Tuesday, March 29, 2011

2014: Full Version Up to Date

2014: Prelude

This is a story about the end of times.  There are multiple threads and stories within each of us.  Each time we use our free will to make a decision, we start a chain of events which is a story.  These events can be fantasized through the imagination which is a stories gateway.  Let us take a journey.

Many people believed the end of the world was coming in 2012 but it never came.  Don't get me wrong, there were earthquakes and life was hard for some.  But for others, life was no different than any other time.  People watched as third world countries such as Haiti and Ghana were destroyed, but it still wasn't in our backyard.  People have a tendency to not care if it is directly not affecting them.  The world paused when Venezuela and its oil fields disappeared in one multiple mudslides, but it didn’t affect much outside of increased gas prices.

The end of the world did not come with a bang.  Instead it came painfully slow as humanity watched cities fall one by one.  Not through war or genocide.  Nor was it biological or chemical.  Those who believed that population growth would deplete our resources were wrong.  Aliens never came from the sky or from the ocean.  Strangely, global warming might have had something to do with it.  You see, in the end what takes out the world is nature.

Many cultures and people since the dawn of time believe the earth gives us what we need.  But what happens when the world decides it no longer needs or wants us?  Or maybe a clearer question would be what happens to us when the world readjusts just as all places eventually do?  Furthermore, how will people react and is it possible for humanity to rebuild?

These questions came and went during 2012.  They were played out through movies, cable television channels and books.  I recall many times going to the local grocery store to hear and see people discuss supplies and resources in either hushed or jokingly voices.  Entire communities in the heartland of America emerged like mini fortresses that held militia ideologies.  Many spiritual extremists took their own lives and the lives of those around them.  Tensions created more tragedies such as school and factory shootings.  The world continued to experience racial and religious turmoil but this did not attribute to the mass floods and solar flares.

Two years before in 2010, the world watched many changes that would prelude the natural disasters to come.  Chile and Peru had earthquakes which knocked out entire cities; Japan and China started to experiences massive volcano activity that disrupted telecommunications. Europe experienced massive blackouts as the ash from Iceland's volcano stopped air travel for weeks and stranded thousands.  But for majority of us, life was no different.  These events did not pertain to us, for our minds could not fathom the depth of the situation unless it was happening to us.  Others took it as signs of revelations and the end.

2011 ushered billions of dollars in lost telecommunications around the world.  With this came more civil unrest.  The world watched as the Middle East was reformed as dictator after dictator was over thrown.  Environmentalists and scientists warned of issues concerning solar flares which we later found out created the big flood.  In the beginning the solar flares were light.  They started as mellow bursts that gave the earth’s atmosphere breathtaking auras but due to depleted resources in our ozone the earth began to experience what some would refer to as nature shifts.  To put it simply, solar flares started a chain of events that led to a change in our polarization.

In America we were having our own problems.  Current issues during 2011 were about New Orleans and the oil spill in the gulf.  Media and fanatics kept on talking about the end of the world in 2012 but others were quick to point out that they have been doing this since as early as people could remember and to put it simple, most Americans did not care.  Many remembered the Y2K scare and did not want to repeat it.  There were enough problems in the real world.  For most, dogmatic questions are not wanted.  Real issues are how to get to work on time, what’s for dinner, or what should I wear when I go out tonight.  All of this changed by 2014.

2011 saw some events that made the world think the end of days were coming.  February ushered in New Zealand and Australia having earthquakes and floods that literally reshaped their landscapes.  Each time these natural disasters occurred people would band together and communities showed their best.  People worked together and rebuilt what was broken.  The problem came from the fact that the earthquakes and natural disasters did not stop.  Instead, a place would get an earthquake and as soon as the people would rebuild another earthquake would follow.  Scientists said that it was all part of the original earthquake and everything that followed was aftershocks.  These aftershocks assured the destruction of some cities.  As soon as one country would send aid another country would get hit within weeks.  By the end of 2011 the world experienced a dozen countries that lost people and cities.  Many feared that Peninsulas were not safe to live on but most people decided to stay still and be tough.   In the beginning, coastal cities such as San Francisco and islands such as New Zealand and Japan got hit.  These disasters did not make many people fear for they were expected.

So what does one do if the end of the world doesn't come in 2012?  We did NOTHING. In 2013 I moved to Washington DC with my wife, April.  We decided to put fears of the end of the world into their proper place and carried on with our lives.  I have a Masters degree in Public Administration and my wife is an illustrator.  Naturally, a city like Washington D.C. has much potential so we decided this was the place to start our new lives.  We have a 17 year old son and we came from the great Upper Peninsula in Michigan.  The UP is in the middle of the woods and has a strong Finnish culture.  We are tough and survive 4-5 months of winter a year.  I am a scholar and we are an educated couple.  On the other hand we lack more practical hands on skills and are clueless on how to survive off of the land.  Our lives center around computer and television screens.  Instead of living in the practical world I prefer to live in the abstract world.  My favorite place is not a bar but the library.  I prefer to have friends that are gamers then who are jocks.  My parents are professors and dinner conservations pertain to Shakespeare, quantum physics and religion.  My wife also lives in the abstract world.  She prefers to zone out in front of a canvas for the day and she is dualistic with talent.  She knows how to both paint and how to illustrate on the computer.  Every six months we travel around the world for three months.  This is our life and it is good.  At 31 years old I graduated and it was time to look for employment.  A few years ago I was an intern at the Library of Congress in D.C.  It made perfect sense to start my career there.  We never knew what was coming.  For that matter, no one knew what was coming.  We all thought that the danger had passed with 2012.

This is my story.  This is how the world ends.

Chapter One: First day

The alarm clock gave a soft buzz and I am drifting in a dream.  I am in a house eating dinner with my wife.  She smells of lavender and her gentle eyes tear up as she talks about her son's recent love life.  She is 5’6; her dark eyes and hair remind me of the dew on grass at predawn in the summer.
I put my fork down as I listen to her.

"Mike! Do you understand what I am saying?"  She tosses her silverware on the plate.  "Our son, Sam, refuses to get on the air plane!  He wants to stay one extra week to be with his boyfriend.  Why can't he ever care about what I want?"  She huffs and puffs as she jumps up and storms into the kitchen.  Dishes and pans rattle as she takes out her frustration on them.

I have a step son who is 17 years old.  His name is Sam and he is gay.  Deep down I believe its each person’s personal decision to be what they want to be but I worry that he isn’t mature enough to make such a decision. It seems such an adult thing.  I understand what my wife is feeling and decide to remain quiet.  It's hard to articulate the pain a child inflicts as they move toward leaving the nest.

I drone out her angry mutterings with some world news.  Remembering what a political science professor once said, "CNN is so damn censored it's referred to as Communist News Network by some," I laugh as I settle on CNN World News.  Stories of global warming and unrest in Israel and Egypt take my mind off my wife.  A most interesting segment catches my attention.  A star in the sky is burning out and is going to create two weeks of extra light.  Apparently by burning out, the star is going to create a black hole and burn bright for two weeks.  The reporter jokingly concludes that perhaps we are living at the end of times and shows a few clips of millions of people gathering in spiritual places around the world.  The phone rings and April drops whatever dish she is holding.

"I bet you its Sam."  She quickly shuffles back into the living room and picks up her cell phone.  I paused as two things simultaneously occur.  The first was on the flat screen TV, an emergency warning popped on screen and said to stay tuned.  The second was her phone.  It wasn't the regular phone she used, but instead it was old cell phone she threw out back in 2012.  My mom gave her that phone when she thought that solar flares were going to wipe out everyone.  This didn't make sense.  I then realized something else as my blood chilled.  The living room I was in was from 2012 and we were back in Michigan.  This was 2014 and I lived and worked in Washington D.C.!

My wife starts to screech, "Oh my God, Sam! What's happening?"  Color drains from her face as she instantly looks thirty years older.  She looks me deep in the eyes and real tears come to her as her expression goes frantic.  She is about to tell me something.  Instead all I hear is a buzz.  It is distant but persistent.  My awareness pulls as I feel myself lift up.  My spirit loses touch with the dream as I open my eyes.  My wife murmurs in her sleep "Turn that damn alarm off!"

Chapter Two: Early Bird Catches the Worm

Its 2014 and I am home.  What a fucked up dream.  I try to remember it but it starts to elude me.  Deep down I feel that I missed something vital but I can't place it.   It is a fine Tuesday morning in September.  The alarm clock shows 7:15 A.M.  I have to get ready for work.  I file the dream away as a nightmare.

Light streams into the bathroom as I open the curtain and window.  Even though I am in our nation’s capital, I find myself sometimes missing nature and woods.  I want to feel a clean breeze; instead I am greeted with a police siren and cars honking.  Balancing with these disturbances is shaky so I shut the window.  I quickly feed our two cats.

I live in a spacious apartment in a tall building in Bethesda, Maryland.  It’s a three bedroom apartment and a very large living room.  I quickly turn on the news and make my wife a pot of coffee.  My mind drifts to the project of the day as I shrug off the last of the nightmare.  Usually my wife doesn’t wake up with me.  She is an illustrator and painter and works from home.

Today is different though.  My supervisor has decided that it is time for me to assist in my first public function.  He needs me to meet a journalist for CNN.  The Library of Congress is working in junction with the Smithsonian to reward a few people for their endeavors regarding education and peace.  One of the guests of honor is the vice president’s daughter.  I need to be there by 10:30 A.M.  I have one hour to get ready so I quickly jump into the shower with excitement.

It takes one hour to travel the red line on the metro to get downtown so I have to make sure I don’t miss the 8:30 if we want to eat breakfast.  For the past six months I have worked at the Library of Congress.  As the assistant to the director I enjoy a very nice office in the ancient manuscript division within the Jefferson building.  There are three main buildings at the Library of Congress and countless workers that assist in the library’s primary function of helping both the private sector and public with knowledge.  I often consider the Library of Congress a modern day Library of Alexandria, lost so long ago to Roman destruction.  Thomas Jefferson donated his personal library after the British sacked the capital back in the day which started the modern library.  My wife loves the Jefferson building because congress used local artists and craftsman to build the magnificent structure.

I hear a rustle behind me as my wife plops down in front of the television set.  She sighs in satisfaction as she sips the coffee, “Mike, what exactly do we have to do today?”  This is a loaded question for she already knows it’s a special day.

I quickly respond with excitement, “We are to be at the capitol building across from the library at 10:30.  We are going to meet a whole bunch of important people!”  I’m very excited for the vice president’s daughter is to give an award to a few writers.  I worked long hours to make this happen.  This is going to be the first time my work blurred with a public function.

Sleep ebbs from April’s expression as she lovingly comments, “You deserve this today!  Who knows, maybe you will get a promotion or something!”  She looks at the television set and quietly murmurs, “I’m going to check my e-mail.  How long until we have to leave?  After the thingy we are doing for you we have to be at the airport at 2 P.M. to pick up Sam.”

She leaves the living room and I turn on CNN.  In the back of my mind I get an impression of déjà-vu but I quickly write it off as anxiety.  I hear her call out, “Mike, make sure you take your blood pressure medication.  With events like today you don’t want to find yourself getting a stroke.”

I quickly get up and walk to the bathroom.  While listening to my wife’s’ advice I notice I only have one week of medication left.  I dryly comment, “Can you remind me to get my medications refilled at the end of the week?  I’m running low.  I also have to get some pain killers for my back” I take the blood pressure pill and wait patiently for my wife to finish up.  Sadly I have high blood pressure and have to take pain medications for my spine.  I have degenerative disk disease which makes moving around a little harder then it ought to be.  We still have 30 minutes before we have to go so I decide to go watch more news.  An interesting segment comes on CNN that is airing about earthquakes in the Pacific and Japan when all of a sudden I hear a gasp and crash.  For the second time I feel déjà-vu.

My wife storms in the living room, her expression completely changed. A half a broken coffee mug is in her left hand and coffee is dripping down her shirt and hand.  My wife has a glass face which makes it very easy to follow her emotions.

 “Sam sent me an e-mail!”She rages. “He’s staying in Michigan for an extra week to be with his boyfriend and did not get on the plane!”  Her anger turns to ache as she begins to cry.

 “Damn, why is he doing this?” I respond. I instantly fear that this is going to affect the day in a bad way.  Instead of saying the right thing I blurt out, “What about the airplane ticket?”  I instantly regret this as April cries harder.

After a minute she gathers herself, “I don’t care about the money, anyways he said his boyfriend's dad will cover it.  I guess they have a concert they want to go to in Wisconsin.” I am quickly reminded how much I love my wife as she pulls herself together.  April prides herself in being stoic, a Finnish trait of being strong and rolling with the punches.  My wife often jokes that I am a whiny German.

April looks at the coffee spill and gives a curse, “I dropped my mug and have to clean it up.  It looks like we won’t have to go to the airport today.  I will be ready in 15 minutes; can we eat breakfast at Burger King?”  She gets up and kisses me on the forehead with a resigned sigh.

Chapter 3: Metro

Washington D.C. has a very pleasant public transportation system called the Metro.  The metro has five train lines which are represented by colors.  We live on the red line, three stops from the end and have to cross two states to get downtown.  It roughly takes one hour.  I have to change trains once.  The Library of Congress is located on the blue and orange line, on the corner of First and Independence Street.  I often hear amazing stories from people before and after work on the train.  There is no reason to take our car unless we want to get stuck in rush hour.

The metro station is only eight minutes away from the apartment complex.  On the way we pass a small store and two ponds with many ducks and a few trees.  If the season is right there are sometimes migrating birds and frogs.

We briskly make our way down to the metro and hop on the train.  My wife buys a newspaper.  There are two basics that have to be mastered if you want to be successful is our nation’s capital.  The first one is obvious; networking is the life blood of any career orientated individual.  And the second, of course, is always stay informed.

I chuckle as she instantly flip pages to the cartoon section, “April, I swear you would live your whole life in a drawing if you could.”  My wife looks more professional today than artist though.  She is wearing a dress suit and her hair is neatly drawn back, sable strands vibrant in the sunlight. The sun is warm on my shoulders as we pass a clearing before going back underground.  The train is making good time.  After 9 AM the crowd thins out because everyone is either at work or at school.  Two grandma’s chatter like chipmunks about their grandchildren a few seats down.  Near them is a homeless man who smells of piss and alcohol.  Across the aisle two teenagers flaunt matching world of war craft t-shirts.  Maybe they are going to a nerd convention, or a “nerding” event as my son would say.

Looking up I see two advertisements, the first is an air force pilot who is promoting the US military, to the right is second picture of a woman sneezing into her sleeve, followed by her washing her hands for preparation of not getting or spreading the flu.

After a few minutes my wife gives a slight laugh and finishes the comics, “Do you want this?”  I answer no.  One of the geeky teens pipes up that he loves cartoons so my wife gives him that section of the newspaper.

She gives a slight gasp when she starts to read the international news, “Michael, did you know Japan is still in a recession after they lost their nuclear plants?”  I shake my head as she continues to narrate the news article, “Apparently over 600 people got radiation sickness since the earthquake and tsunami in 2011, they finally plan on helping the families that lost people.  Over 20,000 died.”  I feel sad for them but at the same time I am happy that natural disasters such as that one missed America.  We did have a few disasters in the last few years, but not like other nations. The biggest surprise, which wasn’t a surprise, was when the earthquake hit San Francisco and Los Angele's in July of 2012.  Unlike Japan who only had a thirty minute warning, we had ample warning and there were minimum causalities.  We did however lose a third of the city when it gradually started to slide into the sea.  Government forced an evacuation and only the fanatics, the sick, and the old stayed.  There was no tsunami.  Much of California’s population migrated to Nevada, New Mexico, Arizona, and Seattle.

I ask my wife, “Anything new happening in the world?”  After a few minutes of reiterating things I knew she finds something of interest.

“Yes, do you know what happened to China?”  I briefly recall that in 2012 they had a crisis.  An earthquake did some unexpected havoc in the western part of the country.  April continues, “The disaster relief department of China's Civil Affairs Ministry says they were unprepared for the earthquake that occurred late in 2012!  It’s been one year and they finally released the reports.”  I perk up; information like this could really impress my coworkers if they didn’t read the paper this morning.

April continues, “The Chinese ministry finally admits that city planning happened too quickly.  A few city officials knew they were building in geological unsafe places.”

I quickly insert, “They should not have been greedy to outdo the world economically.  China could have been content when Japan got hit by the earthquake/tsunami/nuclear reactor incident in 2011.  Instead they invested billions of dollars to enhance their economy and built entire cities on fault lines.  Caution was discarded.”  November of 2012 saw an end to China’s economic expansion.  At 9:43 AM multiple earthquakes started in the Wenchuan, Sichuan Province.  The land split and streams became rivers and lakes.  Within 6 hours over 75,000 died and millions became refuges.  To make matters worse, aftershocks destroyed many of the countries dams and nuclear plants near Beijing.  Another half a million died due to floods in the eastern China due to aftershocks.

April concludes, “The Chinese government shot and executed the top officials who built the region.  They say that the reason the cities were built at those locations had something to do with political corruption.”  I notice we are nearing our stop at Union Station.

“That’s cool honey, you ready for brunch at Burger King?  Good thing we don’t live in China.  Could you imagine our government shooting our own people because of a natural disaster?”  My mind starts to go back to the day ahead of me.

I start shaking with excitement as we walk pass the liberty bell at the entrance of the metro station.  There is a homeless person who has a blue plastic beer cup in front of him.  There is a sign on his chest made out of card board.  I pause for a second and read his message, ‘The world ends today’, I toss a few dollars into his cup and mutter, “Today is just as good as any other day to die.” The rest of the crowd and my wife walk by without noticing.

Chapter IV: Burger King and the Last Supper

I tell April, “I don’t feel like Burger King.” There are over half a dozen homeless people sleeping in booths.  Half wrapped sandwiches give testimony that they once ordered food.

“I don’t suppose we could eat at Mc Donald’s, you know, Mac and Donald’s fine supper club?” She rolls her eyes and doesn’t bother to respond.  I shrug off my discomfort and ask her to order me two double cheeseburgers without onions and pickles.

The fast food establishment is packed with people.  There are no clean or open seats.  There is however one table that has only one individual eating by himself.  He is a middle aged white man wearing a blue flannel shirt and stained blue jeans.  A pro bass fishing hat fits loosely on his poorly combed hair.

“Pardon me, there isn’t any tables open.  Do you mind if we sit here?”  He looks up and blinks a few times; it’s obvious he isn’t a morning person. 

He waves absently at the open seats.  Not knowing what to say I mutter, “My name is Mike.”

He doesn’t seem interested.  He continues to eat his burger and simply says, “Fred.”

I should have been quiet but sometimes I don’t know when to stop talking.  I look down at my watch and notice that I only had 15 minutes to eat.  The capital building is 5 blocks away and will take me roughly 8 minutes to walk.

“What do you do Fred?”  My wife comes to the table and gives me two cheeseburgers.  She doesn’t acknowledge Fred outside of a nod and makes a few noises of pleasure as she plows down her chicken sandwich.  I notice my cheeseburger has onions on it, instead of throwing it I try to pick off the onions with a plastic fork.  There is a long line at the cashier which makes it pointless to try to fix it.

Fred rolls his eyes as he watches me pick off the onions, “I’m a machinist for Crown Cork and Seal.”  He doesn’t say anything more.

After a few seconds I ask, “Sorry, I don’t know who they are?”

It is obvious he doesn’t like conversing and I regret picking this table, “Does it matter?”  He pauses and after eating a few fries continues, “Sorry, I’m having a bad week.  I work for Coca Cola in Minnesota.  I fix machines at a factory.  If you don’t mind I have to be leaving because I have to help set up a stage.  I’m supposed to be on vacation but my son volunteered me to help with some big event.  I’m going to be late.”  He gets up and quickly leaves, half his food is still on the tray.

I look at my wife and dryly comment, “I don’t think he liked me.”  She happily continues to eat and shrugs.

Looking down at my two cheeseburgers, I feel queasy and anxious, my stomach starts to turn and I can’t finish eating.  A homeless guy picks the scraps off of Fred’s tray.  The staff at Burger King doesn’t care.  Instead of feeling disgusted I give a different homeless person who is a Vietnam vet my second cheeseburger that is loaded with onions.

My wife quizzically mentions, “You are going to get hungry before lunch!  Sorry they didn’t get the order right.”

Looking over my shoulder I whine and half jokingly answer, “Maybe I will eat at Mc Donald’s when we are done; they are cleaner and know how to make a burger!” The homeless war vet thanks me as we leave.  He immediately eats the sandwich in three bites. I briefly wonder if karma will ever pay me back for helping people like that.

Chapter V: The Players

It is not far to our destination.   After Union station we have to walk five blocks.  All we have to do is stay on First Street.  Along the way is Senate State Park where if you’re lucky you can sometimes see a congressman or senator eating lunch.  Corridors of majestic buildings come and go us as we make our way to the Capital building.  Each Marble and granite block gives testament to America’s power and prestige. 

Pedestrians span from workers in business suits to groups of Asians who are obviously on vacation.  I try to pass one Asian group of teenagers but find myself walking behind them.  There are roughly twenty teenagers dressed identically in blue uniforms and taking a lot of pictures. They don’t say much but they seem to be on the same page.   The group maneuvers the street like a snake slithering smoothly through jungle.   They have little white masks on to keep germs out and on their backs are three foot rods with red flags at the end.   No chance of stragglers from that group.

“Now there’s something you seldom see around this town,” I comment to my wife as I nod toward the Asian students, “A group consciousness.  Americans are way too independent for something like that.”

We are now passing The Hart Senate Office building and the Russell Senate House Building.  The next street is Constitution Avenue NE.    There are road barriers built on every street.  Heavy metal machines lift up from the ground, painted with streaks of red and white.  On each corner are guard posts but I rarely see them manned.  During high level political functions it is common to see military snipers on the buildings and special cops units with super dogs.

This doesn’t stop the poor from smoking marijuana in the open, nor does it hamper vacationers with cameras.  Today is not a high risk day so there are no snipers.  There are a lot of cops but this is normal.  There are a few Vietnam vets wandering and begging.

As we pass the Supreme Court Building I get excited and quicken my pace.  I see a couple of my coworkers sipping coffee on the front steps of the Supreme Court.  Nearby are a few reporters, they have a hawkish air to them as they patiently wait for the next big story.

I yell out, “Are we ready, and is anyone at the Capital building?”  Mark and Irina look up as we approach.  I see Irina blush as Mark leans over slightly to whisper something in her ear.  Mark is the treasurer of our office; he is a medium black fellow with dark close cropped hair and a proud D.C. native.  Always dressed impeccably, Mark’s perfectionist tendencies extend far beyond financial expertise.

“Hello Mike and April, nice to see you show.”  Mark then asks. “Where were you?  You missed the drill. Director Maxwell is unhappy with you.” 

“I don’t think it matters.” Irina quickly adds in. “If your function goes without hitch we will get national coverage and all will be well.”  She too is dressed nice.  A graduate student from Russia, Irina spends most of her time researching through obscure tombs of the library like most fellowship recipients. 

They look good together; it is no surprise that Mark is courting her.

“Did I miss anything important?”  I notice the blue snake of Asian teenagers has made it to the Supreme Court Building.

“No,” Mark quickly answers, “Veronica signed your name to the check in sheet.  Homeland Security thinks you were there.  She’s annoyed at you though.”  Ever since 9-11 Homeland Security makes everyone do mandatory drills and exercises every month to be ready in case terrorists or nature attacks.

“Shit, sorry.”  Veronica is one of the secretaries.  She might have seemed annoyed to Mark, but I know she probably isn’t.  She has a lot of sympathy for my back disability and usually is a good sport about covering for people for a good reason.  Our job is not hard, but rather there are hundreds of small tasks that make up the day and we are expected to do them with perfection. Everyone at the library seems to have a doctorate and is a specialist in some fashion.  We’re the cream of the crop and really don’t need every second of the work day to do our jobs well. 

“Well, let us not keep the public waiting.”  With a grand flourish Mark directs our attention towards the capital building.  He concludes, “This is a great day to be on television.  Who wants to bet the vice president’s daughter will be ten minutes late?  There is side game going down in the office, odds will be in your favor if you put your money that she will be 8 minutes fashionably late.”

As a group we continue our journey to the capital building.

Chapter VI: Fred

Most people would say that Fred Smith is a good man and like all good men, deserving of a break in life.  The way things had been going for the past few years though showed Fred that the things we deserve often don’t come on time.
The dark blue Geo Prism rumbled as he roughly switched gears.  He was supposed to meet his son in Rockville but got lost in Gaithersburg.  Two days on the road had made him tired and plagued with a permanent headache. He didn’t care much for the East Coast or its people who look like monkeys in suits.  His son was supposed to work in the factory like him, but no, his Kyle believed he was too good for that.  Kyle had to be different and always liked wearing a tie.  Too much ambition complicated things and Fred, like his father before him, preferred to keep things simple.  While Kyle’s brothers and sisters were playing with dolls and footballs, you could find Kyle at the museum.  Fred didn’t understand how someone could prefer the History and Discovery Channel over ESPN.

Fred gave a snort of a laugh and pushed those thoughts aside, reminding himself “What’s the point, it is what it is.” 

 But all the same he wasn’t impressed with a son who dragged him out of his comfortable life a week ago.  If it was up to him he would be back in Minnesota and fishing at White Bear Lake.  Life was good when he was fishing and had a twelve pack of beer. Instead he received a call from his son and just like that he was exactly where he didn’t want to be.  

 “Damn,” Fred cursed, slowing down at the exit sign for Emory Grove, knowing from frustrated study of the atlas sitting on the front seat that he over shot his turn. 

 Fred believed there was only one thing worse than city slickers and that was politicians.  Both his grandpa and dad had believed firmly in the fact that politics was a lying occupation and he had never seen anything to prove otherwise.  All you have to do is look on the news and you will see how politicians in Washington DC never keep their word.

One week ago, during his lunch break, he had received an upset call from his son. Kyle’s wife had decided she had enough of married life, and motherhood, leaving a heartbroken and unprepared Kyle to deal with their two month old son on his own. The boyish panic in his son’s voice made it feel only natural to jump in his car and make the two day trek across country.  His boss was not happy that he walked out without finishing his shift.

His stomach grumbled as he headed back up I-270 to catch his missed exit and he briefly pondered if he should eat something for breakfast. 

During a normal work week he would often eat breakfast at Burger King in Northfield, Minnesota.  Always good with his hands and tools, Fred worked at Coca Cola as a floor man.  Filled with friendly camaraderie and an honest day’s work, Fred loved working at the Crown Cork and Seal plant.  He loved his job so much he decided to be loyal and swore off all Pepsi products.  His family thought he was crazy in that regard but he looked at it differently.  Why would anyone buy a product from the competition who is trying to put your employees out of business?  If everyone bought Pepsi then he would be out of a job.  During poker games boasted that his plant produces over two million aluminum cans every shift and back in 2003 he was voted machinist of the year.  Coco Cola even put his picture up in the break room where the union leaders played cribbage.  Occasionally he dreamed that someday he would become a prominent union person who champions democratic principles but these thoughts seldom lasted long.  He left higher inspirations, and all the troubles that come with them, for people like his son.

Kyle surprised everyone and went to college after high school. After college Kyle got a job with the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C. and disappeared for a few years.  He did not call or visit on the holidays.  That was another problem with politicians and the people who work with them; they become disconnected with their family and community.  On the rare visit home, Kyle acted like he was better than everyone else. But even though Kyle had thought he had moved on to bigger and better things, he got a worthless woman knocked up and ended up married to her, just like the redneck boys back home.  Of course his family was not invited to the sudden wedding because Kyle viewed them as ignorant red necks.  

Who did he think he was to tell his family they were not good enough? 

It wasn’t worth holding a grudge.  His son and grandson need his help and a good Christian always forgives and forgets.  It had been two days of intense driving and his back hurt.  He wanted to sleep but Kyle asked one last thing of him last night after getting in.  His son didn’t care that he was tired and hungry, instead when he got into town his son had the tenacity to ask him to help set up a stage down town before he agreed to let him have his grandson. On the phone before he left, Kyle had agreed to Fred taking his grandson back to Minnesota, to Kyle’s stepmother, Sara. The child needed a proper family.  Since when did work come before family?  Fred grips the steering wheel tighter as he pondered how to drive some common sense and decency into his son.  He didn’t notice his foot press down on the pedal or his speed steadily increasing toward 90 mph.  

Sirens shattered his thoughts as red lights instantly engulfed his reality.  Fred’s head started to pound harder as he pulled over to a complete stop.  Ironically Burger King is advertised a few exits ahead.  At least he will have a full stomach before seeing his son.  What else could possibly go wrong today?

Fred sighed as two cops started walking up to his car with a barking police dog.

Chapter VII: Larry and the K9

The day was going slow.  Larry Anderson sat in the passenger seat of the police cruiser and fantasized what it would be like to die a hero.  His partner’s voice meant nothing and the CB was turned low, mostly static with a periodic voice coming from central dispatch.  In his fantasy he saw himself as a six foot dark haired cop who was meant to take down bad guys.  Getting the damsel in distress would be nice but it wasn’t important. Just as long as she was hot and was easy.

In the real world Larry is 5’7 and built like an ox.  He hadn’t found true love but was convinced that someday the right girl will see him for the stud he was, or so he told himself every morning as he shook off the alcohol from the night before.  He frequently visited the gym but those girls acted snotty and usually had boyfriends.  The females at the police force didn’t like him but he hadn’t figured out why.  His mom told him to go to church or maybe find a nurse but he told her he would rather focus on his career.  He had too much pride to admit he was afraid of women.  He had a badge and gun, most of the time it was enough.  10 years ago he was given the opportunity to raise police dogs in California. With the destruction of San Francisco and Los Angeles, canine training shifted to the East Coast.  He was originally a native from California but with all the end of world issues his mom made him move to Maryland/Virginia.  She was lucky and found an old miser to shack up with.  Larry didn’t like being here though and wanted to go back out West.  He ended up becoming a slight alcoholic and was always on edge. 

It was his job to train and work with K9’s to search for narcotics, explosives, and to teach them how to do regular patrols.  He had lost count of how many dogs he trained, they all had started seeming the same. 

His partner’s voice rudely cut into his reverie, “Larry, is Pixel ready?”  

Pixel was the ridicules name of the current German Sheppard he was training.  Larry looked back at the dog in the back seat of the police cruiser and absently answered an affirmative as he swished his cheap coffee in an even cheaper coffee mug.  His partner didn’t know he mixed his coffee with Jack Daniels.  Larry did his best to keep the mug away from him.  He didn’t add much, not enough to smell alcohol on his breath, just enough to take the edge off.

The current dog was a nightmare from the start.  It marked low on all its testing but the police force did not want to take a complete loss.  The dog wasn’t ready and he hated having to bring her out.  They were on Interstate 270.   It was just as good as place as any to look for bad guys and Pixel needed real world experience.  Some geek in computer crimes had given the dog the ridiculous name in passing, remarking on how the ticked color of the dog’s fur reminded him of pixilation. 

“Shit, we got one!”  His partner excitedly flicked on the lights and siren as a Geo Prism sped past them.  The radar gun clocked the car going 92 mph.
Larry beamed, “Show time!”  Pixel instantly became alert in reaction to the police officer’s excitement.  To her the officers instantly turned from being quiet and docile to sharp predators who are going in for the kill.  She couldn’t help but bark and think its play time.


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