Underwood, Scotch, and Wry

by Brian D. Meeks

  “I’m fine. Actually, no, I’m not. Look at this,” he said pointing to the screen.

  “A see-through phone. Huh, I’m not sure I see the point.”

  “That is why I screamed.”

  “I’m not sure I see the point of screaming, either.”

  “How do I get paper on this thing?”

  “Do you mean you want to write something?”

  “Yes.”

  She took the mouse and brought up Microsoft Word and said, “See the little disk in the corner? That is how you save. If you need help, let me know. This is quite a leap forward for you. I’m impressed.”

  Arthur waved his hand, and she walked out. He began to type.

  “I admit that I’ve nurtured my tech phobia since before the word ‘tech’ was even used, but today I read about something that has me hotter than a summer day in Death Valley.

  “It seems that a company in Tokyo has developed a prototype of a phone that is see-through. It’s clear plastic, and, when it is off, it is nothing more than clear plastic. Well, whoop-de-doo!

  “I don’t know how many hours they’ve spent developing this technology, but I’d wager it wasn’t inexpensive. I’d guess it cost well over five dollars, which I think would have been better spent on a cup of coffee. Now, charging five bucks for hot water poured over beans is crazy but only marginally less so than the people (myself) who pay the ridiculous price. I digress.

  “Why would being able to see through your phone be important? It isn’t a trick question; I want to know. Oh, sure, maybe it will be ‘cool,’ but there are plenty of things that are cool.

  There are plenty of things that SHOULD be transparent. Politicians come to mind, but no amount of research, technology, or money is going to create one of those. I played poker with a guy back in college whose bluffs redefined transparent. He paid for my junior year.

  “I remember a woman in New York. I think her name was Sally or Susan or Hottie McHotterson, but the name isn’t important. I think I was fourteen at the time. She had long legs, high cheek bones, and breasts that were hidden behind a blouse that I spent many summer evenings wishing was transparent. The day I saw the advertisement in the back of a comic book for x-ray glasses, I felt like I had found the Rosetta Stone.

  “I did odd jobs for two solid weeks to make enough money to send away for the glasses. It was hard work. When they arrived, well, let’s just say that Hottie McHotterson remained un-gawked. It was a dark day indeed. It’s been 39 years since that disappointing package arrived. Surely, given almost four decades, the scientists who wasted their time developing a phone you could see through could have spent the time making the dreams of teenage boys come true? Isn’t that a better use of resources?

  “That is our problem as a species: we don’t think. I’m not a rocket scientist; I’m not even a rocket enthusiast, but can’t we spend less time developing useless crap and more time solving problems like housing in third-world countries, water pollution, and hangovers?

  “If I’m wrong, please explain. I’ll be glad to make a public apology to all of the needy people who are suffering through their dull lives without being able to see the palm of their hand as they play on their smartphones. I’ll even buy you a five dollar cup of brown water.”

  Arthur lifted his hands from the keyboard. The screen stared back, expressionless. It didn’t have the personality of his typewriter. There wasn’t any triumphant zip as the last page was yanked from the carriage. It just sat there.

  “What do I do now?” he said barely above a whisper. On one hand, he literally didn’t know what to do. Arthur wanted to see his words on paper but had no idea how to get them from the screen to a piece of twenty-pound white. On the other hand, he had just written. His stomach churned at the thought...or was it the late night?

  The clock, old and familiar, showed that he clearly had a few hours before his next class. He read the rant again. Without warning, the very same clock leapt forward, and it was fifteen minutes until noon. He grabbed his briefcase and walked out.

  “Mrs. Putzier, there is something on the screen. Would you mind using your considerable computer prowess to see that it gets onto a piece of dead tree?”

  “It was awfully quiet in there. Did you get some rest?”

  “Do I look that bad?”

  “You’ve looked worse.”

  “Thanks.”

  The class was only two buildings down, so he had plenty of time. He pulled his phone out and brought up the Twitter app. There was a tweet from a woman named @Nikki_R. He read it, “ I admire Emily Dickinson staying alone her whole life, yet she wrote passionately of life and love. I wonder how lonely she must have been.”

  Arthur, still full of see-through phone angst, slowly typed a reply. “How do you know she was lonely? Not all who are alone are lonely, and not all who are together are loved.” He didn’t hit send, though. He wasn’t sure who the woman was because he didn’t remember following her.

  He studied Twitter and saw he was following close to 130 people. He hit contacts, found Wen, and was confused for a moment. He touched her number, and the phone started calling. She answered. “Lou, have you been messing around with my Twitter account?”

  “Yes, I hope you don’t mind, but it seemed rude not to follow your students back, so I went ahead and did it for you.”

  “That is a valid observation. Who is Nikki?”

  “Oh, yes, well, she is someone who followed you. Some of her tweets were interesting and about books, so I thought you would want to follow.”

  “You are aware that I don’t really care for people.”

  “Oh, you are just saying that.”

  “Would it be more believable if I tweeted it?”

  “If you want I can unfollow her.”

  “No, it’s all right,” he said then explained his quandary about whether he should reply. Wen explained that it was exactly the sort of thing he should do on Twitter.

  Arthur hit send and climbed the stairs to his classroom.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The last class seemed to drag. One of his students was more knowledgeable about James Joyce than he found helpful and rambled on until finally Arthur had needed to cut him off. It didn’t matter because his mind wasn’t on books; it was back with his writing.

  If there was one thing he took pride in, it was his seriousness with which he treated the literature classes he taught. There were pangs of guilt at how he had “mailed it in.” He planned to do better next week, but for now, he wanted to talk about what had happened.

  Arthur called Eric, but his phone went to voice mail. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing he wanted to leave as a message, so Arthur hung up. He walked from class to the union and got a bagel.

  The cream cheese was delicious. He tuned out the inane chatter of the bubbly youth all around, so he didn’t hear the student at first until she said, “I’m sorry; I’ll leave you alone, Dr. Byrne.”

  “What, oh, I was a million miles away. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m in your SMS 301 class,” she said, not making eye contact.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  She wore a big, pink Hello Kitty back pack, had jet black hair, wore what looked like a large t-shirt that seemed a little snug, and smelled like peaches. “I really don’t want to interrupt.”

  Arthur laughed and said, “If you only knew of the trivial, idle thoughts that were accompanying my bagel...anyway, I’m happy to chat.”

  “I liked the first day of class, and today was even better. I’m sort of shy. It was really hard to sign up for Twitter and following all those people...well, that was awful.”

  “I’m sorry you felt that way.”

  “Oh, I did, but I’m not done. I only had one friend in high school, and he went to USC. We talk all the time and chat on Facebook, but it is still sort of lonely. Now that I’m a junior, though, the reality of life after college is starting to frighten me some. It can be scary out there.”

  “I�
�ve been out there, and that’s why I came back here.”

  The grin said more than her words. “Anyway, my fear of missing out on points was greater than my fear of meeting new people, so I followed everybody that followed you that first night and then kept following as the next morning went on. I think I got everyone by the cutoff.”

  “Well done!”

  “I tweeted hello to the world and a picture of my dog, Barney, who is awesome. Did you see it?”

  “I may have missed that one.”

  “It’s okay because two other people saw it and RTed the picture. They both said he was very cute, and we started talking. It is weird having a conversation when you can’t go over 140 characters.”

  “Yes, it is,” Arthur said, trying to sound knowledgeable.

  “It was awesome. I am self-conscious because of my weight, but on Twitter people can’t see me. I used a picture, but that is okay; I like my hair like this. The point is I’ve been chatting and tweeting with people a bunch since yesterday. When I got to class, I was suddenly mortified because I realized they would all be right there, too.”

  Arthur was starting to get worried. He hadn’t considered there might be a downside to his first assignment.

  “As soon as I walked in the door, Jennifer, the first person who RTed the Barney photo...oh, wait, I’ve got it right here,” she said, holding up a picture of her Scottish Terrier.

  “Barney IS adorable.”

  “Anyway, Jennifer saw me as soon as I walked in and waved me over. Phil found us, too, and we all sat together. It was so weird. I hadn’t known them very long, but it was like we had been friends for...well...longer than two days. I already knew that Phil studies geology, is from Maine, and likes chocolate, and Jennifer studied abroad for a year in France. Today after class, we went and got coffee.”

  “That’s a great story.”

  “I’ve never been good at making friends, or at least that is what I thought. I like to talk, but I’m always afraid. It turns out that Twitter lets you find people who like the same things, and it isn’t scary.”

  “Now, that may be true, but you always want to be careful about trusting too much of people online - not to be a downer.”

  “Oh, I know, but these people were already students here. I could have just as easily met them over a...bagel,” she said with just a glint in her eye. “ I wanted to thank you. Loneliness isn’t so bad or noticeable after a while, but when you make a new friend, it’s sort of awesome. I have to go. Jennifer, Phil and I are getting together to find some blog posts. I’m bringing cookies,” she said with a grin.

  With that, the heavy, little goth girl seemed to float away. Arthur, over the years, had spent countless hours talking to starry-eyed students or, more aptly, talking about himself to them as an adoring audience. He wasn’t sure if he had ever spoken with them. Damn, I didn’t get her name.

  Arthur tossed his empty cream cheese container and napkin in the garbage. His mind was spinning as he replayed the story. He couldn’t remember the last time he really needed NOT to drink.

  Arthur did the math. If he called for Chinese food, they would arrive a few minutes after he got home. When he arrived inside the door, the little furry guest, which he had not thought about all day, would bound from the top of the couch and start doing laps between his legs. A quiet Friday night with Maltese the cat and some steamed dumplings was exactly what he needed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Maltese found a spot on Arthur’s chest, which was fine; he didn’t mind. It was hard to tell what time it was and opening the old peepers to check seemed like a terrible idea. The soft purr was a great way to start the day.

  The bat on the nose, though, was a bit of a surprise.

  “I didn’t see that coming. Good morning, tiny, fuzzy one. Do you want something?”

  “Meow,” Maltese said in perfect cat.

  “I can only assume that means ‘feed me because I’ve just gotten up and there is a nap on my schedule for which I’d rather not be late.’”

  Maltese stood, stretched, and walked out of the bedroom.

  The light leaking across the hard wood floor was warm. It looked unfamiliar. Arthur checked the clock. “6:40 am?! Why would you get me up at this horrible hour?”

  Maltese didn’t answer but sat by his bowl. He was as still as a raven on a bust above a chamber door. “You will be getting me out of bed at this hour nevermore.”

  Arthur poured the food in the bowl and changed the water. Morning and he had never been friends. He didn’t feel hungover, but a night off from drinking wasn’t treating him as well as he might have liked.

  His internal voice wanted to know when they were going to the bar. Just bringing up the subject, especially in a rare state of micro-sobriety, was more than disturbing; it was telling. He wasn’t proud of his daily alcohol consumption, but his sentiment didn’t rise to the level of shame, either.

  There had always been a part of him that suspected this day might come. How long can one be miserable before it loses its appeal? The first day wasn’t the problem, but he knew there was a fair amount of unpleasantness coming if he should choose to ignore the wishes of his mind and body. They would likely retaliate.

  He feared self-confrontation.

  Come on, Arthur, change the subject. You did something yesterday that was worth thinking about. Of course, I mean the writing, but that goth girl was sort of neat, too. Let’s think about them, not the tiny glass and the delightful sound of the ice cubes being dropped to the bottom. Don’t romanticize it; call it what it is, a life distraction.

  He almost called Eric, but it was only seven o’clock. The coffee pot, which hadn’t been used in a long time, seemed inviting. There wasn’t any coffee or filters.

  Maltese had finished eating and curled up on the couch to nap. “Bastard!”

  He had to leave, go somewhere, do something. Arthur fixed his mind on the idea of grocery shopping. Are groceries open now? It didn’t matter; that was where he was heading. If they were closed, maybe he would just wait.

  By ten o’clock, his refrigerator had filled to a level that was satisfying to regard. Arthur stood with the door open, something that would not have gone unnoticed by his mother were she within a ten mile radius. All that food and yet, he didn’t have much of an appetite.

  Maltese was interested in some attention, so Arthur picked up the cat. With feline and phone in hand, he eased into the chair that had been a faithful companion since he signed his first book deal.

  There was still an internal battle going on, and his mind was making a convincing argument for libations. He needed a distraction. The phone had just such a distraction. He hadn’t opened it before, so he hit the app that Wen had decided he needed.

  The instructions were clear, and he started to play. The first level was easy and, he had to admit, fun. Level two wasn’t bad, either, but he soon was playing level eight and got stumped but only for a minute.

  Maltese went to sleep on his lap and only looked up briefly when the phone rang. Arthur said, “Lou, how you doing?”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Always a reasonable assumption, and I may be on the cusp of a nap, but no, I was just sitting here messing with Avian Angst.”

  There was quiet and a squeal, “You mean Angry Birds! I got one of your jokes,” she said. Arthur could feel the rays of smile-shine coming through the phone.

  “I’ll need to try harder to be obscure.”

  “Do you love it?”

  “I don’t hate it.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “So, how can I help you?”

  “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Have you tweeted today?”

  “Don’t you follow me on Twitter?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know the answer to that, don’t you?”

  “Okay, you caught me.”

  “You are right to be concerned, and I should probably keep trying to figure out why all the kids are so excited about social med
ia.”

  “You need any help?”

  “I really don’t want to walk all the way to the office, though. I can’t believe that in one tiny week, I’ve become one of those people who works on the weekends. I hate those people.”

  “So, you are thinking you need to go into the office, but you would rather not?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “You know, I was reading a blog post the other day. It was really interesting. I think you might like it. It seems, and I can’t say I checked the writer’s credentials, but she seemed knowledgeable...anyway, it seems that there has been a huge breakthrough in technology and some people have...again, you may not believe me and I can send you the link if you don’t...but she said some people have started to get computers in their homes. Crazy, I know, but...”

  “Wow, not even a week has passed and already you have learned to wield sarcasm...and with such a deft touch. I never saw it coming. You are like a sarcasm ninja. Is that racist? Maybe, but well done, grasshopper...which is also probably racist and I doubt a reference...”

  “I love David Carradine...but I don’t think I’m ready to walk the rice paper...old master...was that ageist?..Maybe, but...”

  “Okay, I yield. You think you know a place where a guy could pick up one of these fancy new-fangled home computators?”

  “I do.”

  “You mind taking me shopping, again?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The TR3 hummed along. Arthur asked, “So this place, it has good computers?”

  “They have everything. The best part is they’re local.”

  “Supporting a mom-and-pop business is an honorable thing to do.”

  “A secret person works there, and he’s working today. He knows a ton about computer hardware, and I thought you would be more comfortable buying from him than from one of the blue shirts.”

  “Definitely...what’s a blue shirt? And who’s the secret person?”

  “It’s not important. Turn right at the corner and again into the lot of that strip mall.”