Bulb, page 4
“Bah, it’s only threatening to rain. Why does everything have to be freakweather? A few branches won’t kill us,” Dad said.
This was more than a few branches. Something ahead looked like piles of dirt as if there had been a small rockslide off to the side. The streetlamp shone directly above it, and when we got closer, you could see it was two little dead deer. They faced each other heads to tails like some kind of strange yin-yang symbol.
“Oh, look at those poor baby deer,” Mom said with her fingers pressed to the window. Their eyes, glazed and open, appeared almost alive.
“Look up there,” Dad said, pointing off to our left.
A considerable deer herd speckled the hillside. Small points of glowing yellow eyes reflected the headlights. In the past, our family made deer spotting a competition. Dad liked to say this region was “infested” with them. I watched his face in the rearview mirror, a smile on his lips from his big score with the deer game, but it melted away as the rain started hitting the windshield. The fading grin was the second to last thing I saw before it happened. The fear in the profile of Mom’s face was the last.
Mom shouted something unrecognizable as our headlights brought the deer standing in the road into bright view. The first deer looked like an albino, all white from the side -- head turned to us, eyes blank and SLAM! And thwunk, another! Soft and solid at the same time, you barely felt the crunch of bone. Chwunn! Another.
A crowd of three together sandwiched as we banked off them into the ramp of the median that sent our car rolling. We ricocheted back over to the other side of the highway, up the steep embankment and rolled back to where the deer we’d hit lay ripped open. Glass, wind, and water filled the air. The chaos dampened to a halt making a glassy slush sound when we landed.
Rain began pelting my ear and neck. A line of bloody spittle stretched and quickly snapped as I pulled my face away from the armrest. Blood flooded my mouth. I tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. I need out. I needed to spit but misjudged the broken window, and it splattered back against me, covering a huge swath of my pant leg sickly red. The sight of the blood must have made me realize what had happened. My tongue throbbed a deep rhythm. I’d bitten a piece off and touching the wound sent a blinding shock of pain along my spine. The whole scene felt unreal, dreamlike, monstrous.
I pushed myself into an upright position. One partially full airbag flipped up and down slapping against Mom’s wet body, which stuck through the windshield and lay across the hood. She’d lost a shoe. Dad wasn’t in the car. Where’d he go? I needed to get out, needed to help Mom. Her shoeless foot wasn’t moving.
I leaned over the seat to try, but nothing worked on the communication system. Digital waste glowed along the edges of the dashboard.
“Mom!” I barked, inciting fireworks of pain from my tongue.
My hand instinctively went to my neck for the phone, but it was gone. Pretzels lay scattered everywhere but no phone. Did I put it on this morning?
Dad’s side of the car crumpled inward so I pushed on the passenger-side door handle hoping the electric would work. No luck. The cracked sunroof angled off its track. A quick shove created enough space to crawl out. Somehow, the headlights remained on, and with help from streetlamps, all the carnage surrounding me worked my nerves into a frenzy. My stomach rose to the top of my throat when I found Dad.
I spat another mouthful of blood a safe distance and knelt by him and a mauled deer. His name tangled because of my tongue. “Dahd, Hey, Dahd." Blood puddled in the corner of his eye socket. I did what every movie had shown me one should do in such instances; I felt his neck. A weak beat thumped in the vein. No phone on him either.
My nerves flared again when I looked up at Mom’s rain-slicked clothes. Blood flowed profusely from a jagged cut on her cheek. Jesus, Mom. I rolled her over on the hood, and her purse slid onto the road. The streetlight bleached all the color from her skin, harsh contrasts of the blood against her white cheek and neck. My hand couldn’t stop the flow. I bent close to see the gash better. The rainwater washed some of the blood away, keeping her face a little less gory.
No headlights shone in the distance, no charging stations or housing complexes, no shopping centers — no sign of civilization in any direction. I shook out the contents of Mom’s purse, remembering she always had a handheld with her. No luck. The middle of nowhere in the rain with no communication options. My head pounded blank and thick as the rain pelted me, causing chills to wave through my body.
I placed Mom’s hand on her cheek, trying to hold the blood in, but the hand kept slipping down and revealing her teeth through the wound. I took off my shirt and wrapped her head with it, leaving her mouth uncovered so she could breathe. I thought she might swallow the blood, choke on it, and tilted her head to make sure that couldn’t happen.
Okay. Okay, they were both still alive. Now what? I looked up into the streetlight. Yes, that’s it. Surely, the Archive would’ve tipped off authorities and help would be on the way, but how could I know for sure when I had no way to confirm it?
I got down and rechecked Dad. No blood patches on his clothes, but little nicks bled all over his face. I couldn’t sit still and watch them slowly bleed to death. The road sensors weren’t blinking the crisis alert. I reached through the window and checked the power. If the headlights functioned, the car must still have some energy source working. I pushed the help beacon switch twice, and on the third try, the road sensors on the railing to the right and the median to the left began blinking. Relief! Someone would be notified. I lifted Mom onto the ground next to Dad.
Blood from the deer flowed away in a wide red streak. The fucking headlights blinded me. I felt like rocking. I was so cold. This must’ve been why people rocked back and forth in movies when they went nuts. Something to do with the way you feel your heartbeat. Mine felt like it was jumping up my throat.
Where were all the other cars? I grabbed Dad’s hand and put it on Mom’s. While getting up, I felt a snap as if I’d stepped on a deer leg. I looked down and saw Mom’s handheld. I’d only broken the cover, but it wouldn’t power on. I thought my nose was running, and without thinking, I wiped my face on my arm, streaking it briefly red with blood. The pressure from my swollen lips on my tongue made me jerk in pain. I kept looking at it and then threw it as hard as I could. I wanted to cry about the absurdity.
I couldn’t leave Mom and Dad out in the rain. At the back of the car, the suitcases lay scattered along the road. Of course, no doors would release, but the trunk bent wide open. I grabbed some clothes from my bag, ran back, and spread a pair of jeans over her body. It didn’t look like enough, so I went to get Mom’s larger bag. A green and white striped dress worked to cover Mom, and a light pink one over Dad helped, but it was an absurd scene. One of Mom’s small white socks had fallen onto the spilled entrails of the deer next to Dad.
I glanced about at the cutting rain, at the blinking highway sensor, at the blood flowing. No doubt help was on its way. No doubts. No doubts.
☴SIX☴
I paused the archive, knowing what was coming and not wanting to continue. The view made me feel as if I was hovering just above the trunk of the car.
“Why didn’t I think to grab the flashlight from Dad’s car?”
Laurel gave me an impatient look. “Possibly with having seen both of your parents bloody and lying unconscious next to a mangled car, you were distracted. You seem to be avoiding the rape.”
“Avoiding? I’m not avoiding it. Come on. I can’t offer one observation?”
“No… you’re right. I’m sorry. That was the last moment you saw him alive. It must still be difficult.”
I looked away, fearing her concerned eyes might trigger tears. I have a photo of Dad on my dresser. In it, I’m laughing with him about a painting I’d done. I was eight at the time. The painting was projected on a wall next to him, a little larger than life-size with Dad written in big letters. A portrait of him with purple hair, a humongous nose and possibly an extra arm for a tail - doesn’t look a thing like him. But, his laughing smile was filled with pride. He shared that smile with me many times over the years. I put the photo on my dresser the week we returned to the apartment because I thought that’s what one does. Most of the time, when I’m getting clothes out, I try not to look at it. The supportive smile had become more of a burden. I’ve thought about turning it down or putting the photo away, but the act seems disrespectful. I avoid it the same way I avoid his archives. The ache in my body over his loss felt very similar to the pain from the breakup with Sara. She remained alive, but it still felt like death. A five-year addiction culminating in a cold turkey heart attack. These archives, especially this one, kept all of those horrible memories vivid. There might be something left for me to gain from reviewing the final section of the accident, but I still could not see it.
We sat there in silence, until Laurel leaned over, put her arms around me for an extended hug, and let me go. I wanted to shrug her off.
“It’s all the same as when I watched it the first time. Nothing new about his death or my feelings that we haven’t discussed in detail. I still can’t believe I left them. I’ve never lost that feeling I should’ve stayed.”
“It’s as you’ve said. There was nothing you could’ve done. You had no way of knowing how bad off he was and that the sensors already alerted support. You were too far from an EMS station.”
“I know. I guess seeing it again also drums up the conflicted emotions I’ve had with his focus on extending his life. All those times, I worried about his health over the years—and how I love my brothers, but without his need to live longer, I wouldn’t be…inconvenienced. I rarely saw him and my mother, still rarely see mom but… that feeling of had I stayed with them longer maybe I could’ve done something.”
“Hold on, first, let’s address your brothers at another time since I know at the base of that statement is slight resentment, but mostly love. As to your father, he worked at Lazaras so the temptation for a body replacement must’ve been tempting in a way that you or I can’t comprehend.” Laurel changed the angle. You could now see my face and body; then she froze the stream again. “Look at you. You were badly injured and probably had a concussion. You were doing the best you could. Yes, we’ve said this, but it’s worth repeating that there was no way for them to communicate with you and certainly if you hadn’t contacted the EMS, your mother would not be alive today.”
I took a deep breath and shook it off. “I’m as good as I’ll ever be about this stuff. I really think I’m okay with his death. It’s just another absurd ending right. Why then? Why that way? So meaningless and we’ve talked enough about that, but it’s the next part… No matter how hard I try, I still can’t... I recall when we watched it last time and the unreal events in it. Right up to when I went running for help is still up here.” I tapped my head. “But I don’t remember those, those people, and nothing I can do, no movies, no books, nothing since has helped me recall those parts.”
“That’s why I’ve been encouraging you. There's nothing new about difficulty accessing ones’ memories. In fact, we recall what happens to us in very weak detail. We have always relied on external sources, whether it's books or other people’s memories. Certainly, the difference here is you appear to recall none of it, and that is also not unheard of but should have you asking why. Don't let the other cognitive tools you have at your command go to waste. We’ve been relying on video, audio, and handwritten sources for a very long time, far longer than the Archive. Repetition will evoke something honest, something true in you. A greater understanding. I have no doubts.”
“You’ve said it… we’ve said all of this before in different forms. Can we please stop here?”
“Stop? But you just said you understo—
“I do understand, but I don’t want to continue. Another time. Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry. I want to help, but—one more thought and I won’t mention it again until after you do on your own.”
“You won’t?”
“I’ll do my best not to. The last thing I want to say is I know the great potential you won’t review it. But, even if you find you can’t, you might consider visiting the area the accident occurred. Go with Lenny to see the area where it all took place. I want you to give yourself a new memory of that space and those locations. It may help you feel differently. Okay? Just think about it. Why don’t you spend some time alone while I get dinner?” Laurel stood and turned to walk out but stopped abruptly. “Also, you should keep corresponding with that girl who contacted you. I’ve mostly cleaned you up and made you presentable. I’d say you’re ready. Please let me know if you’d like me to take the boys to give you some adult time alone.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She left the room, and I looked out at the empty fields and thought about traveling. I should take her up on her offer.
It was only when the dinner bell rang that I stopped watching the horizon. I joined everyone in the kitchen. There was no more talk of my archives for the rest of the evening and barely a note of concern during our goodbyes.
“How about we come over again tomorrow?” Ed suggested.
“I can always make time for you, Edward,” Laurel said, taking his hand.
“How about me too and Ben?” Francis added.
“Of course, all of you. Anytime.”
A glance at Laurel’s face was all I needed to see the concern still filled her eyes. I smiled as reassuringly as I could as I got in the car.
☴SEVEN☴
I was in the middle of Zombii3 and halfway through a bowl of chips when my doorbell rang repeatedly. A screen popped up with Lenny waiting for entrance.
“BUD, Let him in.”
A few moments later, into my living room bumbled Lenny; cobalt t-shirt, no pants, no underpants, carroty socks, no shoes. Lenny found ways to enjoy every opportunity for fun and relaxation. He loved the nude life, loved not worrying about what he wore except possibly to entertain. He maintained a utilitarian sense of fashion where only winter breezes made pants necessary.
“Nice socks,” I said.
He walked up close, looked down with his usual slightly dark-circled eyes, and frozen big white grin. “I like orange. Want ta goh far eh drive? I’ve made a discovery,” he said with a bogus Irish accent. Lenny grew up in Dulac, Louisiana. I always thought somehow that his natural southern accent matched the proud gap he sported between his front teeth. He once told me the gap was a sign of higher intelligence. I’ve never doubted its veracity, but others might.
“Yeah but, maybe you could’ve contacted... I’m in the middle of—” I said with mild annoyance as Lenny’s tall form towered over me, frozen with his toothy grin waiting for my reply. “Hold on,” I said. I switched my movie off and called the twins. Loud footsteps in the hallway, they rounded the corner a little too rapidly and almost knocked Lenny down.
“You are here,” Francis said to Lenny.
“Slow up, boneheads.” Lenny rubbed his leg where the twins slammed him.
“Where’re we going?” Ed said and jerked his eyes back to his screen.
“Riding?” Francis asked.
“Lenny and I are going out. How ‘bout you guys visit with Mr and Mrs Panas?"
“Yes!” they said.
We dropped the boys at the Panas’ place and stopped at a vendor for some Cubbie, hand-mixed bubble tea soda. Thunder crackled from dark clouds, greeting us as we left the MAc. On the front walkway, two young girls were throwing snaps at the ground. Their little white dog barked as each snap hit and made its namesake noise. Lenny walked by, staring intensely at the dog. He acted startled by a snap, pretended not to see the curb as he threw his soda forward onto the grass, then fake tripped and fell for them. He landed on the ground like a rubber band and flipped back to his feet. The girls giggled into little white gloves and skipped quickly away in the swelling breeze, pulling their frantically yipping dog behind them.
“Did you see that?” Lenny asked, plucking a few of the neon orange tapioca balls from the cup that no longer had soda left to go with them.
“All I saw was you wasting your drink.” The wind hustled us toward Lenny’s car.
“Ah, you know. Anything to get em laughin’. They should be heading indoors anyway, plus I wasn’t that thirsty,” Lenny said, chewing the tapioca. Lenny ranked at the top of the fun charts of any children he met, with most people really.
We usually turned off all guidance systems during our explorations, setting it to autopilot local random, but Lenny quickly programmed a destination and closed the screen. These drives were once about exploring those bombed out or burned down areas on the East Coast created during the first year of privacy riots - small cities or big towns like Allentown, Baltimore or those miles just outside of Boston, everyone roaring with anger at others knowing their every move. We had no desire to scavenge them as others did; well, occasionally there would be small items found which were too good to leave to rot, but mostly there was a certain fresh ghost town feel or a particular ribcage luxury we pursued.
“You wanna smoke?” Lenny flipped open a box of reeds.
“Sure.”
“How’s things?” Lenny asked as I lit his and he let the smoke hover around his nose. The energy from the hammering thunder lifted the hair on my skin.
“Eh, fine. Where’re we headed?” I felt a bit annoyed that rain might make viewing the landscape challenging and slightly wished I’d stayed home to finish my movie.
“The find…I nearly forgot! I thought about showing you an arc, but it’s better as a surprise. I’m tellin’ you; it’s gotta be something that’ll grab the attention of the Faux Life folks. I mean as an addition to the Whig Party arcs and something attractive to those living off the grid.”
“What’d you find?”
“All I’m goin’ to say is great guest at a Whig Party.”
“You found a Ben Franklin?”
