Week 52 - Alive. Still. Years Later.

Alive. Still. Years Later.

Matthew Ryan Fischer

The switch wasn’t supposed to be turned off. There was a very neat and clean sign that very clearly stated this fact. But nobody liked to read signs or pay attention to such things, and people really liked flipping switches. It was almost like an instinct or something. Like touching the emergency brake while driving. Or reaching out and wondering just how hot the oven really was. The sign wasn’t a deterrent at all. It was an invitation. And more importantly, it was a recipe for disaster.

Some might question the overall purpose of having the switch at all. Not bad to question such things. But people love backups and contingency plans and accounting for all possibilities. And one never knows. So there was a switch. It just ran contrary to the human tendency of things, that’s all. If you build the switch, someone was eventually going to flip it. Eventually. And then? Then, there would be no going back.

For one moment, things were frozen. Then there was a rumble and a flash and then the eruption. It happened so quickly there was no time for perception at all. Things were there and then they weren’t.

The world ended. It was quite the surprise for all those not expecting it. But they didn’t have long to bemoan. They didn’t have time at all. Time was over. Time was gone. The universe collapsed.

...but then again, things were always beginning. Just as often as things are ending. Collapse. Beginnings. Endings. Reboots. Revelations. It all sort of worked out in the end. Like a loop. Or one of those crazy eights. Parallel structure, things working in tandem. Some might call that balance. Some might call that planned. Or fate. Or kismet. Or karma. Or something similar to any of those things. In the end it all worked out alright enough, no matter what it was called.

Over an infinity of choices and possibilities, one little setback like one little universe collapsing wasn’t really that much of a setback at all. Schrödinger’s cat and all that. No matter what there were always other possibilities. Time and space were beginning and ending all the time. It turned out that one blip wasn’t noticed at all in the grand scheme of things. One blip is nothing. Not where the halls of infinity are concerned.

What mattered was the point of divergence. The split. The choice. Not even so much what choice was made, but that there was a choice possible. That was the necessary component that made it all work. One simple thing. That’s all it took. One simple thing and a million different possibilities.

He was a thief. Just a moment. Just a little bit. A stolen moment. A stolen world. A stolen bit of anything and everything. A chance to claim something and rebuild or reuse it anywhere and anytime. He took little parts away, and put them somewhere else.

One second of space-time was hardly going to be missed anyway. Space-time didn’t care. The universe wouldn’t care. It would blur and blend like everything else and smooth itself away. A stolen detail and people would think it was their bad memory. Details grow fuzzy. That’s what they’re supposed to do. He just nudged them along.

The boring parts were the best. There was an endlessness of heart and soul in all the boring parts, the parts that people took for granted. The smiles, the glances, the yawns. All the plain and boring parts and yet that was what people missed. That was what felt like home. That was what felt like life. A grand moment was fleeting and never had the comfort of a soft couch or a warm blanket. A moment of lust or passion paled in comparison to companionship. The boring parts, and not a moment more.

Ella called his name. But it was the wrong name. Or maybe he was the wrong man. Or both. She didn’t get to find out.

Adam made an impassioned speech. She was the only thing that ever mattered to him.

“You make me feel young again. You make me feel alive. I think of you every day. I want to see you every day. I want to be a better person. I want to be a better man. I want to tell you all these things.”

He let her walk by, without saying a word.

If only it hadn’t snowed, Michael could have gotten there in time. The snow was expected. The amount was not. There weren’t enough plows. The roads were closed overnight. His father died alone in the hospital because nature didn’t care about his plans.

There wasn’t another song. Rachel was sure she had put more money in the jukebox. She was sure there was one more song. She was sure she would have more time. She was swaying to the music, nursing her beer and was certain that he saw her. She was certain he was swaying to the music too, that it was a real connection and they had something in common in an uncommon universe and that one simple connection would see them through.

But the music stopped and by the time she had regrouped and developed a new plan, he was gone.

She never learned his name.

The man tried. But then failed. The feeling of disappointment would last forever and he always remembered and promised himself he would try again. But instead he was simply bound to die someday.

The last message didn’t go through. No one answered the text in time.

Blood ran down. Too much blood was lost. The body was on the floor.

Someone would come. Someone would find them. But they wouldn’t know what had happened or what it meant.

Maybe it was better not to always think.

The sun didn’t rise the next day.

Crawling out of the ocean, thinking about all that could be or could happen. The future was open and vast and infinite. Unless of course things didn’t work out. Unless things only got worse. Unless there was no purpose to anything and no reason for trying. If that were the case, then there really would be no reason for the struggle, for the attempt. It was soul-crushing before there was such a thing as a soul.

One foot out of the ocean; maybe it was just easier to turn back around.

The universe blinked. The pulse of possibility rippled out, broken and fractured until it dissipated into a million different likelihoods. Chance had its way and the darkness wasn’t for long.

There was always something else just around the corner, even it was the unexpected or improbable.

Week 51 - SuperSUITS

SuperSUITS

Matthew Ryan Fischer

The window broke. The glass shattered. Jacob fell.

It was an easily predicted and fully expected consequence of actions. Jacob was still shocked and a little scared. He knew the glass would break. He knew that was what would happen when propelled at great force towards the window. He knew the glass was not supposed to be that strong or sturdy. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter what his rational mind knew or didn’t know. It was still scary as fuck – breaking a window, going through the window... falling. Fuck indeed.

If he had jumped, it might have been different. If he were trying to escape, if he knew this might be his only chance for survival, his mind might have rationalized some of it better. But this wasn’t any of that. This was falling. Falling down with his back to the ground. There was no attempt at survival here. This was someone hurtling him towards his death or at the very least a broken back. There was no way his mind was going to be calm and collected in this situation.

Looking up, Jacob watched as the glass caught the sunlight, glimmering and shining in beautiful fashion. A thousand flickering lights. If Jacob hadn’t been falling to his imminent death, he might have paused and taken more time to admire the sight. As it was, he was in no mood for the art of the situation, beautiful or not.

“The suit will save me; the suit will save me...” The thought flashed through his mind. He told himself over and over that it would all be okay, that the suit would save him. That’s what it was supposed to do. That’s what it was there for. He knew it. He had been told and trained. He had seen it in action. He just didn’t believe it quite yet.

He hoped that his belief in the system had nothing to do with the actual effectiveness of it.

The ground was coming up quickly. It was hard to miss a thing like that. Jacob didn’t like this, no not one bit. It felt like he was falling faster now, even if he knew that wasn’t the way things worked. Fear of hitting the ground didn’t make it happen faster. It was only his perception, playing tricks on him. Still, he hated his perceptions and feeling like they were against him.

Jacob had done as he was told to do – tightened his tie… tucked in his shirt… everything was neat and proper. Everything in its place. It all had to be in order. They had drilled that into him. Why was that? He didn’t know. Why make something that only works when it worked perfectly? That seemed like piss-poor design work. If he made it through this and could find a complaint box somewhere, he would definitely lodge a complaint.

The back of his mind acted up and suddenly he wasn’t so sure about how well he had dressed himself this afternoon. He promptly began freaking himself out. What if he had mixed something up? What if he had buttoned a button wrong? What if he had missed--

Impact.

Time seemed to freeze. What about “splat,” he thought? For a moment there was pain. For a moment there was a gasp for air. For a moment he was sure he was dead.

And then that was it. That was all there was to it. Jacob had landed. And he was pretty sure he was still alive.

Jacob lay there. He checked himself and double-checked himself again. It sure didn’t seem like he had a broken back. He wiggled his toes. He clinched his hands. There was movement all-around. Finally Jacob relaxed a little and lay back down and laughed.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed. “That was fucking bonkers.”

“Next time, try to land on your feet.” Jacob heard the voice but didn’t see the speaker. He stretched his neck back and saw the hand reach down to offer him assistance getting up.

“Land on me feet? Are you kidding me?”

The hand that helped Jacob up belonged to Winston Cutter. Or Winston Chase. Or Winston Feelgood. Or whatever dumb name he was calling himself this week. Winston has recruited Jacob. He had taught Jacob how to wear a proper suit and how to look good while doing it. Now Winston was teaching him a whole lot more.

Winston was an agent for the SuperSUITS, the Secret Underground Intelligence Technology, Syndicate. The SuperSUITS were sort of like a government think tank that decided it would be a whole lot cooler if they just became spies themselves. They had the brains to do what they wanted and built the toys they needed. They wore suits. They looked good, they felt good. They exuded confidence and general baddassery.

 “I was fucking falling out a window, down twelve stories. And you want me to think about a thing like that while falling? Land on me feet he says. Want me to do some backflips while I’m at it?”

“Could you?”

“No! No. No I can’t do a backflip midair. Don’t give me that shit. And I suppose you could?”

“What if you had landed on your head?”

“What if I had?”

“The suit will absorb and dissipate the kinetic energy from the fall. Shoes, pants, shirt, jacket. The suit does that. What part of you was exposed?” Winston stared at Jacob like he was a dummy. Sometimes Jacob was. But sometimes Winston was pretty unreasonable too. Winston was a seasoned vet. Jacob was a rookie at best. It was too easy to make Jacob look and feel like a dummy.

Jacob calmed down and thought for a second. He begrudgingly gave the answer that Winston wanted to hear, “My head.”

“Your head.”

“So what if I had hit head first?”

“Good thing you didn’t.”

“Who designed this shit? Are you kidding me? You’re kidding, right? Right? Tell me you’re kidding.”

Winston didn’t respond.

“Not cool. Not cool at all. Maybe try warning a fella first?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“So is that it? The basic training? Am I finished?”

“It doesn’t really work like that.”

“All I want to know is when do I become badass?”

“You’re just now finishing basic skills. Basic. You’re trying to jump from 1 to 100 and you can’t even land on your feet yet.”

“Yeah that part wasn’t too much fun.”

Winston glared at him.

“Joke. It was a joke.”

“This isn’t James Bond and you’re not—”

“I’m totally content being the low man. I swear. I just want to make sure I’m on the track.”

“You’re on the track.”

“So how long before we run?”

“You wait until I say you’re ready.”

“Okay, okay, but give me some idea. Next week?”

Winston didn’t answer.

“Next month?”

Winston still didn’t answer.

“Next year? Come on. Be honest. At least give me a hint.”

“You’ll be ready when you’re ready. Don’t be so eager to put yourself in harm’s way.”

“You’re the one that nearly killed me today.”

Winston was silent.

“Not helping?” Jacob asked.

Winston shook his head no.

“What if I ask now? Can we go do something fun? Now? How about now?”

Jacob kept asking, even as Winston walked away.

“How about NOW!!” Jacob screamed. Winston couldn’t help but smile a little, not that Jacob could see it.

Week 50 - Super Suits

Super Suits

Matthew Ryan Fischer

“Tighten that tie, soldier. We dress for success here.”

Jacob begrudgingly tightened his tie, but he didn’t do a very good job of it. He had done exactly what had been asked of him, but he was pretty sure he had left it crooked. There was no mirror there to check his handiwork, but the look on Ronnie’s face pretty much confirmed Jacob’s silent victory.

Jacob hated his boss Ronnie. Jacob had several bosses, but Ronnie was the closest one to his level, which meant he had to deal with Ronnie daily. Ronnie was a real “Yay Rah!” sort of team player. It was super annoying. Jacob did his job, but he was far from excited by it. There was nothing to get excited about when what he did was answer phone calls all day and talk to people about stocks and bonds and their company retirement plan options. It was dry and it was boring and Jacob thought Ronnie had no right to get excited about it.

Why were they even wearing suits at this job? Jacob was sure there must have been some productivity study that proved that men in suits worked harder than men in blue jeans. Jacob couldn’t bring himself to believe that that was right. He was pretty sure at least some part of his hatred for his job came from the fact that he was uncomfortable all day. No one was coming in the office to see him in a suit. No one was going to be impressed by Jacob’s style. And he certainly wasn’t getting an esteem or productivity boost from wearing it. Suit or no suit, he was probably going to do a fairly average job no matter what. But what did he really know anyway? It wasn’t like they were going to listen to him.

The building Jacob worked in was in an older part of downtown. It was an old skyscraper, built before skyscrapers were really skyscrapers at all. Twenty stories or less. But it was still tall enough. It was made out of stone. It might have been limestone, but Jacob didn’t know his stones. Did they even make buildings out of limestone? He wasn’t sure. He never studied enough in school. It was the type of stone building that was used to build either a library or a government courthouse.  It looked like all the other old buildings that had been built at least a hundred years ago. Jacob didn’t know much about history, but he knew a lot of buildings like this were old and had been built because of some public works program during the Depression. That was the image in his mind anyway. He made almost no effort to research any of this or figure it out.

The staircases were incredibly small. Especially on his side of the building. They were narrow and the ceiling was low. It was like they built the building for skinny short people. Sure, people were probably shorter and skinnier in the past, but they couldn’t have been this short or skinny. It was like someone built the building to be an annoying joke. Ride an elevator that could fit four and took ten minutes to go six levels, or run the stairs and risk hitting his head every level and not being able to pass someone. These were not good choices. But staying at his cubicle desk during his mandatory breaks was an even more terrible one.

So off he went, often taking the too-small stairs.

Sometimes he left the office and instead turned left. Down this hall there was an entire set of offices that had been closed off and shut down. Downsizing or downturn in the economy or something. There had been a magazine on this floor for years, but that was before Jacob’s time. He only knew about it because coworkers talked about it. The people at the magazine had been nice enough. Their product, not so much. But the past was the past and Jacob didn’t worry too much about a defunct magazine company.

Most of the doors on this end of the building were locked, but all the halls were still open. He could look in the windows and dream about what used to take place inside. He had hopes there would be a printing press left behind. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he was going to break in and use it. He just thought it would have been interesting to see.

The ceilings were too low over here too. There was water damage. Broken plaster. Basic old building stuff. The landlords, whoever they were, clearly weren’t too worried about upkeep.

Jacob came to this end of the building when he wanted to wander and be left alone. No one ever came over here. This side of the building was empty. Empty and alone and free from bother – that part was nice at least. The cell reception sucked, so that was a pain. There were only so many old pictures and paintings and empty offices for one to look at. It was a nice change of pace, and respite from the masses, but that was about it. It was not an everyday place to waste his breaks.

Jacob worked on in a cubicle farm – twenty low-level employees all on the phone, all able to hear one another talking, all able to police each other and make sure they others were actually working. Jacob hated that. Their side of the office was low traffic area. Small consolation.

The trafficked area of the office was around the corner, where a wall had been torn out and another office space had been annexed. It was a much better office space. They had the break room. The copiers. The supply room. The bigwigs had offices on this side. The middle management too. There was another set of stairs and another slow elevator. But it was closer to their offices, so it was one more minor advantage. And like any minor advantage at any office job, people wasted way too much effort fighting for it.

This was the side of the office to be in. The phone operatives, as always, had drawn the short end of the stick.

Their stairs were on the east side of the building. This was the side to exit on. The first floor exit on this side of the building was near the parking garage.

There was a security check as he entered or left. That was easy. What he found was coming off the elevator you could only turn left and security could instantly see you. But if you came down the stairs, the door opened in a small alcove and you were out of sight from the security desk. There was another door that opened on the opposite side of the alcove. He could exit the stairs and quickly duck through the other door and no one was any the wiser. This door led to the basement. There was a lot of machinery down there – heating and cooling, and a slew of industrial machinery that Jacob wasn’t sure what it really did. Maybe it was left over from a different era. He couldn’t even tell if it was plugged in or doing anything.  Perhaps these were the missing printing presses he had hoped to find. Not that he knew what an industrial printing press really looked like.

Jacob liked to wander here most. There weren’t many people and he got good at avoiding them. He found another stairwell and elevator bay down here too, but never bothered exploring where they led in the building. Jacob liked to come down here to sneak smokes. Especially when it was winter and he didn’t want to go outside in the cold. It was easier to smoke down here and hide the evidence.

One day, while sneaking a cigarette, he was caught by another man in a suit.

“Those things will kill you...”

Jacob turned towards the voice.

“Got an extra?” the man asked.

Jacob did.

Jacob and the man shared a silent moment. The man knew how to smoke in silence. Jacob appreciated that.

“Thanks,” Jacob accidently said.

“For what?”

Jacob laughed, realizing how this would sound.

“For shutting the fuck up and letting me smoke in peace.”

The man gave him a jesting salute.

Jacob took a good look at the man and realized just how outclassed he really was. This man knew how to dress. He was in a fine tailored suit. There were light pinstripes. The lapels were smallish, in a stylish way. The man had cufflinks on his shirt and a tie clip. All the finest. Jacob finally understood what the phrase “dress for success” really meant. This man was had poise and confidence and maybe it was all the society inflicted cliché about what a suit represented, but Jacob was ready to buy stock. He felt a little smaller for not ever wanting to put that sort of time or dedication into his own appearance.

The man began to walk away, then paused and turned back to Jacob.

“Thanks for the cigarette. I might have forgotten to say it before. I can’t recall. But thank you.”

The man was a proper gentleman. One more reason for Jacob to feel small.

“No problem man. You come down here a lot?”

“Sometimes. Today I did.”

“I’m Jacob. Jacob Harris?”

“Really? That’s a coincidence. I’m Jake. Jake Harris.”

“Really? Wow.”

“No,” the man laughed. “That was a joke. Sorry. Winston Cutter.”

“Really? That sounds like a bullshit name.”

“Maybe it is,” was all the man had to say. He didn’t offer a third. Jacob forgot to ask.

“Sweet suit.”

“Thank you. It is.”

 “You must make a lot of money – decked out like that. What do you do?”

“I like to believe I help save the world... But really it’s more like insurance.”

“Yeah, I work in mutual funds,” Jacob lied. It wasn’t a big lie; people in his office did do that, just not him.

Jacob wasn’t sure what he was trying to prove or why he wanted to impress this man, but he did. The man exuded success and Jacob wanted some. He didn’t know how else to put it. He hated his job. Hated his prospects. But this man had something, had that special something. Maybe there was something Jacob could learn. Something he could emulate. Something he could be.

Jacob rambled and told that man as much. He wanted to know the secret. He wanted any tips he could get.

“You’re fixated on a classical conundrum. Does the man make the suit or does the suit make the man?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Mark Twain – ‘the clothes make the man.’ But I like to say the man makes the clothes. Anyone can wear a suit, but will the suit transform the beggar into a master? I’d like to think I could wear anything and be just as successful. I’d like to think you think this looks good, but what you’re really impressed by is something intrinsic to me, not to the fabric I wear.”

Jacob was a little confused by this and it must have showed on his face, for the man changed subjects. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You want to come upstairs and see what we’re about, come ask for me. I’ll show you around. You might be interested.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know your suit is for shit. Probably from one of those outlet places where you get a free one if you buy three.”

It was.

“If I believed the clothes make the man, I’d say you’re not worth the trouble. But I believe otherwise. You look to me like a man who could use an upgrade.”

He reached over and tightened Jacob’s tie for him.

“If nothing else, we could teach you how to tie a proper tie.”

With that the man turned and left.

Jacob smiled at the idea of having a future and having strangers gawk and stare at him in a suit like that. Then he realized he never really asked what floor the man worked on and hadn’t actually gotten his real name. This made Jacob smile more. A problem for another day. Maybe they’d run into each other again for another smoke. Right now Jacob filled his mind with visions of tie clips and fancy buttons.