Vignettes
Two fish swam along an otherwise unoccupied stretch of lake. They chatted in their teenage parlance, “Who do you think TJ is going to the prom with?” And “I hear Ryan is getting suspended for what he did in Mrs. Bryant’s class.” And “I cannot wait to get out of our school and get to the university.” And on.
The conversation came in quick clips, neither affirming nor denying any assertion. Each with considerations beyond the immediate. “Oh no,” one said. “Here comes the Professor.”
And, with a slight shift, the second young fish saw a jolly, older, bearded fish swimming toward them. “Hey boys,” he shouted.
“Hey, Professor.” They demurred.
“How’s the water?”
“Oh yeah, you know…” One boy responded.
The Professor laughed. “I do indeed.”
After they had swam far enough way to remove any concern that the Professor may overhear them, one of the fish turned to the other and asked, “What the heck is water?”
Her heels clicked in rapid fire staccato. She bent and ducked and weaved, an imitation of a pro football player, gliding with her cart around the other shoppers, past the bread and ethnic aisles, to briefly tour the frozen food. Here her hand lingered momentarily on the icy handle in front of the Sara Lee cheesecake, Maybe just one of them she thought I won’t have to eat it. I’ll just keep it for whenever guests come by. She paused, entranced, and then she saw the reflection of herself in the frosted glass. Those lines. That double chin. That thin hair. She gulped then released the door. She moved over a few aisles, disheartened, her pace slowed considerably, and lifted the fresh, organic chicken breast. Each will be cooked and saved, to pair with an apropos serving of steamed vegetables. She then picked up some eggs, opening them slightly to ensure none had been broken.
She sighed and bit her lip in an effort not to cry, images of herself flushing through her system. Maybe I can get a jog in when I get home. She considered touching her stomach to feel its flatness. I need to be reassured. She glided past the yogurts and the alcohol, her heel clicking first, then her toe. She dragged slowly with each movement.
“Excuse me,” she heard over her shoulder.
A short, portly woman stared up at her with big glassy eyes. “I’m sorry, I just… I mean, you look so amazing,” the heavy woman said, looking up at the tall, thin woman with chestnut hair who stood next to her shopping cart in a tight red dress. She had toned arms, a tiny waist, artificially enhanced breasts and calves assured the world she worked hard to maintain this shape.
“I mean,” the overweight woman started, “how do you do it?”
“You know, it’s cruel to lie to people,” the tall beauty responded with one terse breath. And with that, she shoved her cart toward the checkout lines. I can probably get in a jog after dinner, a quick two or three miles…
“So last night, I came home and Chara had fixed dinner. It was Moussaka.”
“Mmm.”
“Yeah, a big plate of it. Then she leaves to go put on some little tiny thing.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, you know, we’re trying to have a kid.”
“That’s right. So brave of you.”
“Ha, not so bad.”
“I don’t know what the world is going to look like in 18 days, let alone 18 years.”
“It’ll be fine. Humans, you know, we endure.”
“You’re still young and optimistic.”
“Yeah, I’ll become jaded.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already, considering the job.”
“Sometimes it’s hard.”
“…”
“So where is this one?”
“A dozen today — ”
“This’ll be hard.”
“Down south of Plimmiri.”
“Must have been the storm.”
“…”
“Ya know? The big storm that kicked up last night. In my neighborhood, one of the homes has those terra-cotta tiles, you know. They appeal to Western tourists. And the damn things started flying out, crashing into the ground. The winds were that bad.”
“…”
“Must have been the storm.”
“…”
“…”
“Now the report came from around this corner here.”
“I see something, over there.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“Christ.”
“…”
“How many do you count?”
“Eleven. Eleven, only.”
“Well, maybe the sharks got the other.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe the townspeople took it.”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Must have been the storm.”
“Seems like it’s been storming over there for quite a while.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’ve been doing this for two years now. You’re a good kid. You should stop now, before these prósfygas enter your dreams.”
“They already have.”
“Then there’s no hope. You’re doomed to walk a zombie, plagued by the bodies of war and famine washing up onto shore.”
“…”
“…”
“Ya know, I’ve been thinking about what you said to me back there. And, there’s always hope. Look at Chara and I. We’re going to have a baby. A little boy or girl who can improve the world.”
“You’re brave. You’ll make a good father.”
“…”
He sat slumped in the window sill. His chin rested on crossed arms, and his eyes pointed forward. Behind him, his grandma and grandpa had fallen asleep to the coverage of the election. Now the talking heads’ bombastic exchanges played out as white noise, “You don’t understand this country. We’re not a nation of takers. We’re a nation that works hard and makes ourselves better.” “Are you calling minorities takers?” “Well, in this situation, I think that’s one of the biggest motivations for the Tea Party…” Before him, Chicago stretched out to an imposing skyline. Below him, the many pushers and peddlers who haunted the alleyways and buildings’ doorways had crept back into their respective homes.
Now, when all was quiet, he felt free to imagine his life beyond his neighborhood. In these moments, he thought about graduating then heading off to college. Maybe his grades would be good enough for U of C. Such an amazing education, only a few blocks from his home in Englewood, but for him, it felt like another world.
“Now, this is where you’ve gone too far. You’re supporting a candidate that has been backed by white nationalists and members of the KKK. Black protestors to his rallies have been beaten up. And he wants to ban an entire religion from entering the country.” The noise from the TV again, someone must have pissed off someone else. His grandparents listened every night. They wanted him to feel inspired, but so often, he came away with less hope than before.
“I’m not saying that I’m supporting him, but look. He does know how to deal. He does understand this country’s problems — too much government interference in peoples’ lives. It makes them not want to work.”
The boy closed his eyes and tried to reconstitute his life beyond this neighborhood. Maybe he would become a doctor or a lawyer. Maybe he’d get married and move to the north side of the city, where the beaches fill with women in bikinis and couples play with their dogs in the sand. Maybe he’d get a job in one of those big buildings downtown. Maybe then he could buy a house for him and his grandparents, as a way to say “thank you” for all they did for all those years.
“We need a country that works again, in every way, and the best way to do that is by getting the government out of peoples’ lives. Less government means that there will be more freedom and more opportunity for all.”
…He’d have that good life. But first, he thought, as he watched the stretch of buildings, row after row of brick and mortar covered in the purple hew of night, each housing innumerable stories of their own, he knew he had to get out.
