likely determine the area and route the man would most likely be found.
It took knowledge. Knowledge would win the day again. This was the lesson he was continually learning. Knowledge of downtown.
The busiest corners in the general vicinity of the alley, the busiest corners with the highest ratio of younger people. This was useful because on average, young people, and especially teenagers, were more likely to give away loose change to a bum, than say, the stressed out looking woman with her hair in a too tight bun in a brand-new ‘power outfit.’ He didn’t need a university study to tell him this, he knew from experience. He had street smarts.
Which were the busiest corners on the way to New Brixton park, otherwise known as ‘Krakhed Sentral,’ as the graffiti on the park sign attested.
Which way did the streets slope up and down.
The only thing that would throw off his careful calculation was if the man had a bicycle. That would throw the whole thing off.
But since he had accounted for it, Life’s Little Ironies ignored that speck of chance. The man was sitting against a wall right where Justin’s friends had left him in the alley.
Friday, September 12, 2008
30
Thomas crouched down behind the bushes outside the Slaters’ home. There was a light on in the basement. Miss Slater was doing laundry. He moved slowly up the front steps and brushed off his brand new black pants without making too much noise and fuss about it.
He rang the doorbell. It wasn’t something he liked to do usually, ringing the bell, he preferred to knock, but he supposed it would have to do, since Miss Slater was in the basement. He adjusted his new black tie and sports jacket.
“Hello,” she answered the door.
“Hi, Miss Slater?” Thomas said. “You’re the owner of 9331 Glenbrook Drive?”
“Yes I am,” she said, confused.
“Did the rent on the place go through okay?”
“Uh, yes it did.”
“And you’ve received payment for how many months, so far?”
“Just this month. Can I ask what this is about.”
“Sorry Miss Slater, they sent me down here just to confirm payment. No one else has contacted you about payment?”
“No, why would they?”
“Do you know when you’ll be receiving the next month’s payment?”
“No, the rent is all paid up until the end of July.”
Thomas made a mental note of that.
“Right,” Thomas said, thinking on his feet, “well, after that time, you can expect Mr. Falconer to contact you on the 31st of that month for further payment.”
“No one named Falconer contacted me.”
“I’m a representative of his.”
“Henry Falconer?” she was skeptical.
“Thomas Falconer actually, attorney at law. Adam‘s lawyer.”
“Thomas Falconer? Well, Adam’s father was the man who gave me the cheques, and he also gave me Adam’s notice on the place. He said it would be empty by August first.”
Thomas made another mental note.
“Adam’s father wrote the cheques you say?”
“That’s right. Adam’s been under the weather since his accident, that’s why he’s moving back home in August. You say, you were sent by a Mr. Thomas Falconer?” she reached for something inside the doorway.
“Thank you for your time,” Thomas quickly hop-stepped down the stairs.
“Hey,” Miss Slater called after him, “wait!” She was looking up a Thomas Falconer, attorney at law in the Yellow Pages, “come back here!”
Thomas ducked into the alley, three houses down the lane. He’d never realized how hard it was to run in a black suit with sunglasses and stop everything from flying out into the street.
***
“Hello?” Leah answered her phone.
“Hey, it’s Thomas.”
“Oh, hey.”
“Hey, listen, I’ve been doing some investigating and uh, I’ve got some pretty disturbing news about the place.”
“Adam‘s place, what about?”
“It’s about Falconer.”
“Falconer? I still can’t believe Adam knows him, the guy’s running for president.”
“I know, right? Anyway, I went down to Adam’s landlady’s place and its true, I pretty much confirmed Falconer’s paid his rent.”
“Yeah.”
“But, he’s only paid until the end of July, and he’s given notice on the place. Said it would be empty by August first.”
“What?”
“Yeah, that’s not all. The man who wrote the cheques claimed to be Adam’s dad.”
“Oh my God, Adam doesn’t have a dad.”
“I know, tell me about it.”
He rang the doorbell. It wasn’t something he liked to do usually, ringing the bell, he preferred to knock, but he supposed it would have to do, since Miss Slater was in the basement. He adjusted his new black tie and sports jacket.
“Hello,” she answered the door.
“Hi, Miss Slater?” Thomas said. “You’re the owner of 9331 Glenbrook Drive?”
“Yes I am,” she said, confused.
“Did the rent on the place go through okay?”
“Uh, yes it did.”
“And you’ve received payment for how many months, so far?”
“Just this month. Can I ask what this is about.”
“Sorry Miss Slater, they sent me down here just to confirm payment. No one else has contacted you about payment?”
“No, why would they?”
“Do you know when you’ll be receiving the next month’s payment?”
“No, the rent is all paid up until the end of July.”
Thomas made a mental note of that.
“Right,” Thomas said, thinking on his feet, “well, after that time, you can expect Mr. Falconer to contact you on the 31st of that month for further payment.”
“No one named Falconer contacted me.”
“I’m a representative of his.”
“Henry Falconer?” she was skeptical.
“Thomas Falconer actually, attorney at law. Adam‘s lawyer.”
“Thomas Falconer? Well, Adam’s father was the man who gave me the cheques, and he also gave me Adam’s notice on the place. He said it would be empty by August first.”
Thomas made another mental note.
“Adam’s father wrote the cheques you say?”
“That’s right. Adam’s been under the weather since his accident, that’s why he’s moving back home in August. You say, you were sent by a Mr. Thomas Falconer?” she reached for something inside the doorway.
“Thank you for your time,” Thomas quickly hop-stepped down the stairs.
“Hey,” Miss Slater called after him, “wait!” She was looking up a Thomas Falconer, attorney at law in the Yellow Pages, “come back here!”
Thomas ducked into the alley, three houses down the lane. He’d never realized how hard it was to run in a black suit with sunglasses and stop everything from flying out into the street.
***
“Hello?” Leah answered her phone.
“Hey, it’s Thomas.”
“Oh, hey.”
“Hey, listen, I’ve been doing some investigating and uh, I’ve got some pretty disturbing news about the place.”
“Adam‘s place, what about?”
“It’s about Falconer.”
“Falconer? I still can’t believe Adam knows him, the guy’s running for president.”
“I know, right? Anyway, I went down to Adam’s landlady’s place and its true, I pretty much confirmed Falconer’s paid his rent.”
“Yeah.”
“But, he’s only paid until the end of July, and he’s given notice on the place. Said it would be empty by August first.”
“What?”
“Yeah, that’s not all. The man who wrote the cheques claimed to be Adam’s dad.”
“Oh my God, Adam doesn’t have a dad.”
“I know, tell me about it.”
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
29
Justin was hanging out on the front porch.
Yo were u bin? Read the incoming text message.
Bin bizzy. He sent back.
Getin likked dogg. U in?
No I’s chillin.
He was hesitant to divulge the information of his wherabouts to all but his closest of friends. He knew they wouldn’t understand. Not yet. They weren’t ready. But they would have to be sooner or later, if his plans for the Adamites were to become a reality.
He still had the same simple philosophy he’d always had: you’re either with him or against him. It was Justin against the world. Same old Justin. Only now, the modes had changed. The basis of comparison for his basic existential axiom, ‘with him or against him,’ had changed. What was considered to be ‘against him’ was now quite a different thing. The attitudes and behaviors behind which it was meant to be ‘with him’ were now quite perceptively different.
His other basic tenet, ‘fuck the world,’ remained a constant in his thoughts only now … now it seemed a strange and foreign idea, but one he was still deeply attracted to. He saw that to ‘fuck the world’ could be a beautiful thing. An act of love as Leah might put it. To open up the world to him and to be one with his environment seemed to him a more rewarding pasttime than trying to tear it down in a bitter dust cloud of rage or apathy.
He wasn’t all ‘fruity and shit’ like Leah, but the world was now his to deflower. He still wanted to tear down, but now he was preoccupied in building back up and creating the world anew. A new way of life based on the model of he and his posse, the Adamites. One where people really thought about what they were doing and how they were interacting with other people.
He saw that people were essentially split up into three basic categories: the alpha doggs, the drones, and the high-minded muthafuckas.
He was ruminating on this idea when one of his friends sent him a video message:
Chek owt dis krakhed MF! LOLZ!
It was a video of a tired looking man with hard-etched features in disheveled used clothing dancing and singing in a worn-out grizzly voice. The toothless man clapped his hands above his head and danced a pathetic jig in some urine stained back alley with Justin’s friends crowded around, doubled-over, laughing, hands to mouths saying “oh shit, son.” When the man was finished, standing there panting, out of breath, one of them threw some small change callously in a dingy, cloudy puddle. The man went on his hands and knees, digging his dark stained fingers into the undetermined liquid to retrieve it. The last image on the video was the face of the friend who sent the video, close-up, laughing hysterically.
He was once like them. They were his crew. How many jigs had he made crack heads dance in back alleys over the years? How many songs had they sung? Now they all crowded around his conscience, knocking and banging around, looking not for loose change, but for empathy and surprisingly, getting it.
He saw in the video not a crackhead, but a man. A man who’d been sold a lie. A man who’d turned off and lost his mind in a vain effort to feed it. A man who he no longer saw as the enemy of society but the victim of it.
Yes, what it was to be against him had become a quite different thing indeed. And the truth was, he didn’t find that video very fucking funny at all.
Yo were u bin? Read the incoming text message.
Bin bizzy. He sent back.
Getin likked dogg. U in?
No I’s chillin.
He was hesitant to divulge the information of his wherabouts to all but his closest of friends. He knew they wouldn’t understand. Not yet. They weren’t ready. But they would have to be sooner or later, if his plans for the Adamites were to become a reality.
He still had the same simple philosophy he’d always had: you’re either with him or against him. It was Justin against the world. Same old Justin. Only now, the modes had changed. The basis of comparison for his basic existential axiom, ‘with him or against him,’ had changed. What was considered to be ‘against him’ was now quite a different thing. The attitudes and behaviors behind which it was meant to be ‘with him’ were now quite perceptively different.
His other basic tenet, ‘fuck the world,’ remained a constant in his thoughts only now … now it seemed a strange and foreign idea, but one he was still deeply attracted to. He saw that to ‘fuck the world’ could be a beautiful thing. An act of love as Leah might put it. To open up the world to him and to be one with his environment seemed to him a more rewarding pasttime than trying to tear it down in a bitter dust cloud of rage or apathy.
He wasn’t all ‘fruity and shit’ like Leah, but the world was now his to deflower. He still wanted to tear down, but now he was preoccupied in building back up and creating the world anew. A new way of life based on the model of he and his posse, the Adamites. One where people really thought about what they were doing and how they were interacting with other people.
He saw that people were essentially split up into three basic categories: the alpha doggs, the drones, and the high-minded muthafuckas.
He was ruminating on this idea when one of his friends sent him a video message:
Chek owt dis krakhed MF! LOLZ!
It was a video of a tired looking man with hard-etched features in disheveled used clothing dancing and singing in a worn-out grizzly voice. The toothless man clapped his hands above his head and danced a pathetic jig in some urine stained back alley with Justin’s friends crowded around, doubled-over, laughing, hands to mouths saying “oh shit, son.” When the man was finished, standing there panting, out of breath, one of them threw some small change callously in a dingy, cloudy puddle. The man went on his hands and knees, digging his dark stained fingers into the undetermined liquid to retrieve it. The last image on the video was the face of the friend who sent the video, close-up, laughing hysterically.
He was once like them. They were his crew. How many jigs had he made crack heads dance in back alleys over the years? How many songs had they sung? Now they all crowded around his conscience, knocking and banging around, looking not for loose change, but for empathy and surprisingly, getting it.
He saw in the video not a crackhead, but a man. A man who’d been sold a lie. A man who’d turned off and lost his mind in a vain effort to feed it. A man who he no longer saw as the enemy of society but the victim of it.
Yes, what it was to be against him had become a quite different thing indeed. And the truth was, he didn’t find that video very fucking funny at all.
Monday, September 8, 2008
28
“Oh, please.”
“--Zelda McNeil. Robert McNiven. Trudy Nilsson. Luis Rodriguez--”
“Would you stop?”
“--Estadio Salvadores. Nancy Simms--
“Would you let me finish please?”
“Well, the list goes on, General.”
“Yes. And I don’t doubt the veracity of these victims’ families claims, but the fact is the US military is not responsible for saving the lives of American citizens, only defending them.
“But, that’s completely ridiculous, General--”
“Now, now, let me finish. What I mean to say is this: of course we’re very sorry that people have had to lose their lives, but all these people died--”
“Lester Smalls. Dennis Smith”
“--from some kind of accident that had nothing to do with the military. Now, how in the world would you attribute these deaths to the US military? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Because, General. You now have the cure. You can save these people’s lives.”
“Listen, we’re not cloning people’s blood.”
“But you can. You have the technology to take lost blood, quickly generate replacement red blood cells that are an exact match to the host and redirect them back into the blood stream. Now why would you keep this technology from hospitals across the country, when you know it would save countless lives, General?”
“The military does not possess the technology you have described.”
“Well, I’d love to hear what a man named Adam would have to say about that.”
Marsh paused the video and said, “we’re gonna lead into this interview from the footage we got of protests at hospitals around the country, then cut right here and get Adam’s take on all this when he comes back.”
“I’m still not convinced he’s coming back,” Peter said, calmly.
“Well,” Marsh said, “we can sure find him easily enough.”
Peter nodded.
***
“And it’s not just our government,” Marsh boomed, “we have documented evidence, irrefutable proof that the US, Canadian, British and Swiss governments have been funding research in this area to the tune of sixty million -taxpayer- dollars per annum. Just Google it, ladies and gentlemen, type in ‘US gov genetic research funding’ and it comes back with over a quarter of a million hits from such sites as MSN and Reuters. This is main stream news, I’m not making this stuff up as I go along.”
Marsh was on fire.
“In fact,” he continued, “all the G8 countries have been pooling their resources and conducting tests - not on lab mice, not on stem cells - but, on human test subjects!” He paused for a dramatic second. “All the while, the taxpayers, that’s me and you, the people who are paying for this research have not reaped the benefits of these tests, they’ve been dying due to lack of blood in hospitals. Blood banks are closing in every region of the country at an unprecedented rate. You can go to Newyorktimes.com and check that out for yourself and you’ve got to ask the good lord why. What are they setting us up for? I believe it‘s another step towards their backroom policy of depopulation. Folks, the good lord in heaven told me in a dream last night that it is my duty as an honorable American citizen to inform each and every one of you listening out there to save your blood. Hoard your blood, because the next time you need to go to a hospital or a blood bank … there may not be any there for you.” Another dramatic pause. “We’ll be back, live on the Mike Marsh Show in fifteen minutes to explore this worrying question.”
The Mike Marsh fanfare blared from Marsh’s headphones as he set them down on Adam’s dinner table.
Leah crossed her arms and walked slowly out of the room. It was her turn to leave the house.
“--Zelda McNeil. Robert McNiven. Trudy Nilsson. Luis Rodriguez--”
“Would you stop?”
“--Estadio Salvadores. Nancy Simms--
“Would you let me finish please?”
“Well, the list goes on, General.”
“Yes. And I don’t doubt the veracity of these victims’ families claims, but the fact is the US military is not responsible for saving the lives of American citizens, only defending them.
“But, that’s completely ridiculous, General--”
“Now, now, let me finish. What I mean to say is this: of course we’re very sorry that people have had to lose their lives, but all these people died--”
“Lester Smalls. Dennis Smith”
“--from some kind of accident that had nothing to do with the military. Now, how in the world would you attribute these deaths to the US military? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Because, General. You now have the cure. You can save these people’s lives.”
“Listen, we’re not cloning people’s blood.”
“But you can. You have the technology to take lost blood, quickly generate replacement red blood cells that are an exact match to the host and redirect them back into the blood stream. Now why would you keep this technology from hospitals across the country, when you know it would save countless lives, General?”
“The military does not possess the technology you have described.”
“Well, I’d love to hear what a man named Adam would have to say about that.”
Marsh paused the video and said, “we’re gonna lead into this interview from the footage we got of protests at hospitals around the country, then cut right here and get Adam’s take on all this when he comes back.”
“I’m still not convinced he’s coming back,” Peter said, calmly.
“Well,” Marsh said, “we can sure find him easily enough.”
Peter nodded.
***
“And it’s not just our government,” Marsh boomed, “we have documented evidence, irrefutable proof that the US, Canadian, British and Swiss governments have been funding research in this area to the tune of sixty million -taxpayer- dollars per annum. Just Google it, ladies and gentlemen, type in ‘US gov genetic research funding’ and it comes back with over a quarter of a million hits from such sites as MSN and Reuters. This is main stream news, I’m not making this stuff up as I go along.”
Marsh was on fire.
“In fact,” he continued, “all the G8 countries have been pooling their resources and conducting tests - not on lab mice, not on stem cells - but, on human test subjects!” He paused for a dramatic second. “All the while, the taxpayers, that’s me and you, the people who are paying for this research have not reaped the benefits of these tests, they’ve been dying due to lack of blood in hospitals. Blood banks are closing in every region of the country at an unprecedented rate. You can go to Newyorktimes.com and check that out for yourself and you’ve got to ask the good lord why. What are they setting us up for? I believe it‘s another step towards their backroom policy of depopulation. Folks, the good lord in heaven told me in a dream last night that it is my duty as an honorable American citizen to inform each and every one of you listening out there to save your blood. Hoard your blood, because the next time you need to go to a hospital or a blood bank … there may not be any there for you.” Another dramatic pause. “We’ll be back, live on the Mike Marsh Show in fifteen minutes to explore this worrying question.”
The Mike Marsh fanfare blared from Marsh’s headphones as he set them down on Adam’s dinner table.
Leah crossed her arms and walked slowly out of the room. It was her turn to leave the house.
Friday, September 5, 2008
27
“That was the police,” Thomas said, flipping his phone closed, “I guess he called them and said they should stop looking for him, ‘cause he’s fine.”
“What,” Leah said.
She had thought something was seriously wrong. She had reached out, Justin too, into universal mind, universal time and space, extra dimensions of extra colors they never knew existed or could exist. Colors that reacted to light and shadow likes musical notes, some sweet, some sour. He wasn’t there. He was gone.
“Where is he,” she asked.
Thomas’ lips twisted as he bit the inside corner of his mouth, and shrugged.
Thomas stood in silence, Leah sat. she glanced over at Marsh who frowned in ignorance. Justin stood up.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “I gets that shit, yo. The wise motherfucker seeks enlightenment in solitude and shit. He’s like those bearded motherfuckers who go off into a cave in the mountains, right? Then comes back with some mindboggling shit. ‘I’ve seen God,’ and shit.”
***
Leah didn’t really know anymore. Why didn’t she know him? They kept telling her that people often go through many different kinds of personality changes after a near death experience. But it was more than that. Something physical. She knew, Adam was different. He wasn’t the same.
If she were to take a step back and look at this thing from a wider angle, she’d see that the whole thing was crazy. Everybody around was caught up in a frenzy of hype. Adam was gone, and had left the group rudderless, without purpose. It was anarchy.
But Leah had a few ideas of her own.
***
“It’s time to talk about something really important,” Leah said, “love.”
Each of those assembled shifted uncomfortably, one by one they fell to the need to fidget. Leah had spoiled the mood, like when parents decide to bust in and give their children ‘the talk.’ Fargas glanced over at Eunice, trying not to get caught, but hoping he would be. Leah pressed on.
“I mean, what is the purpose of this group? Why are we still together? Because Adam might come back? We all like what he has to say, but we have to be strong on our own.”
“But,” Eunice said, “with no Adam, there’s no film.”
“The film’s not important,” Leah said.
“Not to you,” Eunice shot back.
“Okay, fine,” Leah said, “the film is important. But, what’s it about? Adam, or his legacy. This group is --”
“Adamites,” Justin interrupted, correcting her.”
“The ‘Adamites’ are part of his story now, and we’ve got to get a message out just like him.”
“But,” Fargas said, “what is this message of his? Love thy neighbor?”
“Why not,” Leah continued, “love your neighbor, love your enemy. Love everything and everybody. Love the good and the bad, because we’re all just tiny specks of infinity.”
“Meh,” Justin said, “that shit’s been done, yo. Them fucking hippies said all that shit way back in the sixties and it didn’t work. They just ended up with addictions and STDs and babies and shit.”
“Love isn’t about getting laid or doing drugs,” Leah said, “it’s about knowledge. Knowing yourself so that you can love others and make the world a better place.”
“I gotta agree with Justin here,” Marsh piped up, “it’s a weak message. It’s outdated, and no one’s going to buy into it. People need to feel like they can move up in the world. What you’re suggesting sounds too much like it leads to communism. Everybody loves each other, so everybody respects each other and makes the world a better place, so we all become equals. That’s communism and it’s not going to fly here in America.”
“I’m not talking about communism,” Leah said, slightly flustered.
“But that’s where it leads to,” Marsh continued, “that’s the end result.”
“Besides, it’s going to be a slow process. Get people involved here and there. Get out, get to know people. Spread the message.”
“We tried that already,” Marsh said.
“Yeah, and look,” Leah pointed to Fargas, “we don’t want to preach to people. We want to have sit down discussions with everyone who’s into it. Everybody who will listen. See that we’re real people with real minds.”
“Naw,” Justin said, “that shit is wack, yo. I ain’t sitting down with e’ry mothafucka in America. Mosta them dumb shits ain’t worthy anyway, like 75 percent of them. I want to tear it all down, all this shit. Start over.”
“You see,” Marsh said, nodding, “they don’t want a better world. They want a world that they’re better off in.”
“What,” Leah said.
She had thought something was seriously wrong. She had reached out, Justin too, into universal mind, universal time and space, extra dimensions of extra colors they never knew existed or could exist. Colors that reacted to light and shadow likes musical notes, some sweet, some sour. He wasn’t there. He was gone.
“Where is he,” she asked.
Thomas’ lips twisted as he bit the inside corner of his mouth, and shrugged.
Thomas stood in silence, Leah sat. she glanced over at Marsh who frowned in ignorance. Justin stood up.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “I gets that shit, yo. The wise motherfucker seeks enlightenment in solitude and shit. He’s like those bearded motherfuckers who go off into a cave in the mountains, right? Then comes back with some mindboggling shit. ‘I’ve seen God,’ and shit.”
***
Leah didn’t really know anymore. Why didn’t she know him? They kept telling her that people often go through many different kinds of personality changes after a near death experience. But it was more than that. Something physical. She knew, Adam was different. He wasn’t the same.
If she were to take a step back and look at this thing from a wider angle, she’d see that the whole thing was crazy. Everybody around was caught up in a frenzy of hype. Adam was gone, and had left the group rudderless, without purpose. It was anarchy.
But Leah had a few ideas of her own.
***
“It’s time to talk about something really important,” Leah said, “love.”
Each of those assembled shifted uncomfortably, one by one they fell to the need to fidget. Leah had spoiled the mood, like when parents decide to bust in and give their children ‘the talk.’ Fargas glanced over at Eunice, trying not to get caught, but hoping he would be. Leah pressed on.
“I mean, what is the purpose of this group? Why are we still together? Because Adam might come back? We all like what he has to say, but we have to be strong on our own.”
“But,” Eunice said, “with no Adam, there’s no film.”
“The film’s not important,” Leah said.
“Not to you,” Eunice shot back.
“Okay, fine,” Leah said, “the film is important. But, what’s it about? Adam, or his legacy. This group is --”
“Adamites,” Justin interrupted, correcting her.”
“The ‘Adamites’ are part of his story now, and we’ve got to get a message out just like him.”
“But,” Fargas said, “what is this message of his? Love thy neighbor?”
“Why not,” Leah continued, “love your neighbor, love your enemy. Love everything and everybody. Love the good and the bad, because we’re all just tiny specks of infinity.”
“Meh,” Justin said, “that shit’s been done, yo. Them fucking hippies said all that shit way back in the sixties and it didn’t work. They just ended up with addictions and STDs and babies and shit.”
“Love isn’t about getting laid or doing drugs,” Leah said, “it’s about knowledge. Knowing yourself so that you can love others and make the world a better place.”
“I gotta agree with Justin here,” Marsh piped up, “it’s a weak message. It’s outdated, and no one’s going to buy into it. People need to feel like they can move up in the world. What you’re suggesting sounds too much like it leads to communism. Everybody loves each other, so everybody respects each other and makes the world a better place, so we all become equals. That’s communism and it’s not going to fly here in America.”
“I’m not talking about communism,” Leah said, slightly flustered.
“But that’s where it leads to,” Marsh continued, “that’s the end result.”
“Besides, it’s going to be a slow process. Get people involved here and there. Get out, get to know people. Spread the message.”
“We tried that already,” Marsh said.
“Yeah, and look,” Leah pointed to Fargas, “we don’t want to preach to people. We want to have sit down discussions with everyone who’s into it. Everybody who will listen. See that we’re real people with real minds.”
“Naw,” Justin said, “that shit is wack, yo. I ain’t sitting down with e’ry mothafucka in America. Mosta them dumb shits ain’t worthy anyway, like 75 percent of them. I want to tear it all down, all this shit. Start over.”
“You see,” Marsh said, nodding, “they don’t want a better world. They want a world that they’re better off in.”
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
26
He didn’t get very far, maybe half a block, before a black unmarked newer model car pulled up beside him. A man in a black jacket and tie and white shirt who looked just like every other healthy white male in his early thirties leaned out the passenger side window. He handed Adam an unsealed envelope.
He waited there, rooted to the spot, watching the car pull away and blend in with every other car on the road, before he lifted the cover to peek inside.
Money. Quite a bit of it. A healthy stack of twenties.
How was he supposed to clear his head? He was the center of a universe gone apeshit.
A little more digging revealed a yellow post-it note, rendered nearly invisible against the yellow envelope. The note was simple enough and easy to read.
It read, ‘Grocery money.’
Was this some kind of code, clue, or slang word he wasn‘t familiar with? He supposed it didn’t matter, since he wasn’t going to be sticking around much longer, anyhow.
***
“When’s the next train leave,” Adam asked.
He anticipated her next question.
“Going anywhere, I don‘t care,” he said.
The woman behind the counter stared bitchy daggers at him and just sat there chewing her gum.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m not fucking with you.” He shoulder checked to make sure no one was watching, then flashed the wad of cash in the envelope.
It still wasn’t enough to impress her and she went right on chewing her gum. He could tell by the rhythm of her chewing that she was passive aggressively telling him off.
One chew, da-Douche.
Next chew, da-Bag.
In rapid fire procession, da-douche, da-bag, da-douche, da-bag. And it didn’t take extra-sensory perception to figure it out, either.
“Five minutes,” she said, “to--”
“No, no, no,” he interrupted her, “Don’t tell me, I want it to be a surprise.”
“I’m going to need to see some ID,” she said, rolling her eyes. He showed it to her. Finally she perked up, and said, “you’re going to have to give me a minute,” before storming away.
“But I only got five,” he called after her, she pretended not to hear as she talked to her manager.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the manager said, “your travel benefits have been restricted.”
“My travel … what the fuck are you talking about? Just give me a ticket. Look at this stack of money!”
“I’m sorry, sir. Your name is on our terrorist list.”
“WHAT?!”
She glanced out of the corner of her eye. Adam could guess what she was glancing at. Without seeing for himself, Adam turned and ran. He could hear the clean black shoes chasing him, leaving black scuff marks on the clean, shiny tile floor.
He wasn’t a kid anymore, spraying graffiti outside the train station. Why, after thirty years of age, was he still running from train station security?
He didn’t bother checking the airport for the next available flight out of town.
***
But, Adam knew he never really was a teenager. Not for very long, physiologically, anyway. The memories were there, but they were borrowed, like his DNA. Sooooo last year.
Eternity had spoken to him in dreams and pictures and colors and waves of sound, and it had told him so. Eternity had told him that he was grown in a test tube. A Test Tube Man. A New Man. An Extra Man with an extra soul.
But, somehow, it just didn‘t seem all that important. He just didn’t really care anymore.
He waited there, rooted to the spot, watching the car pull away and blend in with every other car on the road, before he lifted the cover to peek inside.
Money. Quite a bit of it. A healthy stack of twenties.
How was he supposed to clear his head? He was the center of a universe gone apeshit.
A little more digging revealed a yellow post-it note, rendered nearly invisible against the yellow envelope. The note was simple enough and easy to read.
It read, ‘Grocery money.’
Was this some kind of code, clue, or slang word he wasn‘t familiar with? He supposed it didn’t matter, since he wasn’t going to be sticking around much longer, anyhow.
***
“When’s the next train leave,” Adam asked.
He anticipated her next question.
“Going anywhere, I don‘t care,” he said.
The woman behind the counter stared bitchy daggers at him and just sat there chewing her gum.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m not fucking with you.” He shoulder checked to make sure no one was watching, then flashed the wad of cash in the envelope.
It still wasn’t enough to impress her and she went right on chewing her gum. He could tell by the rhythm of her chewing that she was passive aggressively telling him off.
One chew, da-Douche.
Next chew, da-Bag.
In rapid fire procession, da-douche, da-bag, da-douche, da-bag. And it didn’t take extra-sensory perception to figure it out, either.
“Five minutes,” she said, “to--”
“No, no, no,” he interrupted her, “Don’t tell me, I want it to be a surprise.”
“I’m going to need to see some ID,” she said, rolling her eyes. He showed it to her. Finally she perked up, and said, “you’re going to have to give me a minute,” before storming away.
“But I only got five,” he called after her, she pretended not to hear as she talked to her manager.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the manager said, “your travel benefits have been restricted.”
“My travel … what the fuck are you talking about? Just give me a ticket. Look at this stack of money!”
“I’m sorry, sir. Your name is on our terrorist list.”
“WHAT?!”
She glanced out of the corner of her eye. Adam could guess what she was glancing at. Without seeing for himself, Adam turned and ran. He could hear the clean black shoes chasing him, leaving black scuff marks on the clean, shiny tile floor.
He wasn’t a kid anymore, spraying graffiti outside the train station. Why, after thirty years of age, was he still running from train station security?
He didn’t bother checking the airport for the next available flight out of town.
***
But, Adam knew he never really was a teenager. Not for very long, physiologically, anyway. The memories were there, but they were borrowed, like his DNA. Sooooo last year.
Eternity had spoken to him in dreams and pictures and colors and waves of sound, and it had told him so. Eternity had told him that he was grown in a test tube. A Test Tube Man. A New Man. An Extra Man with an extra soul.
But, somehow, it just didn‘t seem all that important. He just didn’t really care anymore.
Monday, September 1, 2008
25
The pamphlet was nearly ready.
“I need one more anecdote, yo,” Justin said, pencil in hand. He held a sheet of ruled paper, the kind you’d find in an elementary school classroom. On it, was a list of nine key proverbs, all from the mouth of Adam.
Questions are more useful than answers.
The five senses are five devils through which the world enters and the spirit escapes
Advertising sells not a product but one’s soul.
Opposition is a force made not by two, but within one.
Spiritual enlightenment does not occur when one builds up one’s mind, like a bodybuilder.
Do not seek the elevated consciousness, but seek the subconscious. Because therein lies truth about self.
One can only help oneself. Then by consequence of experience can one help others.
The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival.
Nine out of ten spiritual leaders agree, desire is the leading cause of suffering.
There was also a symbol sketched out on the page. Justin held it up for Adam to see.
“What you think, yo?”
“I think it’s a triangle,” Adam responded.
“Word,” Justin replied, “it’s sideways. That shit’s gonna be our symbol. It represents body, mind and spirit, motherfucker.”
Justin pointed with his finger to each point on the triangle, starting with the bottom and ending at the top, which he tapped for emphasis.
“Body. Mind. And Spirit.”
“What,” Adam asked redundantly, “you got a symbol now?”
“Word.”
“And what are you calling yourselves?”
“Adamites.”
It had gone too far.
“So, like,” Justin continued, “we need one more catchphrase. You got one?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, grabbing his jacket in a hurry, “don’t follow leaders, and watch the parking meter.”
Justin stood blank faced for a second, then a smile crept over his face, “word!”
Adam stood in the doorway and said, “it’s from Bob Dylan.”
“Oh yeah,” Justin said, “no, I gets that shit. It’s going in.”
Adam rushed out the door so that he could breathe again.
“I need one more anecdote, yo,” Justin said, pencil in hand. He held a sheet of ruled paper, the kind you’d find in an elementary school classroom. On it, was a list of nine key proverbs, all from the mouth of Adam.
Questions are more useful than answers.
The five senses are five devils through which the world enters and the spirit escapes
Advertising sells not a product but one’s soul.
Opposition is a force made not by two, but within one.
Spiritual enlightenment does not occur when one builds up one’s mind, like a bodybuilder.
Do not seek the elevated consciousness, but seek the subconscious. Because therein lies truth about self.
One can only help oneself. Then by consequence of experience can one help others.
The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival.
Nine out of ten spiritual leaders agree, desire is the leading cause of suffering.
There was also a symbol sketched out on the page. Justin held it up for Adam to see.
“What you think, yo?”
“I think it’s a triangle,” Adam responded.
“Word,” Justin replied, “it’s sideways. That shit’s gonna be our symbol. It represents body, mind and spirit, motherfucker.”
Justin pointed with his finger to each point on the triangle, starting with the bottom and ending at the top, which he tapped for emphasis.
“Body. Mind. And Spirit.”
“What,” Adam asked redundantly, “you got a symbol now?”
“Word.”
“And what are you calling yourselves?”
“Adamites.”
It had gone too far.
“So, like,” Justin continued, “we need one more catchphrase. You got one?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, grabbing his jacket in a hurry, “don’t follow leaders, and watch the parking meter.”
Justin stood blank faced for a second, then a smile crept over his face, “word!”
Adam stood in the doorway and said, “it’s from Bob Dylan.”
“Oh yeah,” Justin said, “no, I gets that shit. It’s going in.”
Adam rushed out the door so that he could breathe again.
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