Over a week ago, Manuel had e-mailed his final exam paper, clasped his hands behind his head, reclined in his easy chair. Now he eagerly waited for his exam grade. If he were to earn at least an 85 percent he would be chosen to visit the FBL’s base. He accessed his e-mail, scrolled down the computer-processed salutation and to the grading analysis: Part I: 20/25 Part II: Pro: 5/50pts. Con: 20/25. Jose laughed seeing the apparent typographical error. But even this could not rob him of the feeling of earning a perfect 50 on the pro section. Not to mention that he earned a respectable 20/25 for each of the other two sections.
But wait. There in red inc was his final grade: 55%. He panicked, his heart sank and he began to shake. How could this be, he thought. He had clearly answered the question and justified his statements. He wondered who was behind this. Was it a joke? He must speak to Jack at once. He phoned Julie.
“Julie? Julie! Julie!
“What? Calm down.”
“ You have to help me. Jack just flunked me. He gave me a 55 on the final.”
“A 55 percent?”
“Yes.”
“But how?”
“I got a 5/50 for the pro section.”
“Well I don’t know what to tell you. You’re going to have to deal with this one on your own. He’ll be home
in about an hour.”
That’s it? You can’t help me?
“I’m not Jack; I have no control over what he does.
“Whatever. Fine!”
Manuel had never experienced failure. At least not like this. This was supposed to be the one subject he knew something about. He was forced to question his future as an FBL agent. Physically, he was in the top ten percentile. Academically, he thought the same. But there before him, circled in red inc, was the contradiction to his identity. This single event had stomped out any future hope of his joining the ranks of the FBL. But he would not leave silently.
Manuel made plans to meet with Jack – face to face. He had only seen him in pictures before or silhouetted in his convertible with the top up. Now he would stand before him, a person, alive.
“How incredibly awkward,” he thought. “Who’d have thought we would have met under such bizarre circumstances – Julie, Jack and me, eating dinner together and discussing my ever-diminishing future as an FBL agent? And I’m getting old.”
“How Many?”
“Well, my boyfriend’ll be joining us, so, three.”
“Smoking or non?”
“Umm.”
“Smoking! You still smoke, don’t you Julie. Or did Jack make you quit them too?”
“No. One thing at a time he says. He’s content for now, thinking I quit smoking maristisy. But Jack doesn’t like me smoking around him. You know, both of his parents dying from lung cancer and all. Then again, you’re right; this is a democracy and he’s outnumbered.”
“Yeah, and he’s not even here anyway so what choice does he have in the matter?”
“Okay, if you will follow me right this way please.”
It was just after ten o’clock on a Sunday and the restaurant, Denny’s, was extremely busy. They served alcohol at this one, but by all other standards it was still a family restaurant. From his booth Manuel could see an employee, a busboy probably, outside the window with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, pretending to sweep the parking lot.
“You see that?” he said, pointing out the window, “That’s gonna be me for at least the rest of this year if Jack doesn’t hire me.”
“He will. You’re plenty qualified anyway.”
“Yeah, but the FBL is pretty competitive these days.”
“You wouldn’t want to work for him anyway,” she said, looking at her watch, “He’s always late.”
“You know what they say about boyfriends who are late don’t you?”
“No, what?”
“I don’t know either, but I’m sure it isn’t good.”
“Let me use your lighter before Jack gets here.”
Manuel slid his lighter across the table and Julie lit up a cigarette, coughed up a phloem ball and spit it under the table.
“Well that was rather childish.”
“Well I wasn’t going to swallow it.”
Manuel smelled the faint scent of maristacy.
“Do you smell that,” he asked.
Julie smirked, took a drag of her cigarette. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“It’s only half and half; it won’t smell that bad.”
“Can I have a cigarette? And a piece of gum?”
“I don’t know, can you?”
“Maybe you should become a teacher. You have all the lame jokes mastered.”
Yeah, maybe. Here,” he said, sliding the lighter across the table. “It’s childproof though. Are you a child?”
“No. Why, do you think so?”
“No, but you are compared to Jack. He’s almost twice your age. I thought five years was bad, but he’s got us topped, that’s for sure. ”
“You always were good with math, but he’s not almost twice my age, he’s exactly twice my age — 18 and 36.”
“He’s 36! Wow! Anyway, about my always having been good at math. You do remember who got you through senior year of calculus last year don’t you?”
“Yes. You would spend all your time at my house, tutoring me. Still, you somehow graduated from college. Pretty good grades too.”
“Tutor! Is that all I was, a tutor?”
“No, you were a friend too, one with fringe benefits. Still are. “
“Oh.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just that we haven’t come along very far in our relationship. You’re still with him. We’re still sneaking around.”
“Yeah, but just wait a little longer. Until you’re hired. But, even then, you should wait until you’re tenured. I’ve fictionalized your character to his liking, so you should be getting some real fringe benefits soon. All the employees get retirement, dental, medical. The whole works, you know? I told Jack how you used to tutor me, except I said this took place at the library with other students and that you did it for free. Because you just love math sooo much. You’re so talented Manuel. Why don’t you do something with it?”
“Thanks for the boost of confidence; it’ll certainly help. But I’m so nervous. I’ve never actually met him, unless you count seeing him pull into your driveway as I fled out the back door. So he’s pretty much in charge of the hiring for the FBL, huh?”
“Basically. You’ll do fine. Just relax.”
“I would be relaxed if I didn’t have to worry about wolf nose smelling maristacy on me. He’s such a hypocrite. He argues against you smoking because his parents died from lung cancer, but he’s an alcoholic and your Dad died from cirrhosis of the liver.”
“But I don’t really care if he drinks, even if he does do it like a fish. That’s probably because I don’t really care about him any more.”
“If you say so. Hey where the hell’s our server?”
“I don’t know; they’re busy. What’s your hurry anyway?”
“Nothing, just wondering if anyone’s working here. Well I got to take a piss; I’ll be right back. Order me a coffee if the server comes would ya’?”
“Yup.”
As Manuel was walking away, he saw the server walking toward their table. He went into the stall and had a few puffs of maristacy, fixed his hair, and took a piss. When he returned there was a steamy cup of coffee waiting for him.
Jack, running late as usual, was just leaving his house. It was the one-year anniversary of his mother’s death; Jack’s father had not held on quite as long as her, for he had passed away nearly seven years ago. Jack was not entirely alone on his ride to Denny’s; accompanying him on his drive was a bottle of 151, which he talked to as if it were his mother; he asked it for advice and was surprised when it did not answer. He loved it and each time he pressed his lips to it he was taken back to when he was a child, kissing his mother goodnight. She was always first, followed by his father. He could remember the prickly feeling of his father’s mustache against his cheek.
It was approximately a twenty-minute ride to Denny’s from Jack’s house, but the radio being broken, time seemed to move more slowly for him. Having no music to distract him, Jack had nothing to do but think. And drink:
“God I’m pathetic. It’s not even ten in the morning and I’m drowning my sorrows in alcohol. Why should it matter what time it is anyway? This pain I carry inside of me is there day as well as night. You’re the only thing I can rely on in this world,” thought Jack as he took a gulp from his bottle. “Everything else dies on me or leaves me or cheats on me. So lonely. At least I have Julie. And I’m not gonna let her leave me – I’d become more mad than I already am. Then again, I don’t know that anything would bother me as long as I have you.”
Jack rubbed his hands against the bottle, pulled into the parking space, hitting the curb before he could stopped, screeching the car in reverse and parking, crooked but within the lines. He pulled himself out of the car and made his way into the restaurant.
“Ooo, Here comes Jack. And give me that damn lighter!” said Julie.
Jack walked toward their booth, trying to stand up straight, but tripping over his foot and stumbling to his seat. His breath reeked of alcohol and before introducing himself he called the waitress over for a beer. Except they couldn’t sell beer because it was Sunday and there were more than two hours until noon.
He became furious, started swearing, shouting, standing on the table. The whole works. You could tell he’d already had a few in him. His face had become crimson, the blood rushing to his head, the vein on his sweat-covered and balding head, bulging as he shouted obscenities. Manuel, is it?” he asked at length.
“Yes.”
“In short, your test has been reviewed and the decision remains. You do not fit the profile.”
And that was that. There was nothing more to say on the subject. But Manuel would still wreak the rewards of an FBL income. He practically lived in Jack’s home. He’d been there several dozen times before, just the two of them. They’d go immediately to the bathroom where they’d ritually smoke maristicy, always from a homemade pipe constructed on the scene. This was half of the fun, they thought. A little arts and crafts.
The benefits of smoking in the shower were twofold: first, the obvious, they were naked and high, which was a plus for them. In addition, the shower had a ventilator, which sucked out all the smoke. When they had completed their session they wouldn’t smell. This was crucial because they could never be certain when Jack would return. Just last week when Julie and Manuel had finished showering they dried off, put on their shirts. There was banging on the door.
“Honey, let me in,” said Jack. He was turning the knob, shaking it back and forth. Manuel’s heart beat visibly through his sweater and he opened the window the rest of the way. Leading with his head, he braced himself for the fall.
“Just a minute, I’m almost done,” said Julie.
For a bathroom, the window was fairly large and it swung out, making it easier to escape from. But this was little relief from the fifteen-foot fall. Nervous, Manuel didn’t think to lead with his feet. Jack was crashing his hip on the door, demanding it be opened. This was warning enough for Manuel and he jumped, his half naked body somehow managing, mid-flight, to contort itself and land erect on the pile of leaves. Julie dropped down his clothes. Even with the edge of the house, they disappeared from the height of the bathroom. A crashing sound and the door opened, the leaves crunched, the light flickered and the night was silence. Manuel had buried himself beneath the leaves.
“Why is this window open?” asked Jack.
“I thought I saw a shooting star. I wanted to make a wish.”
Jack leaned out the window, looked up at the sky. The gray and endless clouds blot out the stars. “I don’t think you saw a shooting star.”
“Well, my mistake. Maybe it was just the lights of an airplane.”
Jack looked down at the pile of leaves. “I thought I told you to get rid of those leaves. They’re gonna attract mice. What the hell have you been doing all day?”
“I’ll get them right now, honey,” she said, shutting the window and blinds.
They had come to master this art of escape, but Manuel was becoming impatient and he wondered how much longer he would have to lead this double-life.
In the event that they were able to complete their shower sessions, they would make their way to Julie’s room, which gave a clear view of any cars pulling into the driveway. Their room smelled like a brewery on account of Jack’s setting up an office in there where he would drink and analyze data.
Directly next to the bed there was a stereo system. An odd place for it, but Manuel had convinced Julie that it was a good idea because she could still listen to the radio in bed when she lost her remote, which she frequently did. They turned the radio on, played the latest bootleg music disc.
Lying next to Julie on the warm, Queen-sized water bed, Manuel tugged at the velvet blankets. “Knock it off,” she muttered.
“Knock it off,” he mimicked. Julie turned round on the bed and faced the wall, her buttocks facing Manuel. He pressed himself against her. She could feel him and she sat erect in bed. “Leave me alone. I just want to lay down.”
“What’s gotten into you lately?”
“Nothing. I keep telling you, I’m fine.”
“I know. And each time it seemed like you were about to pour out your soul, but then you remained silent. Seriously, Jules, you have to tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I wish I could. Everything just got so fucked up!”
“What? What’s fucked up? My career?”
“No. God no! I wish I hadn’t met you Manuel.”
“How could you say that.”
“I’m not who you think I am Manuel. I’ll tell you some other time.”
“Honey, we all have our secrets. Just tell me.”
Jack celebrated his 40th birthday, and Julie gave him a candle for his present. Although Manuel was not there the day Julie gave it to him, he remember going to the flea market with her to help pick out a gift. Jewel and Manuel, alone, together again. She would always blush when he called her Jewel.
“Jack only calls me that when he wants something,” she would say. But he already knew that; he had jokingly told him in his office on more than one occasion. He told him all he would need to know. Like how Julie’s interest in foreign nations stressed him out and caused him to drink.
“Good thing she doesn’t ask me about that anymore. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise; it drove me crazy,” he’d say.
Shopping for Jack’s birthday present was one of the rare opportunities Julie and Manuel had to be together outside of her house; they had been planning to go to the movies for months, but Jack wouldn’t allow that. Nothing Jack did surprised him anymore; he was a mad man and he saw everyone as a possible threat.
“Jack, would you mind if I went to see a movie with my friend Michelle?” Julie asked several months ago.
“What, aren’t I good enough company for you? You gotta go to the movies with your friends? You’re not married to them. You’re married to me damn it! There will probably be guys there too won’t there?” shouted Jack.
Between the conversations Jack and Manuel had had in school and what Julie had told him, he felt as though he already knew what Jack liked, what he loved, and who he loved; he loved her too. And he still wonders if this was why he froze in the flea market when they passed a table of aromatic candles. About a dozen of them were burning brightly, their aroma drawing them nearer, the flames igniting the silent hatred within Manuel.
“It’s perfect! Smells good, looks good, probably burns well too. He could light it while he finishes his paperwork. It’ll remind him why his work is so important and that all foreign books must be burned,” he laughed.
“And we can use it to cover up the smell of our smoke; we won’t be trapped in the bathroom anymore.”
“Well, okay, but which one? Tangerine, honeydew, grapefruit?”
“How about this one? Strawberry. Remember the time we made love in the strawberry fields?”
“How could I forget? My underwear will smell like strawberry fields forever. Well it’s settled then, I’ll get it. Actually, I’ll get two.”
Fortunately for Manuel, or perhaps unfortunately, people are predictable. For the next seven days, Jack and Julie did exactly what he told her they would: He lit the candle and did his paper work, and she used it to cover up the smell of the maristicy. On the seventh day, a Sunday, Julie and Manuel once again took advantage of Jack’s absence; he was at a bar.
Manuel took the path he had taken so many times before – against the house, under the evergreen tree, the needles prickling his face, and then to the back window, climbing in headfirst and flipping over the windowsill, surprising Julie who was watching television, high as a skyscraper.
They lit the candle, smoked one, and with clever arrangement, they were off to the movies. It took a lot of convincing to get Julie to go to the movies with Manuel; she said Jack would be angry. Even if she did lie and say she was going to the megamarket to get him some clothes.
Manuel needed to see a movie. He needed to escape. The thoughts were coming with greater frequency and intensity. One moment he was a pound of pressure away from pulling the trigger and the next, complete bliss, Julie and him, together and in perfect harmony. He just wanted to laugh, to smile, to be alive. But he felt so dead and so alone – even though he was surrounded with so many of his friends. But they were just background noise, like the chatter of the factories, the sound of his computer voice. None of them knew who he was. Like everyone he had ever met, he was too afraid to become attached. Perhaps it was the fear of rejection or the thought of tasting love and having to spit it right back out. Either way, he was straddling the fence and it was hurting his balls. Something had to go. He hoped it would not be him.
It was a manic fork in the road – good and evil – and he could have chosen either one. But he had experienced love, had only peeked into its potential, but now there was no turning back. He did not know what this word meant – love – had not experienced it in its truest form. All he knew was that it was something he needed more of. No more was contempt nor disdain. It did not matter if he was the only one who felt this way; he would show them the way. So much love, so much hate. The choice was clear. He just needed a way to be with the one who felt the same, who could feel the same.
Manuel had been seeing a lot more of Crystal by this time and he had all but given up on any future with Julie. She was loyal to the Party and to the Party alone. It was Crystal, however, who had reassured him, with whom he shared common ground. They were both quite adventurous and unleashed the child within each other, all the while working together on the issue of Languagism.
It is an interesting thing how the mind works. It was true that Manuel had several reasons to want Jack to just disappear: he rejected his application into the Bureau and he was married to Julie – yet he never consciously decided to kill him. He had shown Julie how to set the alarm on the stereo, had set it on full-blast, and out of all the dates in the world he could have set it for, he chose the one day he knew Jack would be alone, would be most likely to be passed out on the bed.
It was on this seventh day that Jack realized he didn’t have Julie as controlled as he would have liked. He believed that she would change. He believed he could change her and that they would live together forever.
That their flame would never die.
And it probably never would have had Jack himself not died.
He could not be certain of the details that took place when Jack came home, and in the beginning he liked to imagine Jack came home an hour later, already drunk from the many hours he spent at the bar. He saw the planted evidence and immediately went for the bottle of 151, taking large gulps from it as he took out his family album and reminisced about the good times he had had with his parents. He couldn’t bear to lose another loved one the same way. He was tormented, feeling helpless in his desire to prevent history from repeating itself.
He was sitting on his bed and put the book aside for a moment. He looked at the candles, picking up the one on the right speaker, placing it in his hands and becoming mesmerized by the flame. After what seemed like only a moment, but was evidently much longer judging by the candle, which was burnt all but half way, he awoke himself from his nightmare only to realize that this was not a dream at all. He thought of the nightmares he had had as a child – falling from a cliff, robbing a bank, murdering someone.
Manuel told Julie about the one recurring dream he had been having. He would see himself in bed sleeping, and then his bed would burst into flame. Soon, his whole bed was blazing with fire. There was nothing he could do to save himself. He screamed. He shook himself. But still nothing.
Finally he would awake, sweat running down his temples, his heart racing in comfort, comprehending that this was only a dream. These nightmares were ultimately a source of happiness, for they allowed him to realize that he could be far worse off. He knew that this was not such an occasion. The fearful reality had set in; he would be forever tortured by her lying and deceit. He probably exaggerated the situation in his mind for he thought that she would die at any moment. He did not know how to deal with this.
Seeing the solidified wax on the sides of the candle, he scrapped it out, balled it up and threw it into the puddle of melted wax. But it was too late; the solidified wax raised the level of liquefied wax, causing the wick to drown. He had only intended to cause the candle to conform to the shape of its container, but now it was extinguished. He put the candle back on the speaker, the smoke rising as he gazed at the lit candle on the left side of the speaker. It stared at him as he polished off half the bottle of 151. He passed out hugging the liquor, half of the alcohol in him and half of it spilling, forming a blanket around him.
The stereo alarm went off, belting out the foreign lyrics. The candle on the left speaker began to dance with the beat, and it projected a halo of light on the white ceiling. It moved toward the edge. It fell, igniting the alcohol. Jack remained asleep as the bed and house were quickly engulfed with flame, burning away any evidence.
Mere speculation?
Several weeks later, Manuel told Julie about the recurring dream Jack had had – seeing himself lying in bed, blazing with flame.
Julie was visibly shaken by this foreshadowing death. “He never told me anything about those dreams.”
“You don’t suppose one knows everything about their significant other. Do you?”
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