Wednesday, January 29, 2025

Unexpected Influence

 

The temperature in the bedroom slowly climbed and Ludmila could feel herself becoming overheated, slightly sweaty, and slightly nauseous. She rolled to her side to see that her alarm clock had failed to sound, leaving her rising an hour later than normal. At seventy-nine years of age, she had maintained a remarkable level of health from many years of consistent exercise, healthy eating, and the occasional glass of wine. She slowly sat up on the edge of the bed, giving herself a few moments to cool down having escaped from the down comforter that had previously held her captive.

She lived alone in a two-bedroom house in a neighborhood that she had known for fifty years. Her husband Harold passed away nearly a decade prior after fathering their twins who had since grown up, started their own families, and lived less than a mile away. She slid her feet into her slippers and moved through the hallway to the kitchen to see that the temperature outside now exceeded ninety degrees. For being ten o’clock in the morning, she feared where the temperature may peak by midafternoon.

Still in her nightgown, she peeked out the living room window to see a neighborhood that had radically changed since the time they purchased their home so many years prior. She raised her right hand to adjust the volume on her hearing aid, until she realized that she had not inserted them when she rose from bed a few moments before. Returning to her bedroom, she put in her hearing aids and turned them to a comfortable level, to hear the sound of music coming from somewhere outside.

She could feel her frustration rising from the constant stream of noise from her immediate neighbor, a young woman named Katarina, who seemed to have no regard for her neighbors, or any respect for herself. Ludmila took a shower in water that was cooler than comfortable, thankful for a reprieve from the heat. She dried herself, combed her hair, and put on her Lulu lemon yoga pants and an oversize t-shirt.

She looked out the second bedroom window to catch an unfortunate view of Katarina in a bikini washing her car. Perpetually disgusted and confused how the definition of modesty had changed over the decades, she knew that making any kind of comment or question to the young woman would only elicit words of disdain from her.

While not exactly the most verbal person, Ludmila kept mental track of Katarina’s behavior and choice of company. As she thought back over the past month, she could count seventeen different men coming and going from Katarina’s front door on one evening and the following morning. The thought of that volume of activity with so many different people made her head spin, her stomach turn, and her sense of morality convulse in response.

Ludmila worked very hard at not being judgmental, for she understood that the youth of the current day lived by a completely different system of thought and behavior than she had at their age. When she was Katarina’s age, she was married with two children, with several handfuls of responsibility. She knew love, she knew sacrifice, and she understood the meaning of giving to others rather than simply pleasing oneself.

Almost every evening, she would watch Katarina leave her home in clothing that any decent or moral person would never wear in public. Most evenings, Katarina would return home with a different man and see him off the next day. She struggled to keep thoughts out of her mind of what exactly was taking place so many evenings each week, disgusted at the behavior that was so contrary to decency. She knew that Katarina’s lifestyle would eventually land her in a place where no man would even consider marrying her, for someone like this was certainly not wife material.

After a light brunch, Ludmila sat on her front porch, watching traffic and pedestrians travel past while she sipped her iced tea in the oppressive heat. Sometime around one in the afternoon, the neighbor on the opposite side of the street, a young man named Brad open his garage door, turn on what he claimed was music and play video games on a remarkably large computer screen. “The man is over thirty years old,” Ludmila grumbled to herself, “and he spends his time playing. This should be an embarrassment to any responsible adult.”

Nine in the evening finally arrived and Ludmila watched Katarina climb into her car in what some would call a dress but looked more like lingerie. She watched as Brad turned his chair to watch Katarina slink across the driveway to then drive away to a local nightclub. The loud and profane music from Brad’s garage continued until almost midnight, when Katarina returned with another man in tow, to disappear inside her home.

Ludmila had been sleeping for several hours at this point and found her next morning a repeat of the day before. Monday morning arrived and she watched Katarina sending away another man from her front door and Brad drive away from his home, going to work she assumed. She had risen before the terrible heat arrived and walked to the grocery store with her wheeled metal basket in tow.

As the years continued to flow past, Ludmila still retained her strong mind, her strong body, and her sense of morality, watching Brad continually turn his mind to mush with video games, professional wrestling, and comic books. She watched Katarina grow older and older, to see a steady decline in male attention for the cold, bitter, lonely woman who once was fit and pretty. At this point in all of their lives, Ludmila knew that any words of advice or comments were too little, too late.

She rose on the morning of her ninetieth birthday, to welcome her sons, their families, their children, and a great number grandchildren into her home for a celebration. Surrounded by loved ones, happiness, and a history of fulfillment, they all sat in the backyard enjoying a barbeque. She looked over the fence into Katarina’s yard to see the girl who was once the attention of so many men, now alone with an empty house. The young woman had destroyed her own life, not seeing the path she took would only lead to emptiness and loneliness, having nothing and no one to love or care for.

As evening began to set in, she hugged every family member, thanked them for their time and willingness to visit, inviting them back at any time for dinner, for coffee, or for a brief chat. As her second son and his family drove away, she could see Brad, once again, sitting in his garage playing video games. “There is nothing more pathetic than a grown man who is starting to turn gray still playing games like a child,” she grumbled to herself.

Another decade passed and she remained independent and strong, still entertaining family and friends on a regular basis. As she neared her hundredth birthday, she saw two sale signs planted in the yards of her neighbors, wondering if something happened to them, for she had seen little activity in either home for quite some time.

Much to her joy, she watched two young families move into the homes within a few weeks’ time, bringing the sound of happy children, barking dogs, and normal family life into the neighborhood. Ludmila had developed a routine over the past thirty years of rising each morning at the same time, eating her meals at the same time, and staying active enough to keep her muscles and heart strong.

While she watched her new neighbors increase their families, she thought about Brad and Katarina and wondered about their well-being, if they were still alive. She was absolutely certain that both of them were sad, lonely, and possessed only worn-out lives that produced nothing of value. Like owning and operating a vehicle and at the same time not taking care of that vehicle, both Brad and Katarina had drained all joy and fulfillment from their lives by being terribly short sighted and self-centered.

In the same week, she received two funeral invitations, one for Brad and another for Katarina, which came as a surprise as she had little interaction with either of them. Their arrival communicated to her that her mere existence and brief interaction had some sort of impact upon their lives. She attended both funerals to see that there were less than a handful of people at either one. As she sat and listened to the funeral director read a brief letter from both of them, her name was the only one mentioned as being a positive impact upon their lives.

Later that evening after the second funeral, she sat in her living room reading over the funeral announcement that neither one of them had any close friends, or family to see them off as they passed into eternity. She thought back to the few times when she spoke with both of them, wondering if she could have said or done more to help redirect them. She knew it was wishful thinking, but at the same time, the mere fact that both of them invited her to their funerals must mean something.

She prayed that evening that they would find some kind of peace and rest wherever they ended up after their respective demise.


Wednesday, January 22, 2025

Community, Love, Wisdom

 

The sun was gloriously warm that day as Roger sat in the park enjoying his hour-long lunch break. He had just finished his meatball sandwich, corn chips, and sweet tea when three individuals walked past that communicated a mixed message regarding their identity. They were dressed like women but were hairy and shaped like men, a ponderous situation for Roger as he felt that this attempt at visual deception was some sort of cruel joke. The trio were holding hands and giggling like teenage girls, though they were unarguably full-grown adults.

He knew it was nowhere near Halloween, but their choice of attire communicated something radically different than reality. Full grown men wearing mini-skirts and halter tops and behaving in this manner made his head swirl, his stomach turn, and gave him the urge to flee to somewhere sane, if there truly was anywhere reasonable left to live. Like driving past a car accident, he couldn’t help but look at the perverse debacle before him. Within a few moments, he leaned forward and rested his forehead on his hands.

He could feel his heart aching, his stomach in a knot, and his emotions swinging between revulsion, confusion, anger, and disappointment, knowing that his culture had been heading in this direction for many decades. Standing up, he shook himself to try to relax and decided to walk for a few minutes before returning to his office job. As he slowly traversed the sidewalk, he saw more and more of the same insanity, confusion, and perversion. It took him only a few minutes to realize that bookstores no longer existed and had been replaced by internet cafes, taverns, and cannabis dispensaries.

He had been following the news for the past several years about the steady decline of literacy, intelligence, and the loss of the ability to write. With multiple decades of AI basically running the world, mankind had become nothing more than worker drones to continue a steady stream of barely functional human beings. Roger was one of the few workers that knew how to read beyond a fifth-grade level, how to operate a car, how to repair and use basic tools, and create something tangible with his hands.

He covered a distance of just under mile before returning to his office. As he sat at his desk, he looked out upon the teeming masses that seemed to wander aimlessly across the sidewalks. Most of the women were borderline naked, there were more addicts than he could count, and children were nearly non-existent. He had a small number of friends who were married and having children, but even with this small number of reproductions taking place, the majority of those having children were relatively uneducated, in essence creating another generation of ignorant, unskilled, and incapable human beings.

With thirty minutes left to his day, he opened his Excel spreadsheet to finalize his projections for the current trajectory of the culture. The rate that AI had been advancing over the past twenty years continued to accelerate, making more and more progress with “perfecting” the world as mankind became less and less capable of doing anything of value. “Twenty years at best,” he muttered to himself. As the clock ticked to five, he rode the elevator to the parking garage with a handful of small, hardly intelligible, hardly conversant fellow human beings.

He drove home, parked his car in his private garage, and turned on the oven to cook a pizza for dinner. After he finished eating, he revisited his projections for the future of mankind, wondering if there was anywhere left in the world untouched by AI or containing people that possessed even a sliver of ability or creativity. With an emptiness in his soul, he knew the chances of finding such a place possibly hovered around one percent. Feeling himself slip into a mindset of despair, he also felt motivated to sell everything, quit his job, and take a long road trip to find something different.

By the end of the week, he stood in an empty apartment with a great deal of cash, which was rarely seen or used by anyone, as AI had taken full control of electronic financial activity. He stood in the empty silence looking at his map, trying to decide if traveling north, south, east or west would provide better results. After an hour of cogitation, he decided on traveling south, as he had heard of colonies of people, deliberately ghosting themselves from the outside world, Luddites was the best term he could think of for describing them, or maybe Hobbits.

The evening had drug on for many hours and the sounds from outside declined into near silence. He penciled out the best path to follow to avoid traffic cameras and surveillance drones, certain that exposing himself to AI observation would make his escape into obscurity and non-existence nearly impossible. Through a maze of side streets and alley ways, he disappeared into the wild, untamed world outside of the city, surrounded by unending crops and forests, watching the cityscape disappear behind him.

As he drove into the darkness, he thought about his co-workers, his neighbors, and the few people he knew from stores, restaurants, and street corners, nearly all of them illiterate and incapable of conversing on anything other than sporting events, movies, and adult film stars. As their names and faces faded from his memory, he began to imagine living among others like himself who were truly capable of robust, challenging dialog, asking and answering questions that required coherent thought.

He had put together a handwritten plan that contained a list of relatively unknown gas stations, private fruit and vegetable stands, and off the grid places to rest and sleep. With a great deal of cash in his pockets, he eventually pulled off the road and filled his gas tank, his car being one of the few on the road that still operated on gasoline. He followed his handwritten map until the sun began to rise, when he eventually found the small town of Blairsville, Georgia with its abundance of small and safe motels.

Doing his best to remain obscure, he dropped small hints as he walked around town later that afternoon, hoping to catch a few small details about where he could ultimately land and settle into a new life. The further he got away from the city, the more self-sufficient and educated the non-city folk seemed. He bought a few groceries, filled his gas tank, and continued in the direction he believed would have the most promising odds of finding a very small community that would be free of technology and hopefully contain some educated folks.

He finally arrived at the beginnings of a small town at the base of hill, when he encountered several large men with hunting dogs, large trucks, and more guns than he had ever seen, other than in pictures. After an hour of talking, he finally convinced them that he was truly looking for a place to escape the insanity of the computerized world and simply wanted to settle down with real people and live a normal, healthy, and life free of oppression and control. The largest man among them gave him a set of handwritten notes with a small map and told him to ask for Earl when he arrived at the red and white farmhouse and tell him that Clarence sent him.

He arrived at the farmhouse, slowly climbed out of his car with his hands raised above his head in clear view, calling for Earl. Just like his first encounter, he spoke with Earl for about an hour and was eventually invited to join their small community, after he explained his level of knowledge and understanding, his abilities at farming, handiwork, and basic repair skills. When he finally flopped onto the small bed that had been assigned to him, he could feel the tension dissipate from his neck, knowing that the ignorance, the ugliness, and the bestial behavior of the uneducated masses was far, far behind him.

The next day, he was assigned the responsibility of gathering eggs from the henhouse, where he met Ellie, who seemed to be particularly drawn to him and remarkably friendly. He had spent the first twenty years of his adult life alone, never really giving much thought about finding a wife, but with Ellie’s arrival and attention, his mind began to change, as her clarity of thought, her beauty, and her abilities in this small community, all seemed a glorious fit to everything he wanted and needed.

After six months of spending every possible moment with Ellie, he had learned how to shoot, how to hunt, how to fish, and how to listen to the silence around them, being aware of foreign or technological sounds that would certainly bring trouble if not addressed. At forty years old, he and she married, began having children, and raised them free of the perversion and corruption of the outside world.

His heart grew by three sizes as he watched his children grow, begin to ask questions, to learn, and to mature into fully functional adults so unlike those he knew in his former life. Roger, Earl, Earl’s wife and Ellie sat together on Earl’s front porch when an incredibly loud roaring passed over them, to reveal several dozen jets headed north. “Well, that doesn’t look too good,” Earl said. “Hopefully, whoever that is will wipe out the abomination of corruption that lives in the big cities. This may be the answer to the many problems that they’ve imposed upon our world. To me, this looks like a new start.”

Roger remained silent, knowing that this attack was not sourced from other human beings but was simply the next step as AI was cleansing the planet of the ignorant and relatively worthless race of mankind. But he also knew that he and his community would be perfectly safe, as well as the hundreds of other communities that were scattered across the southern states.


Wednesday, January 15, 2025

Miserable or Otherwise

 

Lucinda sat on her back patio watching a small flock of robins hop around her backyard and she felt as big as a house, feeling the occasional kick as she reached the last few days of her pregnancy. She and her husband learned the gender of the child two months prior but kept this bit of news a secret, wanting to surprise friends and family. Pulling herself to her feet, she began a slow walk around the grass, wishing for the moment when her water would break and thankful that her husband was home.

One particularly aggressive kick landed upon her bladder, which clearly broke the amniotic sack, to drench her feet and slippers in the warm liquid. She cried out her husband’s name and began a careful waddle back toward the patio. The wide-eyed husband almost instantly appeared in the doorway and looked at her soggy slippers. With car keys in hand, he helped her through the kitchen, into the garage, and into the front seat of the car. He dialed 911 in the hopes that a police escort could be had, fearing a scenario where he would need to speed through their cul-de-sac and downtown.

A nurse met them at the front door of the birthing center with a wheelchair and within one hour Peterson number three arrived looking as beautiful and flawless as expected. After a forty-eight hour stay at the hospital, they returned home, made a few phone calls and began to receive a steady stream of visitors. Susan, the woman next door who was also pregnant stood at the side of Stuart’s crib, rubbing her belly, knowing that their child who was scheduled to arrive in less than two weeks would find a good friend in Stuart.

Five years passed and Stuart and his two-week younger best friend, Constantine entered the school bus together for their first day of kindergarten. The two boys moved from grade to grade, from project to project, and through all their conjoined plateaus of maturity as the years passed. They graduated high school together, inseparable, and knowing every wish, every desire, and every hope, one of the other. They may as well have been brothers, for neither one could remember a time when they didn’t have one another to find or give support.

While Stuart was the extreme academic as well as an athlete, Constantine was the artist who was always watching at every sporting event, every chess competition and every academic bowl.  Stuart faithfully encouraged Constantine to continually push himself harder, to expand his artistic skills, and emulate an unending array of painters to expand his skill set. It was with a heavy heart that Constantine watched Stuart drive away to university in the next state over, promising to visit him whenever possible. With the image still in his mind, he hurried back inside and painted a perfect rendition of the departure in a way that would have made Vermeer proud.

              Stuart and Constantine continually traded emails, texts, and phone calls, keeping one another informed of progress in academics, sports, and artistry. After a relatively short interview on a local radio station, Constantine sold three of his painting at prices that far surpassed his wildest dreams, his parent’s highest expectations, and Stuart’s as well, all of them believing that he had taken the next step in making himself known in the world of fine art.

              A month passed and he received an invitation to put on a show at an art installation downtown, news that he quickly passed on to Stuart, thanking him for pushing him, encouraging him, and challenging him to never be satisfied with moderate success. All but three of his pieces sold, bringing in a staggering amount of money, which allowed him to open his own studio in a rented space in the artistic region of town.

              The following four years passed surprisingly quickly, and Stuart received a job offer as an actuary in his hometown. His and Constantine’s relationship picked up as if it had never been interrupted. As their places of employment were relatively close, they met for lunch two or three days a week, thrilled at their reconnection and personal successes. Constantine’s success in painting, exposure, and sales grew too large for him to continue on his own, forcing him to hire a secretary to handle the financials, the front desk, and to act as a sort of executive assistant.

              Six months went by, and Constantine found himself becoming more and more drawn toward the secretary, who somehow seemed to shift into the role of girlfriend, advisor, and best friend. Once a month and sometimes more often, Stuart would come by the studio and Constantine could see the interaction between Stuart and Margaret becoming more and more hostile. He suspected that Stuart believed he was being replaced and seemed to think that their relationship was suffering and becoming lukewarm as time passed.

              Saddened by Stuart’s ideas and hostility toward Margaret, he did the only thing he could think to do which was to increase their time together, have him over for dinner, meet him for lunch more regularly, and leave encouraging voice mails and texts each day. But all of his time, energy, and hopes became interpreted as nothing more than vain attempts, and empty aspirations. As the months continued to pass, Constantine could see Stuart pulling further and further away, until it seemed that everything they once had was completely gone.

              Weeks after a somewhat secret marriage ceremony, Constantine walked out his front door to find that his car had disappeared, with an ominous symbol painted in red upon the concrete beneath where the car once stood. With no other option, he ordered an Uber and was met by Margaret an hour later at the studio. He placed a call to the police department, filing a claim that his car had been stolen. He and Margaret rode home together at the end of the day to find their spray-painted symbol in their drive had been marked out with crime scene tape and presumably photographed.

              Three more weeks passed, and the police could give no positive news on the whereabouts of his car, forcing Constantine to file a claim with his insurance company and buy a new vehicle. Feeling somewhat uninspired that particular morning, he and Margaret rode into work together to find that the large pane glass window in the front of the studio had been broken, and everything inside had been either stolen or vandalized.

              He filed another report with the police department, and they were able to identify the culprit by using security camera footage from a building across the street. One small glimpse was clipped from the footage, to identify Stuart as the man behind the destruction. Constantine felt sick, empty, confused, and frustrated, wondering if there was anything that he could have done differently. He thought back to all of his phone calls, voice mails, text messages, emails, and even handwritten letters, knowing full well that he did all that he could have done to make things right.

              He contacted Stuart’s parents and inquired of his wellbeing, to learn that he had quit his job, sold everything he owned and moved out of state. They confessed that Stuart had slowly been drifting from them as well and they had no idea where he was or how to make contact with him. Determined to make everything right, Constantine hired a private investigator to find his lost, confused, and clearly angry friend. After three months, the investigator contacted Constantine and reported that Stuart now lived alone in a single wide mobile home in a tiny town just across the border in the next state over.

              He provided photos, online activity, and records of his daily activity, all revealing an angry and empty shell of man that Constantine no longer recognized. He vacillated between simply letting it go and allowing his friend to destroy himself, or to make short trip and visit him, to try to find logic or reason for the sudden, drastic, and bizarre change of events. He opted for the latter and discreetly arrived at the small town, to find Stuart spending every evening with the less than ideal locals at a small tavern, drinking his once brilliant and articulate mind into a maelstrom of distraction and anger.

              Refusing to simply let it go, he followed Stuart home one evening, well after two in the morning and waited for him to emerge from his single wide. The two engaged in conversation and Constantine told Stuart that he forgave him for all that he had done and hoped that he could help him return to his former self and return to his friends, family, and loved ones. He could see the struggle and confusion in Stuart’s eyes, hoping that he would positively respond and once again become the good, kind, loving person that he used to be.

              Three more months passed, and he saw no sign of his friend, which forced him to struggle between taking a next step or to simply letting go, hating the idea of Stuart being lost to his anger, his frustration, his despair, and his newfound love of alcohol and shameless women. He knew that he had put in as much effort as was reasonable, so decided to focus on loving his wife, caring for his parents, and creating art that was fed and formed by the plusses and minuses of his friendship with Stuart.


Wednesday, January 8, 2025

A Gradual Warming

 

The two men stood on the sidewalk at the southern edge of Hampstead discussing the wisdom of purchasing a home in one of London’s most prestigious neighborhoods. The two men, brothers and successful hedge fund managers had more than enough money to buy this property. They had grown tired of the long commute, the noisy neighborhood, and the constant threat of robbery in their current home.

While technically the home was located in Hampstead, they could see the lower income neighborhood on the opposite side of the Belsize Wood. They were both slightly concerned that living this close to potential crime was certainly grounds for placing a lower offer on the property, but they didn’t want to lose the opportunity of living among likeminded others.

“Let’s walk through one more time,” Archibald suggested. “I would like to take another look at the library. I think it’s large enough to accommodate our combined collections, but I want to confirm.” Reginald nodded in agreement and they both approached the real estate agent who patiently waited for them on the front steps. The three men stepped through the front door and bathed in the glory of the polished hardwood and granite that surrounded them.

Confirming their intention to buy the property, the agent invited them to follow him to his office to sign the paperwork and transfer the funds for immediate possession of the home. “I have to say gentlemen that eighteen million pounds for this home is an exceptional price,” he said. “I can process the paperwork today and you can pick up the keys tomorrow morning when our office opens at nine.”

Archibald and Reginald Harrington signed the documents, transferred the funds and met at their new home the next morning after Reginald retrieved the keys from the real estate office. By weeks end, all of their possessions had been packed, moved and established in their new home. Archibald stood in front of a relatively empty pantry, weighing the pros and cons of making a trip to the market or placing an order online to have everything delivered. Reginald convinced him of the latter, suggesting that the two of them make a quick stop to pick out several bottles of their favorite Malbec to cover their wine needs for the following week.

The two men navigated through the map to choose the nearest quality wine shop, finally agreeing on a quick trip to Jeroboams on Heath St. but only after the groceries were delivered. The groceries arrived and were quickly followed by the arrival of their dinner from a pleasant young man wearing a Deliveroo jacket. Braised duck, a beautiful assortment of vegetables, and a bottle of Merlot tickled their palettes for the next thirty minutes. They finished their dinner, stood together at the massive bay window in the library upstairs, looking down upon the park, while enjoying a small ensemble performance of Vivaldi.

They could see occasional movement in and out of the park, some of the patrons appearing clean and reasonable until a small child darted from the corner of a home on the opposite side of the street. Reginald pointed her out, commenting that she was cradling her arm in the most protective manner. “I tell you, Archibald, if someone hurt that child, I will gladly make short work of a beating upon him. No one has any excuse for the abuse of a child, who is only looking to be protected and loved.”

“Calm yourself, brother,” Archibald answered. “The last thing we need is ruffians imposing their violence and filth upon our new home. But I agree. Children should be protected. I say we go rescue the child and call the authorities after the child is calmed and safe.” Reginald wrapped the last few vegetables and a medium sized piece of duck from the table and hurried out the side door to hopefully find and protect the child.

Archibald watched his brother cross the street, enter the park, and he then placed a call to the authorities, explaining their situation, to be assured that two officers would be at their address within the hour. Archibald, Reginald, and their new friend, Claire, sat together at the dinner table within five minutes and waited for the police to arrive. The two brothers marveled at how kind and well-mannered the little girl behaved, enjoying what seemed to be her first meal in a long time.

The police arrived as had been promised to document all that had taken place, to then leave with the child, promising that she would be safe in a foster home that would protect and provide for her.

Several months passed and Reginald, standing in his library, called out for Archibald to hurry up and join him. A second time, sickened and angry they watched Claire hurry from the same distant corner, once again holding her arm and run into the park. Frustrated and disappointed at the failure of the authorities to protect this small child, they knew their hands were tied at this point, assuming that her parents or caretakers or whoever they were somehow exercised their parental rights and brought her home.

The two men continued to grow older in their spacious, comfortable, and beautiful home, to watch young Claire turn into a young woman, no longer carrying a sweet innocent air about her. They watched her turn from cute little girl into street urchin and finally into what seemed to be a prostitute. They watched her climb into one car after another, on most nights of the week and weekends, wishing they could intervene and bring her back from the edge of the destructive path she seemed to have chosen.

One evening, Reginald could no longer contain himself, so he left his home through the side door, called out Claire’s name and invited her in for dinner and relaxation. She told him that her company would cost them several hundred pounds, but she would be happy to reconnect after so many years. Archibald had prepared a pork roast that evening with homemade bread and the three of them sat together to enjoy their meal and one another’s company.

The two brothers could feel their hearts sink lower and lower as Claire described the path she had been forced to tread, being forced into this street work by her father, who demanded that she help provide for the family. The sweet, bright-eyed Claire they remembered from so many years before was now completely gone. She had grown hard, cold, bitter, and hateful of everyone, men especially, but she exposed glimmers of happiness as they interacted.

As the evening grew late, Claire stood from the floral print sofa in the library, thanked them for dinner and a beautiful evening, assuring them that everything was fine, and she appreciated them treating her like a decent human being. Reginald walked her to the door, gave her five hundred pounds, his business card, and plead with her to contact him as soon as possible, as he could find a position for her in his office. Trusting that love, compassion, and kindness would be able to pull her back from a horrible future of life on the street with complete strangers.

Three days passed and Reginald’s secretary rang him on his desk phone, informing him that a young lady was in the waiting room asking for him. He asked for a description to learn that Claire had actually taken him up on the offer, so he invited her into his office. A new position was created for her, allowing her to start the next day as a greeter and executive assistant.

Reginald sent a text to Archibald, imploring him to rent a small and relatively close apartment for Claire, knowing that she needed to get away from her destructive homelife and start new. Weeks and months passed, and the two brothers watched Claire slowly transform from a cold and bitter young woman into someone who slowly began to glow with gratitude and love for others. “I knew we could do it, brother,” Reginald said. “Sometimes those who need the most help sometimes know nothing other than their own miserable existence. It is glorious to see the change that has come over Claire.”

They watched her as her clothing became more traditional and modest, her makeup became more subtle, and Reginald offered to pay for laser treatment for the removal of her tattoos. Over time she become more friendly with everyone at the office, slowly learning how to interact in a non-sexual manner with both men and women.

“Clair has certainly blossomed into a completely different person,” Archibald said. “I know this will be a long difficult journey for her, but our meagre efforts have definitely made a remarkable impact upon the little girl we met so many years ago. This really is what life is all about. We can pray that her memories from that former, wretched existence will fade and ultimately disappear.”


Wednesday, January 1, 2025

The Deception of Action

 

Though they lived a great distance from one another, the young boy and the young girl created a relationship that they both knew would never end. Both embraced the idea of sacrificing anything for the other, seeing a long, beautiful future that would eventually truly begin by joining two radically different family lines together.

Tukkuttok sat in the igloo with his parents, staring through the tiny slit near the top of their home, across the blistering white frozen wasteland. The occasional polar bear would cross a safe distance from their home, looking for his next meal as he lumbered toward the waterline. Tukkuttok could see a few plumes of smoke rising from the encampment to the far east, knowing that one of them belonged to Sugusik and her family.

The final edge of winter was relatively close, and he longed for another opportunity to see his friend and throw snowballs at her. It was still far too cold to go outside, so he slipped away from the slit in the wall and huddled close to the fire with his nose beginning to run from the change in temperature. When he warmed to a comfortable point, he rose to his feet and counted the dashes near the front door, aching for the eightieth dash to appear, as it marked his first opportunity to leave their home.

Day followed day and he found himself arguing and fighting with his older brother, wishing he would stop teasing him about his ‘girlfriend’ Sugusik. Both he and she were far too young to even think about marriage, he knew his own heart and from the sparkle in her eyes, he trusted that she felt the same way. Sugusik’s father was a beast of a man, known for heavy drink and physical abuse, so whenever the temperature was amenable, he and she would escape to the small hills behind his community to work on their project of painting a large-scale image of their communities.

Finally, the eightieth day arrived and Tukkuttok could see the slight impact of a moderate rise in temperature, signaling that he could escape outside. Before braving the certain cold of the open outdoors, he warmed himself almost to the point of sweating, donned all of his outdoor clothing, told his mother his plans, and slipped out the door.

Having no desire to face the bitter cold any longer than necessary, he moved at a slow jog toward the opposite community, slowing his pace as he approached Sugusik’s home, being careful to remain out of view of the slit in their wall, doing everything he could to avoid being seen by her father. The last thing he wanted was to receive a beating from a drunk and verbally abusive grown man. At the same time, he knew that if her father even slightly touched him, his own father would intervene.

He kept a close eye on their slit and saw a small pair of eyes appear and twinkle, which surely meant that he and she would soon embrace and escape to the caves to continue their painting. He paced the small space between two opposing igloos waiting for Sugusik to emerge from her home, hopefully not followed by her father. Waving his arms to keep his circulation moving, he remained relatively obscure and received a subtle gesture as she turned to walk toward their cave.

Adjusting his path into a wide arc, he met up with his ‘girlfriend’ at the edge of her community, seized her hand and the two exchanged words, both thrilled at this chance to see one another again since the beginning of winter nearly three months prior. As they made their way into the cave, Tukkuttok built a small fire and moved the now frozen paint supplies near it. They waited for the heat to impose itself upon the paint and their tools, holding hands they walked the rock face that held their ever-growing artistic rendition of the community.

He could feel himself warming and presumed that she felt the same, so he slipped off his gloves, reached under her bearskin jacket, longing to touch her rather than merely see a tiny sliver of her face around her eyes. As he suspected, she was toasty warm and reciprocated the touch by removing her own gloves. Looking into her eyes and actually feeling her brought a shudder of delight that passed over his entire frame.

They slipped out of their jackets and fully embraced one another, both thrilled at the so long for interaction. This was a moment he had been dreaming throughout the entire winter. He knew he was trembling a bit, and he could feel her tremble as well. He had no idea how long they had stood in this long embrace, and he never wanted it to end but the paint would dry out if left too long in the embrace of the flames.

He gave her what he intended to be a quick kiss, but it continued for a gloriously long period of time until they separated and gathered their tools and paint. This beautiful moment became a regular pattern for the next thirty days and they finally finished their artistic creation. As day thirty came and went, they stood together, in a tight embrace, he holding her from behind and she caressing his arms as they looked upon an incredible work of art. A moment of glory that had taken them three spring and summers to complete.

“Now we can enjoy the beauty of the remaining days of summer,” he said. “I think this painting will remain here for hundreds of years and hopefully communicate the truth of our people to whoever comes along after us.” She turned herself around and embraced him as well, burying her face into his chest. She then pulled him toward the fire to gather their things and step into the comfortable sunshine and gentle breeze.

They left their coats at the opening of the cave and chased one another around the field that lay between the caves and the edge of the ocean. Finally sitting down together to look out across the great water, he wondered how the rest of the summer and the summers to follow would play out, now that their work of art was complete. The sun eventually reached the horizon, and he gathered their coats to take her back to her family.

The next several days were spent working with his father and brother, catching, cleaning, and drying fish for the next several months. He could not resist looking across the open space at Sugusik’s home, wondering if she missed him as much as he missed her. After a full week of work, he approached her home and watched for her twinkling eyes in the slit of their home. Two days, then three days, and finally four days passed, and he still saw no sign of Sugusik. He sat alone, feeling empty and confused, until her mother emerged, approached him and told him that Sugusik had left several days ago to visit their extended family on the far northern end of the land.

Knowing that she was gone did not help his emptiness, but he could only spend each day checking for her return and as summer came to an end, there was still no sign of her. Feeling hollow, he snuck off to their cave to relive happy memories and appreciate the beautiful art they had created. He entered the cave, built a small fire to generate enough light to see their art and realized that the massive, beautiful painting was completely gone, as if someone had miraculously erased it from existence.

The only thing that remained was a swirl of brownish sludge in a puddle at the bottom of the wall. Tukkuttok dropped to his knees, confused, angry, sad, and frustrated, wondering what had taken place. The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled him from his sad introspection. He turned to see Sugusik at the cave entrance with her arms folded.

“I’m sorry Tukkuttok,” she said. “I had no way of communicating with you what has taken place, but the artwork needed to go away. What we had was beautiful for a time, but it needed to end, and I couldn’t leave our creation, for it was all a lie.”

Tukkuttok looked at her with so many memories and feelings and disbelief, wondering what had gone wrong. He suspected it had something to do with her father and possibly the long trip she had taken to ‘extended family’, certain that someone else had stolen her away with promises of bigger and grander things than he could accomplish. He watched her turn and disappear into the sunshine outside, feeling broken and defeated, not knowing what to do next.

Now alone with a bitter feeling in his stomach, he began to once again gather the materials to recreate that which had been destroyed. With only his sole efforts to bring it to fruition, he knew it would take twice as long, five possibly six summers before it could be re-imagined in his own vision and voice.