Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 11: The Thief

     "You know, I used to be a kleptomaniac," said Mary in the most matter-of-fact voice of which she was capable after five or six glasses of Scotch.

     "Wait," Lewis replied, "Serssously? 'Cause … because, that just does … that just doesn't seem like you. Like, at all. I mean, you're so … a … such a … so such …" Despite his usual reluctance to drink alcohol, Lewis had tried to keep pace with her drink by drink.

     "An uptight bitch?" Mary finished for him.

     "Well, no. I wasn't gonna say that!"

     "Of course you weren't," said Mary. "You're too nice for that. And, I think, you're too timid."

     "I'm not timid."

     "Yes, you are. You're a big ol' 'fraidy-cat, you are." Mary added, "You're afraid of everything."

      "I am not!" Lewis was indignant. "I'm just … don't like … I just don't like to make decisions, is all."

     "But isn't that just because you're afraid?"

     "Yeah," he replied. "But I'm … not … not scared of everything. It's just that … that one thing. Just … limiting my choices. I'm … not a coward, or anything."

     "Then prove it," insisted Mary. "Call me a bitch."

     "Why?"

     "Because you wanted to say it, but didn't have the stones."

     "No, I—"

     "Yes," she interrupted him. "Yes, you did. Admit it."

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 09: The Roommate

     "Why can't I come along?" Lewis was using his anxious voice. The one which usually got him his way where Nita was concerned. 

     "Because," Nita replied, "I really need time to focus." She wasn't having any of his guilt-trip tactics this time.

     Nita's was the kind of room that left one with a feeling that just another couple of feet in one dimension or another would make it work. It wasn't cramped, exactly, but it wasn't quite big enough, either—especially for two people to share. There was a queen-sized bed, a tall dresser, a bookshelf and a very old desk and chair. None of this furniture matched. The state-of-the-art flat-screen TV on top of the dresser certainly looked out of place, as did the pychedellic paint job and the posters featuring bands from the 1960s and '70s.

     "I can be quiet. I'll just sit," he said. "And be quiet."

     "No, you won't." Nita had had far too much experience with Lewis to believe him. "I know you'll mean to, Honey, but I don't think you're actually capable." She could tell he was about to get into one of his down moods. She really couldn't afford to babysit him tonight, though—she had far too much work to do.

     "But—"

     "Listen, Lewis," she interjected, before he could really get going. "This is really important to me. Besides which, I want you to do me a special favor." 

     "Wait." Lewis was a bit surprised by this development. "What sort of favor?"

Grand Romantic Delusions—Perspectives: Mary Sue Dagfridchen

     I first met him while waiting in line to renew my license. He had disheveled dishwater-blonde hair worn below the ears, but not long enough to hit the collar of his t-shirt, and a stupid little "soul patch" under his lip. I have no Earthly idea how or why I caught his attention, because I definitely wasn't trying to. I'm nothing special look at and I was wearing scrubby clothes—just an over-sized grey sweatshirt and faded jeans. I was wearing my old granny glasses, too. I had lost my regular glasses, and I hated wearing contacts, so I only put them in for job interviews or special occasions.

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 06: The Venture

     Seth pulled the beat-up Camaro into the driveway of his small house. It was a side-split, only about 1,200 square feet, with siding painted in the most eye-watering shade of green imaginable. He drove over the half a dozen or so issues of bagged community newspapers that lay in the driveway as he parked.

     Grabbing the book he ran up the front steps and unlocked his deep red front door. He figured the people who had owned the house before him must have been huge fans of Christmas, or something.

     After grabbing a beer from the fridge, he plopped himself and the book down on the couch. He needed something to take his mind off Mary and how he was going to find her. He often found that the best way to solve a problem was to take a break from thinking about it. He was very Zen like that.

     He turned on the TV and grabbed a game remote. This guy Gary at work had been telling him about a new game called "Venture" or something like that. It was one of those downloadable console games you could get for, like, ten bucks. It was supposed to be a sort of "art" game you just had to experience to understand, he'd said. Of course Gary was quite the stoner, so his opinions were hit-and-miss. Still, Seth had plenty of points in his account, so he thought he'd give it a shot. After logging in and starting the download he stood up, downed the rest of his beer and headed back to the kitchen, book in hand. He dropped the book on the counter next to the fridge, grabbed another beer and went back to the living room. 

     Something felt … odd. He pushed the front curtain aside with one finger and peeked through the small gap he'd made. There were a couple of kids playing in the yard across the street, and one guy a couple doors down washing his car. He could hear the sounds of a lawnmower and those of a couple of dogs barking … pretty much just a typical Saturday afternoon on Cortona Road.

     He sat back down. The download was finished so he started up the game. He was greeted with a title screen which included a shadowy character floating about and making ghostly chimp-like noises while soft piano and synthesized flute music played over the sound of wind and crickets. Yeah, this looked like something Stoner Gary would get into.

     Seth was completely unprepared for what happened next. After hitting the start button, he found he had control of one of the ghostly shadow characters and he was floating through some standing stones on a hilltop in the middle of a foggy moor. It was dark, with only the barest sliver of a moon, but in the distance there was a faint light, so he moved his avatar in that direction. Quiet music rose and fell as he glided across the landscape towards the source of the light. It seemed to be coming from the base of a tall tower at the top of another hill. 

     On his way there, he started playing with the controls to see what functions they had. One button made him leap into the air. Another made him glide more quickly. A third caused his character to vocalize—making chimp-like noises. He found that if he tapped this button he got a simple ook-like sound, but that if he held hit down the sound became more of a squeal. If he held it long enough the noise was like that of a chimp screeching after having had a banana taken away or something. How could any of that possibly be useful? The fourth button didn't appear to do much other than make him squat down and raise his hands up. Weird.

     Seth shrugged and held down his sprint button. His character floated at double speed towards the tower in the distance. He downed rest of the second beer and went to pause the game so he could get another. It wouldn't pause. Weird … so apparently you have to play this game in real time? He quickly went to the kitchen and grabbed two more beers (the remainder of his six-pack), as well as the bottle of Jameson's and a glass tumbler from the top of the fridge for good measure.

     When he returned, he noticed that the faint light that had been at the base of the tower was now a little brighter … and a little closer. In fact, it appeared to be moving towards him. Suddenly he remembered a key point that Gary had mentioned about the game.

     "It's multi-player—online only. But you can't actually talk to the other players. You can only communicate through noises and gestures," Gary had said. "And you can't pick your partners. It just randomly teams you up with someone else who's playing the game."

     So, that light coming towards him must be another player's avatar! Cool, he thought. I can get into this. After taking a swig out of the third beer bottle, Seth set about moving towards the other player. As they neared one another, he could see another ghostly figure, similar to his, but white and glowing rather than dark and shadowy. When they came together, the two characters did a little dance around one another. 

     Seth tapped his vocalize button a couple of times. Ook! Ook! The other player did likewise. OK, well we can sort of communicate, Seth thought. But what do we do now?

     The white character willowed back and forth a couple of times then ooked at him three times and turned away, back towards he ruins of the tower from which she'd come. (Something about the way the white figure moved made Seth think of a woman, though he knew there was no way to know who was on the other end.) He followed.

     Suddenly it became a race. They each moved towards the tower as fast as they could. Seth realized that he could only sprint for so long before his character slowed down, and that it took some time before he could sprint again. However, as there was no "energy bar" or other indicator on the screen, you just sort of had to get a feel for when you could sprint again. So the two of them traded leads until they were almost there, when suddenly the white figure pulled ahead and touched the tower first. She must have been conserving her energy, thought Seth. Of course, this person had probably played the game before.

     The white figure began spinning around and jumping, ook-ooking the whole while. What did she want? He imitated her, spinning his avatar around, alternately tapping the vocalize and jump buttons. Sure, the dancing around and chattering senselessly at one another was kind of fun, but what was the point of this game?

     Suddenly the other character began bumping into him—sort of pushing him forward, guiding him around the tower. Once they were at the other side, Seth noticed that the tower had a large open doorway and inside there were alternating stones sticking out from the walls like a spiral staircase, but with big gaps between the individual steps, and the bottom step far higher than their characters could jump. This must be what she wants me to see!

     Seth finished the third beer and popped open the fourth and last bottle. He had a big gulp then turned his attention back to the game. OK , he thought, it's a puzzle. We have to find a way to the top of the tower, I guess.

     The white character began spinning again, then jumping. The more she spun, the higher she seemed to jump. She appeared to be trying to reach the bottom stair, but couldn't quite manage it. He tried the old Mario double-jump, but that didn't work at all in this game.

     Then the white character jumped on top of him and squatted. She held the position for a moment then sprung up into the air … but only slightly. This clearly wasn't going to help them reach the stairs, either.

     After landing in front of him, the white character squatted again and made an ook sound. Seth imitated her. She gave him two ook sounds this time. Then she squatted again and held the position. He pressed his squat button and held it. She ooked twice then jumped up. He did likewise. She stopped in front of him and ooked once, then stepped away and squatted again.

     Seth wasn't sure what she wanted at this point. He stepped towards her and squatted. She ooked twice … and he released the squat. She gave him one ook and stood still. Suddenly it dawned on him She wanted him to hold the squatting position!

     Seth squatted again and remained. The white figure ooked twice then began her spinning jump until she was on top of him again. She ooked. He sat there in his squatting position, unsure of what to do next. She ooked twice. He still didn't get it. Then she started shrieking. He remained in position, holding the squat button for a good thirty seconds or so … her shrieking rose in frequency and intensity. Finally, she jumped back down in front of him and shrieked some more. He stood up.

     She alternated between bouncing and squatting and shrieking, over and over again. Then she jumped on top of him once more. After several minutes of this, Seth finally got it. He squatted, she jumped on top of him, and he released the squat button and flung her into the air, high enough to reach the bottom stair … but in the wrong direction. So the squat button was really a throw button, apparently.

     Seth finished the fourth and final beer then grabbed the whisky bottle and poured himself a double-shot into the glass tumbler. He took a couple of sips. Nothing like trying to solve a co-op puzzle game while drunk, he thought.

     He moved towards the bottom stair, facing it, and ooked at the white figure. By this time he was sure it was a woman on the other end. He tried to imagine what she was like. She was probably patient. One had to be patient to play a game like this—especially with such limited communication. With patience came kindness, of course. He tried to imagine a pair of kind and gentle eyes. He thought they would be a light brown color, like Mary's—when you could see them through the glare of her glasses, that is.

     Seth squatted and let the white character jump on top of him again. This time he threw her accurately and she climbed onto the bottom stair. She hopped to the next step, then the next, but fell off the one after that, so he squatted and threw her again. 

     Wouldn't it be hilarious if it was Mary on the other end of the game, he thought. He knew fate was bringing them together, but wouldn't it be something if after trying to find her through the library, he ended up playing with her online? He finished his whisky, the cool warmth flowing down his throat and hitting him in the chest. He poured another.

     He watched as the white figure leapt from step to step until she made it all the way to the top of the tower. OK … what now? How was he supposed to get to the top? She disappeared through a trap door and then he heard a "click" and suddenly the walls of the tower began to rotate in sections, each section moving opposite from the way the section above and below it moved. The whole tower was like a big clockwork. As the sections rotated, more stairs popped out of the walls and then it stopped. Now he could climb right up to the top and join his companion without the need for jumping. 

     Once he reached the top and climbed through the trapdoor he stood next to the white figure and looked out towards the horizon. The tower was quite tall and they could see a fair distance away as a result. It was a beautiful, haunting kind of game world—especially with the soft New-Agey music and the wind and frogs sound effects. It felt like they were really outside in some mysterious and alien world. The sliver of moon lit the rolling hills and moorland about them just enough that he could make out the contours of the surrounding countryside without seeing any of the details.

     His partner began ooking again and spinning around. She stood on a pale circle of light on the roof of the tower. He stood next to her and ooked back. She moved to the other side of the tower and he followed her again., then she screeched at him.

     He wasn't sure what a screech meant. Was he supposed to follow her, or was he doing something wrong? She stood on another circle on the other side of the tower. He went and stood next to her again. She circled around him and pushed him into the circle and ooked at him twice. He squatted. Am I supposed to throw her somewhere?

     She crossed the roof again and he followed. She shrieked and he went back to the circle and squatted. Ook ook! She went and stood in the opposite circle while he remained. Suddenly the entire roof of the tower lifted off and floated away, carrying them with it. So that's the trick, Seth realized.

     Suddenly he knew it was her. That's right … it had to be. The universe was bringing them together, one way or another, and what better way than through the incredible shared experience of this otherworldly game?

     Oh Mary, he thought. If only I could find you in OUR world!

     They went on like this for hours. They explored the world, finding new landscapes, new puzzles and collecting various kinds of gemstones. Seth guessed that was the real point of the game: collecting the gems. Each time they found one, they were treated to swelling music and a new vista. They searched the moors and then a desert and then a barren snowscape. One doorway apparently led them to the moon—everything was grey and lifeless and starkly beautiful.

     Every step of the way they worked together as if sharing one consciousness. They would arrive at the new location and she would guide him through each puzzle —patiently, lovingly. Seth had never experienced anything quite like this.

     With each new discovery he was more convinced that it was Mary with whom he was playing. Who else could it be? Who else could he just click with on such a deep level, without even needing language to communicate? He knew instinctively that it was his soulmate on the other end of the network. And with this knowledge he was more confident than ever that he would manage to find her. He just had to be as patient as she was with him in the game.

     At the end they were in a jungle, exploring the ruins of some sort of step-pyramid. By this time Seth was so drunk he could barely sit up straight and hold the controller, but he was not giving up. He needed some water. He ooked at his companion a couple of times and jumped up—too fast. He fell forward before ever really getting to his feet. He was suddenly very glad he didn't own a coffee table.

     Seth stood and staggered into the kitchen. He grabbed the water jug out of the refrigerator and brought it back to the couch in the now-dark living room. He managed to pour himself a tumbler-full of water without spilling more than a couple of cups worth on himself  or his couch.

     He downed the entire glass of water in a couple of lusty gulps and poured another. God damn, I'm thirsty. He picked up the controller again and noticed that Mary was jumping up and down again, ooking at him like mad.

     He moved towards her and ooked back twice. She led him up the pyramid to a little room at the top. Again, they each had to press a button on either side, but this time instead of floating away, the entire pyramid inverted, collapsing in on itself—the top sinking below the level of the bottom—and they were suddenly in a chamber deep under ground.

     Everywhere was dark. They had only the soft glow of white light issuing forth from Mary's avatar to see by. She led him away from the little room into the deep dark chamber. In the distance there were colorful lights and he could see more ghostly figures like theirs—some dark, some light—dancing in a great circle. It was like a homecoming!

     There was a loud bang from somewhere behind Seth, which scared the living shit out of him. He jumped up, controller in hand, and pulled the console off its shelf. The TV screen went to blue. Disconnected!

     Heart racing, he quickly checked the wires in the back of the console, but realized he could barely see anything. The clock on the cable box said it was 11:30. Fuck! How long have we been playing? He jumped up to hit the lamp and almost knocked it over before he managed to get the light on. Goddamn neighbors! There was always someone in this neighborhood setting off firecrackers or target shooting or something.

     He checked his console now in the harsh glare of the lamplight. The cables were all connected, both to the console and the back of the television. He hit the power button on the console and it blinked on, then off. It wouldn't stay on, no matter how many times he pushed it.

     Seth howled with rage. He'd have to get this fixed. Shit! Probably cheaper to buy a new one. At any rate, he knew he was done for now. He'd get the damn thing looked at tomorrow.

     One thing he knew for sure: he would have to find Mary. He wanted to talk to her about the game. He wanted to finish playing it with her. He wanted to stare deeply into her eyes over a cup of coffee and talk about all the feelings they'd shared tonight. He wondered if she knew it was him she'd been playing with. Tomorrow, he told himself. I will find her tomorrow.

     Somewhere south of Phoenix, Arizona, in an adobe-style ranch house sat a heavy-set, unshaven man in his mid-forties. He wore an ill-fitting black tank, cut-off denim shorts and a trucker hat which read "Horny Old Bastard" —and he was not wearing it ironically. He scratched his ass as he stared at his TV screen, controller in one hand, can of Bud Light in the other. He began screaming at no one in particular.

     "That stupid sunovabitch! Took me for freakin' ever to finally drag his dumb ass to the end of this game, and then he fuckin' quits on me?"

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 04: The Breakdown

     It's a terrible thing, the public eye. 

     Once you have its attention, your life is no longer your own. It scrutinizes you with its x-ray vision, digging into your past, affecting your future, poring over your very soul—and invariably, it finds you wanting.

     The mainstream media or MSM* is always looking for a narrative to catch the interest of the reader, viewer or (more likely these days) the half-listener. And if your life doesn't live up to those expectations, you're a disappointment to society. So what were we supposed to do? After all that happened to us; after the rescue efforts and the TV coverage, we didn't really have a choice. I think we both knew it wasn't the best decision, but at the end of the day, we knew we had to get married.

     I don't know ... does anyone ever feel like things are all right? I used to imagine that other people did. Now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'm not so different from other people. After all, in our own minds, well ... as the old expression goes, we're all the protagonists in our own life stories ... or something like that. (My memory's not what it used to be, and I'm too lazy to look it up.)

     I guess that makes my story a tragic comedy, because the protagonist is a hapless fool.  In order to really explain what happened, I guess I should introduce myself first:

     My name's Celia Wright, and I was a loser.

     Now, if when you first hear the word "loser" you immediately think of someone who's failed out of school, lives with her mother, and never helped anyone or did anything worthwhile, you're on the wrong track. I guess I'm what you'd call a "successful loser" in that I graduated college with honors, excelled in my field, made decent money, got married to a nice and attractive guy, had a really great kid—all the things that are supposed to mean success in our society. But it wasn't enough. Or rather, it wasn't right.

     Lewis and I met in College. I was in graduate school—earning my Ph.D. in Education, while he was still working on his undergraduate degree with an eye towards an MBA at Haas.

     The details of our meeting aren't important, nor are they remarkable. We met at a party, both of us a little tipsy on cheap White Zinfandel (everybody was drinking that crap at the time), and just got to talking the way people do when they find themselves together in social situations. He walked me home and promised to call me the next day, which he did. Next thing I knew, we were a couple.

     We'd been dating a few months, when we decided to move in together. I'm not sure whose decision that really was. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time, since he was spending most nights at my place anyway. And then, a year or so after that, I think we were both starting to get a little tired of each other. It wasn't anyone's fault or anything, but you know how relationships just sometimes get stale? It was like that.  If things had continued on, we would probably have gone our separate ways before too much longer. 

     But that was before the Big Earthquake.

     Lewis and I were in the mall when it hit. As anyone who's spent any time in California knows, no matter how many times you experience it, it's still a gut-wrenching feeling when the ground starts to shake. We immediately ran for the exit, but got separated in the rushing crowd.

     Most buildings in California are built to withstand some pretty major quakes, so it came as a surprise when one section of the mall actually collapsed. Apparently there was a small problem that somehow slipped past the building inspectors. I managed to get outside, but couldn't find Lewis anywhere.

     If you lived anywhere near the Bay Area in 1994, you might even remember me. My fifteen minutes lasted just under two days, and were spent agonizing over Lewis and talking to community papers and local TV news:

     Do you think he could be alive and trapped in there? 

     Have you given up hope? 

     The community is praying for you! 

     If you could talk to him now, what would you say? 

     For two days they searched the rubble—and I must have been interviewed twenty times in that same span. The big story was all about the "young couple who were torn apart too soon." People held vigils. Vigils! They sent me flowers and gifts. Donations came in. The whole thing grew out of anyone's control.

     Then, when the emergency workers found Lewis it was quite the spectacle. Once they got him on a stretcher and pulled him out—before he'd even had more than a sip of water—some reporter was in his face with a microphone and a camera, and television lights. She told him how the whole community had been waiting with me, and how everyone was so happy for us, and then asked him what his plans were for the future and how glad he was to see me.

     So the big dummy just up and asked me to marry him right then and there. He could barely speak, but there he was on live TV proposing. So what was I supposed to say? No?

     We were married in February the next year. And in the end, it turned out to be almost as big a disaster as the construction on that mall.

     Now, Lewis wasn't a bad person, per se. Nor was he inattentive—if anything, he was too clingy. At first, the renewed attention was kind of nice. I'd had a few bad relationships before him—you know the kind: the guy's all about you when nothing else is going on, but as soon as some of his buddies want to come over to play video games, or go out and do "guy" things, he acts like your very existence is somehow more inconvenience than he can handle. Yet, as soon as you want to have some time with your friends, he's asking, Why would you want to go out without me? Don't you love me? Are you seeing someone else?

     My first hint of trouble with Lewis, though, came during the planning for our wedding. Most guys just want to know where to get their tux and when and where to show up and say, "I do." They leave the bulk of the planning up to the bride—and/or her mother—or so I've been told. Not Lewis, though; he insisted on being involved in every aspect. The biggest problem was that even though he wanted to help make decisions, he could never make up his mind! He very nearly drove my poor mother into an asylum. Ultimately, I got my own way in just about everything. I think he mostly just wanted to feel like he was part of it.

     The first couple of years were actually rather nice. We had each finished our respective studies and started careers. We had a daughter, Isabella, the November of our second year married. The third year was a bit difficult—we were first-time parents, after all—but we struggled through it. Things were a bit easier the next two years; Lewis was always a caring, loving man. He made a good father, too, and he really doted on Izzy.

     My career took off. I was on a team which published a very important and acclaimed academic study on early childhood learning disorders. We moved north when I was hired at the University of Washington as a research professor.  Lewis got a job in Marketing at a local publisher—nothing terribly exciting, but he brought home about as much money as I did. We bought a nice, older house in Lynnwood and worked to fix the place up. We lived quite well, in terms of physical comforts.

     It was after we'd been married about five or six years that things started to change. I don't know if it was a case of Is this all there is? setting in, or if it was simply a realization that we didn't really quite fit together, or what—but we started doing more and more things apart. We spent more time at our jobs or hanging out with our respective work friends. I know Lewis didn't really enjoy his job. He also started drinking noticeably more. 

     Lewis had always displayed a tendency to over-think everything he did, but it started getting worse. It got so he spent a half hour every morning just lying in bed and agonizing over whether he even wanted to get up and go to the office. He always did go, of course, but by the time he'd make up his mind, he was always running late.

     Then, one Saturday morning when Lewis was sleeping in, I went to check on Izzy. She would have been about five or six years old at this point. I listened to her play-acting with some of her toys. Her teddy bear, Mr. Snoofles, was having an argument with Stinky the Skunk over what they wanted to do that day. The dialogue that Izzy came up with really shook me up. Stinky was berating Mr. Snoofles for changing his opinions to match whatever the skunk wanted. I knew right then that our relationship in general, and Lewis's neuroses in particular, were having a negative effect on Izzy's development.

     I talked to Lewis about it, but the whole thing just seemed to make him worse. It was like he suddenly worried that every minor decision he made was going to hurt his daughter, too. He couldn't handle it. Within a couple of months he would suffer a mental break-down … but, more on that in a moment.

     Lewis started disappearing for days at a time. He just needed, Time away to get my head straight, or so he said. I never thought he was cheating on me, or anything like that. Hell, that would have been easier to handle! He said he liked the freedom of the open road. I think he mostly just liked the idea of making simple decisions like which way to turn at an intersection. It wasn't until later that I found out he was heading far into the Eastern countryside—into places with long stretches of road where intersections were rare.

     Then one day I received a phone call from the police. Lewis had stopped the car right in the middle of the intersection of 45th and Eleventh—one of the busier intersections in town—and wouldn't budge. Every time an officer approached the vehicle, he started screaming nonsense about how "What's done can't be undone," and how did they expect him to decide where to go, when any direction could cause a breakdown in his life stream, or some such nonsense. He'd also blow on the horn and shout threats on occasion. He had something in his hand, and they weren't sure if it was a gun or some other sort of weapon. (Lewis was driving my X3 that day, so it had my plates and my U-Dub parking permit, so they contacted me quickly.)

     By the time I arrived, the police were routing traffic around the area, but it was a mess. Lewis was sitting in the car—the ignition was off and the windows were down, and he was crying. As I approached him, I saw that he had a calculator in his hand, as well as a small notepad and a thick black Sharpie.

     And, of course, there were the news cameras, and they wanted their story.

     "Lewis," I said. "Honey? Is everything all right?"

     "Probably not," came the response, in between sobs. "It's hard to know, though." He fumbled at a couple of the buttons on the calculator with a finger. I remember noticing then, for the first time, that his fingers were kind of short and stubby for a grown man.

     He continued; "It's assigning meanings to the values that's so hard."

     "OK, well, maybe I could help you with that. Would you like that?" He looked up at me, confused.

     "You could do that?" He didn't seem to notice anything of the chaos around him.

     "Of course, honey," I replied. "You know, we could just go to the coffee shop over there, and—"

     "No!" He interrupted me. "Don't want to go to any shops … too many possibilities … options … menus."

     "All right, then. How about we just go home? I'll order a pizza and we'll sit down together and … and assign meanings?"

     "Yeah, that would be nice."

     "Great — that's all settled, then. Why don't you just scoot over, there, and let me drive?" 

     Not that the Seattle PD had any intention of letting us just drive away, obviously. Not after what he'd pulled.

     The minute I had him distracted and he'd held his hands up into view long enough for them to see it wasn't a weapon in his hand, an officer had eased up to the passenger side of the car. As soon as Lewis unlocked the car and began to scoot over she pulled the door open and hit him with the taser. Two more officers ran up to assist her, and a third came up behind me and pulled me away. Clearly Lewis wan't a threat to anyone, but they were all very frustrated, and weren't about to take any chances.

     Once we were all on our feet again, the news crews rushed the scene, yelling out questions. I just repeated "No comment" until I found myself in the back of a squad car. I could hear Lewis trying to answer their questions, though, and even asking some of his own. He was pushed into another car and we were driven downtown.

     After hours of questioning, they finally let me call Gina—Izzy's sitter—and explain to her what had been going on. Of course, she'd already seen the whole thing on the evening news.

     Once it was all over, and we were released, I got Lewis in to see a really good therapist, but he resisted. Even when he did go—and he was under a Court Mandate, he didn't seem to want to work with the doctor. After a year he finally managed to do the bare minimum required to get himself released. And then, he started taking his long trips again.

      I just couldn't take it any more. After ten years of marriage, I finally filed for divorce.

     Sometimes, I feel guilty about the whole thing. I ask myself whether I could have done something differently, or why I hadn't really noticed the warning signs. I wonder to myself whether our lives would have been different if I'd paid more attention. What if I hadn't taken the job at U-Dub? Would he have found work that better suited him? What if we hadn't gone to the mall that day? What if I hadn't gone to that party, and we'd just never met? Would he have married someone else? Would he still have had his breakdown?

     It's then that I realize I'm starting to think like Lewis: over-analyzing the past and worrying about every decision I've ever made. That way lies madness, and I have been witness to it.

     Since then, I've re-married. William is a really wonderful, level-headed man. I'm much better off and, I think, so is Isabella. She is almost old enough to drive herself, now. She hasn't shown any signs of her father's neurosis, but I'm keeping a close eye on her just the same.

     As for Lewis … Well, the last I heard he met some woman on one of his long drives through the desert. They moved out east somewhere—Indiana or Ohio, I think. I tried to keep track of him for a while, but eventually, I just gave up. For a man who has a problem making decisions, he sure has moved around a lot.

*The acronym MSM is also frequently used to refer to Mechanically-Separated Meat. This product bears an uncanny allegorical resemblance to the product produced by the other MSM.

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 05: The Agent

         Katie abruptly left the registrar's station after pretending not to have the required paperwork, or to even understand what was going on around her—the language barrier and all. What was with that guy? How had she missed with him?

          After all her careful preparation, working on her "chance meeting" with the target, he had completely blown her off. Her "Svetlana" character had never failed to hook a man before. Usually her eyes and smile alone were enough to get a man to at least talk to her. Hell, every other man in the BMV was making eyes at her. Could he have known? Impossible! Hanlon had been very careful—they never met at the lab, so O'Keefe would never have seen her there. Besides, the man struck her as kind of goofy—she doubted very much that he even so much as suspected he was being watched.

          O'Keefe had seemed to be obsessed with the frumpy woman ahead of him in line. Maybe he was just realistic enough to know he wouldn't have a chance with a woman that looked like Svetlana. She had practically thrown herself at him, though—that had always been enough to make men lose logic altogether. So why hadn't it worked with him? She might have to try a different tack.

          Sergeant Michael Hanlon, USMC, Ret. was everything one would expect in a former Marine. That is to say, he was clean and neat, he had perfect posture, and he was utterly diligent in his duty. He was an honorable man who did his job to the best of his ability, and even at his age he could probably kill you before you even had time to fully form the words, "Oh shit!" in your mind, let alone say them out loud. Unfortunately, very few of the people around him had anything like his sense of professionalism. Frankly, he thought most of them were idiots, though he would never say so out loud.

          Katie McEllern stood stiffly before him. She had never served in any armed forces, but she knew this meeting was nothing less than an inspection.

          "You came highly recommended," he began. "But I never heard of you before last week."

          "That's the way it is in my line of work, Mr. Hanlon. If I do my job right, very few people know I've done anything at all."

          "So how am I supposed to tell the difference?" He paced around her where she stood. "And you will address me as Sergeant, Sgt. Hanlon or Sir. Mister Hanlon is my dear departed father, God rest his soul."

          They were in the middle of a hotel suite. The meeting had been arranged for here because Sgt. Hanlon didn't want Katie to come into contact with the target before she had all the details.

          Katie stepped outside and quickly scanned the parking lot. There he is. Seth O'Keefe was getting into an older model Camaro. It was light metallic blue and rusty, the driver's side door coated in primer. The license plate was "S3CR3TS" and on the back were several bumper stickers—most of the Heavy Metal Band Name variety, and one which read: "Labelle Research: We Know What We're Doing, So You Don't Need To."

          He backed out of his space and drove towards her. Quickly she turned to her left and walked past a flower shop and then a music store. She stopped and watched the reflection in the window while pretending to look at a collection of instruments. She noted that the hood of O'Keefe's car was also covered with primer. West-siders, she thought. Do they ever finish what they start?

          Once he passed her, she made her way across the parking lot to her own car: a late-model white 4-door Honda Accord—about as inconspicuous a car as one could find. They'd sold hundreds of thousands of the things, after all. She would have to catch O'Keefe's attention some other way. Perhaps after casually bumping into each other one or two more times she might convince him that Svetlana was his "destiny" or some such nonsense. She'd have to play it carefully, though—if he suspected he was being watched, running into her too many times too soon might set off alarm bells in his head.

          As she pulled to the end of the parking row, O'Keefe suddenly sped by, going the opposite direction from the one in which he'd left. Hmm … curious, that. What's his hurry? He hadn't so much as looked in her direction, so she decided to tail him—all the way to the library right next door to the shopping center where the BMV was located.

          "We think we may have a security leak at Labelle Research. That's something I will not tolerate."

          "And so you want me to plug your leak?" Katie replied, "I can do that."

          Hanlon handed her a folder. "O'Keefe is the name. Seth Davis O'Keefe. He seems to have taken an unusual interest in the labs."

          "And curiosity is not something you encourage—at least not outside the scientific staff." She took the folder and sat on the couch. "Please, make yourself comfortable … Sergeant." She motioned to the chair across the coffee table from her.

          The sun was just rising, but her room on the 14th floor faced west. The red-gold light was beginning to stream between the other, taller buildings in the area and create an intricate interplay of shadows and reflections on the river. It was a beautiful autumn day in the Midwest, with bright skies and just a few large puffy clouds floating about. Katie could get lost on a day like this, were she outside, but for now—down to business.

          She leaned forward on the couch and opened the folder on the table in front of her. There was a picture of an average-looking guy with medium-length blond hair, sideburns and a soul patch. He had light grey eyes that gave his face a sort of empty look. There was a data sheet attached:

Seth Davis O'Keefe

2500 Cortona Rd.

Columbus, OH 43204

Birthday: September 24, 1983 

Sex: male                    Race: caucasian

Ht: 5'10"                      Wt: 170

Marital status: single

Education: 2 Years at CSCC, no degree

Department: maintenance

          O'Keefe parked his car out away from the bulk of the cars in the lot. What? He's afraid to get a scratch on that beat up old piece of shit? She noticed that the passenger door was a darker blue than the rest of the car—the rest that wasn't primer, that is. She watched as he checked that his doors were locked and then made his way to the library. He had a large book in his hand. It appeared to be the book that O'Keefe and the frumpy woman had been discussing in line at the BMV. Holy Shit, she thought. He's trying to track that woman down!

          Katie parked her car nearer the building and went inside.

          O'Keefe was standing at the counter arguing with a library clerk. It seemed the library didn't just give out information on who had checked out what books.

          "But this is important," he was saying. "I think this woman's friend is the love of my life. Don't you understand? Don't you have a single romantic bone in your body?"

          "I'm sorry sir," replied the librarian. "My hands are tied."

          O'Keefe slumped. "Fine then." 

          He turned to walk away when the librarian interrupted him.

          "Sir!"

          O'Keefe turned back, hopefully. "Yes? You changed your mind, and can help—"

          "No," he replied. "But I can't let you leave with that book. It's library property and you're not the patron who checked it out."

          "How do you know that? Did you look in the computer and see who did check it out? Who was it?"

          "No, sir. You just now told me you didn't."

          "Oh … yeah." He turned and bolted for the door, the librarian yelling after him.

          Katie stifled a laugh and hurriedly turned towards the nearest display shelf. She doubted O'Keefe would notice her in his desperate rush for the door, but she didn't want to take any chances.

          She turned to watch him push his way out the door and stumble into the parking lot. He dropped the book in the process, doubled back, picked it up and ran for his car. 

          Katie walked back outside, casually. O'Keefe almost fell once again and then spent several seconds fumbling for his keys and dropping the book once more in the process. He unlocked the car and dropped the keys, as well, before picking them back up, along with the book and getting into his car. He almost slammed his own leg in the door, he was in such a rush. And he never once stopped to look around him. If he had, he'd have realized that no one from the library was chasing him.

          The car started and O'Keefe pulled out of the lot with a squealing of tires. He screamed by the library and into the shopping center parking lot. Someone in a pick-up truck had to swerve and stop to avoid him as he pulled out on to the main street and headed west as fast as he could, the blare of the pick-up's horn behind him.

          What an idiot, Katie thought. Could he really be involved in industrial espionage?

          "Wait … this guy works in the maintenance department?"

          "He's basically a janitor," said Hanlon, finally sitting down. "We know we have a leak, and believe it or not, he's our most likely suspect."

          "So … he never graduated college, never married, and he's native to the area. Seems an unlikely candidate."

          "Well, it all seems to check out. We run down records on everyone who applies to work for us. Though …"

          "Though, it's always possible his records have been doctored," she finished for him.

          "Yes—that." Hanlon continued, "And it's always possible someone else got to him after he came to work for us."

          "A competitor, you mean. Like another research lab?"

          "Maybe. Or, possibly even a foreign agent."

          "So … you think the Chinese or the Russians or someone might be using the janitor to get top secret information out of your government-contracted research facility?"

          "Or, the Israelis, yes."

          "The Israelis?"

          "Oh, yes. There are projects at Labelle that would definitely interest them."

          "Such as what?"

          "Well, obviously, I'm not at liberty to divulge that information. To be honest, I'm not exactly privy to all the goings-on in the research department myself."

          "Aren't you the head of security?"

          "Yes, but there are some things even I'm not allowed to know."

          "I see."

          They sat in awkward silence for several minutes. Katie shifted uncomfortably on the couch, looking over the target's file, while Hanlon sat in his chair, still as stone.

          Finally, Katie said, "Well I would suggest I start by either making contact with him or running my own background check."

          "However you wish to handle it. My sources tell me you know what you're doing."

          "Your sources are correct. You know my fees and expense arrangements?"

          "Yes—they're fine."

          "All right then. I'll take the job." They both stood and reached across the table to shake hands. "I'll have the contracts sent over this afternoon and will begin work in the morning."

          "Thank you, Miss McEllern."

          This day had been nothing but a waste of time. Perhaps it was time to do a little more background work.

The Ballad of Arthur Workroom

(Inspired by a nameplate sign hanging outside an office in my place of work.)

Long ago there was a man,
Known now only in tales,
He conquered beasts and Layout files,
And even helped with Sales.


He came to work here one fine day,
In chambray shirt and tie,
A stack of proofs before him stood,
Near unto a mile high.


He did not blink nor flinch nor fail,
Confronted with this work,
He got right down to bus'ness,
Correcting with a smirk


He worked his way right down the pile,
Because he took a vow,
In Punctuation or grammar,
No error to allow.


He checked all offers, prices, codes,
And Postal he checked twice,
To the relief of the artist,
His notes were all concise.


At last he stood, he stretch'd his arms
And rubb'd his aching back,
For he had finally come to,
The bottom of the stack


"That was a job of work, no doubt,"
He was then heard to say,
"But now my work is all done here."
And then he walked away


A man, a legend in his time,
None know from whence he came,
A hero, some say, from beyond,
Art Workroom was his name.

Grand Romantic Delusions Chapter 02: The BMV

PART II:

I stole a nervous glance at the woman now behind me in the queue. She was rather tall, with dark, well-coiffed, medium-length hair. Her smooth skin was of a fair complexion. She was wearing a white tank and a short jacket with a matching mini-skirt that showed off her long legs. She looked like she must exercise - but just enough to keep in shape without getting all muscly or anything. Or losing her considerably shapely figure. A lot of the other men in line behind us seemed to be staring at her. Pigs.

She also had brilliant green eyes that seemed to light up the whole room when she smiled. Which she did. At me.

I turned back to the sweatshirt-wearing woman in front of me. She was still playing peek-a-boo with the little girl.

"Anyway," I started again. "What were we talking about? Vampires? Oh! Wait. 2012! So, do you really think the world is gonna end in 2012? I guess that's what a lot of people are saying. My friend told me that his pastor said it was right in line with some stuff in the Bible, too. I don't really understand all that prophecy stuff, myself, but I thought I might go to church with him tomorrow, just to hear what they have to say."

Despite her best efforts at playing hard-to-get, she couldn't ignore me any longer. She turned back to me.

"No," she said. "I do not, even for a minute, think that the world is going to end in the year 2012. If there were something disastrously wrong with the planet, or the sun were about to explode, or if we were about to be hit by an asteroid or something, I think NASA or JPL, or the ESA or some scientists, somewhere would know about it before your local pastor."

"Yeah," I countered, "but what if the Mayans are right and there's a secret planet that's dark, so the telescopes can't see it, and that's what's going to hit us. Or maybe that's when the aliens promised the Mayans they'd return, and when they get back, they're gonna be pissed that we haven't mended our ways, or something, so they're gonna wipe us out and take our planet."

Oh no! I was arguing with her! That's not at all what I wanted. I'd have to find some common ground again!

"Do you have any idea," she asked, "how crazy that sounds?"

I was stunned. She continued, "If there's a dark planet out there that telescopes can't see, just how do you suppose the Mayans would have known about it? And besides, there are no Mayan prophecies about dark planets. You're getting your doomsday scenarios mixed up. Then again, it seems everyone else in the world is, so why not?" She threw her hands up in frustration.

I noticed that a couple of the Registrar workers were putting up "Out to Lunch" signs at their stations. That should slow things down a bit. I felt a wave of relief. I had little more precious, precious time. Women are fascinated by men who can carry on an intellectual debate. Maybe I could spin this in my favor, after all ...

"OK, but what about the aliens?" I asked.

"What about them?"

"I mean, what if that's why the Mayans ended their calendar in 2012. Because of aliens."

The woman behind me must have been listening, because the interjected at that point. She sounded a bit ... Irish? Or French. I wasn't sure. Who can tell the difference between all these crazy foreign accents, anyway?

"I have heard that calendar ends because it is begins of new age of peace." Greek, maybe?

We both turned towards the woman who had so rudely interrupted us.

My dream-girl responded before I could say anything. "What the hell does that even mean? New Age of Peace. Pfsh! Suddenly people are going to stop fighting over wealth and power, and everyone's going to start sharing, and then some mystical race of space aliens is going to come on down and Buy the World a Friggin' Coke?"

The dark-haired woman tilted her head to one side, her eyes narrowing. "I don't know. Is just something I heard on the tele-vision." The way she said television, it sounded like two words. Definitely French. Or maybe Russian.

"Besides," the first woman continued, "the Mayans "ended" their calendar in the same way the calendar on the wall over there "ends" on December 31st."

She was actually using finger-quotes now. How quirky and adorable! I think I really like that kind of thing in a woman.

"It doesn't mean the world's going to end," she went on. "It means you start a new calendar. A new year. Or, in the case of the Mayans, a new calendrical cycle. Or do you panic every year when you get to the last page of your calendar?"

I had to step in and fix this, and fast: "OK. You're probably right. I was just theorizing, you know ... because of your book."

The man with the two girls was called up to one of the two stations that remained open at the counter.

"Have I mentioned how this isn't my book?"

"NEXT!" Oh no! I was too late. Unless the guy with the kids finished in a hurry, my moment was slipping away. The woman in front of me turned on her heel and went up to the counter.

The woman behind me said, "I do not know what she is angry over. I think new age of peace be nice for good change."

"Uh-huh," I said, dismissively.

She continued. "Do you no think so? Or you be thinking the aliens coming?" She gave me another one of those smiles.

"I dunno," I replied to her. "We were just talking, is all." I turned back towards the counter again, straining to hear what the woman in the sweatshirt was saying to the Deputy on duty. She was being very quiet, but I thought I made out the name ... Dessoshin? Fezozchin? What the hell kind of name was that?

Thankfully, the Registrar repeated it. "Mary Sue Defozchin?" He'd obviously had had a tough time hearing her, as well. So her name was Mary. I decided that was my favorite name. I still couldn't quite get a handle on that last name, though ... Dechoshkin?

Mary handed the guy some paperwork. It looked like a simple tag renewal, so it probably wouldn't take long. Unfortunately, the guy with the kids was renewing his license, so he would take some time. And I was there to renew mine, as well.

Jesus help me, I thought. That woman there has your mom's name, and I think maybe she's the right one for me. Please help me out here, OK, Lord?

"You seem a smart man, and I like to hear you opinion." That had to be some kind of Eastern European accent. Maybe she was Polish or Lithuanian or something. "I buy coffees, you talk to me about this? I have not many friends in America, as I am just moving here for school."

The woman behind me just would not leave me alone! Still, I didn't want to appear rude.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm really busy this afternoon. Good luck making friends, though." I looked her up and down. No ... she wouldn't have too much trouble making friends. Any other day, I would have accepted her offer. But not today. Today I had a mission. A mission named Mary Sue Defaozzchinin. Or something. It was destiny. I could feel it.

"Sir!"

I turned back towards the counter. The man with the two girls was standing in front of me. It was the man behind the counter addressing me, though.

"Would you mind watching that man's daughters for a moment, so we can take his license picture?"

"Um ... sure?" I didn't know what else to say. Besides, Mary was bound to be impressed. Women like men who are good with kids.

The man told his girls to stand there with me, and that he'd be back in a moment. He walked down to the other end of the counter where the photo station was set up.

The man behind the counter then motioned to the woman behind me.

"Ma'am, you can come on up here. We'll help the gentleman in front of you after those girls' father is done."

The dark-haired woman gave me a little sniff as she passed me. I guess she didn't take rejection well. This was just great! Now there was another delay. I'd never get out of here in time to catch up to Mary.

There was now an elderly gentleman behind me. He looked like a stereotype. He was grey and wrinkled and looked about five feet tall, hunched over the way he was. He wore a red Cardigan over a white shirt and the kind of grey pants that you'd have to call slacks. In one hand he held a cane. In the other were his registration papers and a grey fedora with a feather in the band.

I turned back to the counter quickly, before the man could try to engage me in conversation. You know how old people can get when they have an audience. Besides, I had these girls to attend to. One of them started pulling on my shirt. The other grabbed me by the hand. Hers was tiny and sweaty and sticky. Ugh.

The man behind me started playing peek-a-boo with the smaller of the two girls, using his hat to cover his face. Why does everyone always want to play peek-a-boo with little kids? Do the kids ever get sick of it? I mean, how long can that remain even a little bit fun?

After a couple of moments, the girls' father came back, freshly-minted license in hand. He mumbled a thank you at me, and took his daughters. Come on, lady, I thought at the Serbian woman, or whatever she was. Hurry up!

Then it was all over. Mary walked away with her new license tags and registration packet, and headed out the door. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

"Next!" The woman behind the counter was waving me forward. I walked up and took my wallet and papers out of my pocket. That was when I noticed a wad of bubble gum rolled into the bottom of my t-shirt. Thanks, girls.

I handed everything across the counter, and said, "I need to renew my license." I willed myself not to cry. I wouldn't give the Slavic lady the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

The woman on the other side of the counter barely even looked at me. "Is your address still the same?"

"Listen," I said. "I don't want to wait in line again, but I need to be able to find the woman that you just helped. Would you please give me her name and address?"

The woman looked up at me. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"No!" She replied. "I can't do that. It's illegal and unethical."

"But you don't understand! It's destiny! Mary and I ... we are meant to be together!"

"Look, sir. I don't care about your destiny. My job is to renew your license and send you on your way. If you want to go chasing after her, I can't stop you, but you'll have to wait in line again."

I looked behind me. There were at least thirty people in the queue now.

"But ..."

"But me no buts, mister!" She wasn't going to budge. "This isn't some kind of movie where the rules don't apply and everyone is expected help you find your true love. This is the BMV."

The dark-hared Slovenian at the next station was looking at me as if I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.

"All right," I sighed, resigned to my fate. "Let's do this."

"Is your address still the same?"

"Yes."

We then went through all the standard questions. She told me to look through the eye-testing machine for my vision test. When I stepped up to the machine, I spotted it. Mary's copy of Twilight of the Gods. She'd left it right on the counter next to the eye tester! Oh, Joy of Joys!

After my vision test, I carefully slid the book off the top of the counter. Here it was ... the clue I would need to find Mary. She'd have to come back after her friend's book!

I would find her.

Oh yes, I would.