Life in a Fishbowl

by Len Vlahos

  “Okay, sir, what’ll it be?”

  Jared picked Jackie up and sat her on the counter. She was so light. So fragile. So … perfect. “What do you say, Jax? How about that teddy bear?” Jared pointed to a giant, brown bear.

  “No. I want the giraffe.” Only she pronounced it “jraff.” Jared leaned down and kissed her. Before he could pull away, Jackie threw her arms around her father’s neck and whispered, “I love you, Daddy.” Glio could feel the lump in Jared’s throat.

  “You heard the lady,” Jared said. “We’ll take the jraff.” As the carnival worker retrieved the giant toy, smiling at the undeniable cuteness that was Jackie, Jared asked his daughter what she wanted to name it. Jackie was about to answer when Megan, bouncing in her stroller, said, “Twiggy, Twiggy, Twiggy!”

  Jackie shrugged her shoulders; Twiggy it was. No one knew why, and no one questioned it. Glio could tell from the flavor of the memory that this was the first in a long string of incidents in which Megan would assert her dominance over Jackie. Glio knew this because Jared had superimposed twinges of confusion and regret on the memory after the fact.

  But that didn’t matter to Glio. All he knew was that the more complex the memory, the more intricate the emotional construct, the more delicious it was. He savored every last drop.

  ***

  Back in his Portland hotel room, a luxury suite at one of the city’s older, grander hotels, Ethan sat on the bed and laughed.

  He had to admit, it was a strange day. He felt part exhilaration and part fear that he had just purchased a human life. Well, not technically, but Ethan was too much the pragmatist not to see and understand what had really happened. He had purchased a human life. And for five million dollars.

  In the scheme of the great wide world, that’s chump change, he thought. Maybe because this poor schmuck really is a chump. He laughed out loud at his own less-than-clever quip.

  Ethan knew in his heart of hearts that this show, which he was toying with calling Life and Death, was going to be the biggest show in the history of television. Bigger than all the Super Bowls combined. Bigger than the final episodes of M*A*S*H and Seinfeld, bigger than the TV news on the morning of 9/11.

  He got up, went to the full-length mirror on the inside door of the wardrobe, and looked deep into his own reflection.

  “Ethan Overbee,” he said aloud, “you are the shit.”

  ***

  Deirdre didn’t say a word when Jared finished telling the family about the television show. The only sound in the room was that of Trebuchet licking his private parts.

  “Guys?” Jared asked, confused. He seemed to think this was good news, like Deirdre should get up and give him a high five. “You’ll never have to worry about money again,” he added in a voice that was both unsure and timid. “It’s really no big deal. Our lives will go on as normal, just with a few cameras in the house. And besides, they’re mostly just interested in seeing me die.”

  That started Jackie crying again. Her blond ponytail bounced with heaving sobs that she tried but failed to hold back.

  “Girls,” Deirdre said to her daughters, “why don’t you go upstairs? I want to talk to your father.”

  Neither Jackie nor Megan said a word. They simply got up and left the table. Megan put an arm around her older sister as they left the room, nuzzling her head into the nape of Jackie’s neck. This in itself was astonishing to Deirdre. On most days, the girls weren’t oil and water; they were gasoline and a lit match.

  When they were toddlers, Jackie three and Megan one, Jackie protected and loved her baby sister. So much so that Deirdre constantly admonished her older daughter: “Get off your sister, Jackie” or “She hit you because she wants you to stop trying to hug her.”

  Even then, Megan seemed to have disdain for Jackie. She learned to say the names of everyone in her life—Mama, Dada, “Taybooshay” (for Trebuchet), even Danny and Lexi from daycare—before she figured out how to say Jackie.

  When the two girls attended the same elementary school, Jackie looked after Megan. She walked her to class, made sure she had her lunch, and let her hang around her older friends, the few that there were.

  At first, Megan accepted Jackie’s help as the natural order of things. But as time wore on and she became enmeshed in her own social network, Megan wrote Jackie off. She went from being Susan Pevensie’s little sister, Lucy, to Cinderella’s wicked stepsister Drizella. At least that’s how Jackie saw it, and on some days, Deirdre thought she was right.

  It wasn’t just that Megan no longer had time for Jackie, it was that she taunted her, belittled her, did everything she could to crush her spirit. Jackie was so caught off-guard by the sudden change that she just absorbed the abuse, never fighting back.

  Once, when Megan was trying to impress a group of friends visiting the house after school, she locked Jackie in a closet until Jackie swore that she, Jackie, was a lesbian. Megan didn’t really know what the word meant, and Jackie, two years older, didn’t understand why Megan thought it was an insult. But the cruelty with which the taunt was administered left no room to question Megan’s intentions. By the time Jackie caved to her sister’s demands, screaming, “I’m a lesbian, I’m a lesbian!” she was hysterical. She didn’t hear Megan unlock the closet door or leave the bedroom. Deirdre found Jackie asleep in the closet two hours later, when it was time for dinner. Jackie offered no explanation.

  (While she didn’t sell her sister out, Jackie did, later that night, when everyone was asleep, steal Megan’s favorite lip gloss, Raspberry Sparkle. She managed to keep her laughter in check the next day as her sister frantically tore the bathroom apart looking for it. It was a small but significant act for Jackie. The lip gloss was a kind of trophy, proof that she shouldn’t be trifled with, even though she was trifled with more often than not. Jackie still kept the lip gloss in the back of her underwear drawer, wrapped in a pair of socks.)

  That now, in the wake of all that was happening with their father, they found solace in each other’s arms, in each other’s company, was a sign to Deirdre of how much life was changing in the Stone household.

  But just because Jared was sick didn’t mean the world had to turn completely upside down. Deirdre had had enough.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? All of America watching our daughters watch their father die? This is supposed to be good news?”

  “But, D,” he began.

  “But nothing. We can’t go through with it.”

  “I already signed. We’re committed.”

  “No, Jared, you’re committed. We’re outta here.” Deirdre got up from the table and started to leave the room. She made it all the way to the door before Jared said, “It’s five million dollars.”

  Deirdre stopped in her tracks.

  “D, I’m going to die. No matter what we do, I’m going to die. Let’s at least cash in.”

  Deirdre didn’t turn around, but she didn’t leave the room, either.

  PART THREE

  Lights, Camera, Action

  Friday, September 25

  The day the cameras moved into the Stone family house, it was raining. A cool, misting drizzle, more typical of January weather in Portland than late September, made the air thick with moisture and with anticipation.

  A collection of men hauled large black chests from two vans parked on the street. Jackie and Megan watched from Jackie’s bedroom window and thought that the men looked like roadies setting up for a concert.

  Deirdre stood in the foyer as they passed and thought they looked like angels of death.

  Trey wondered if they had kibble.

  Jared didn’t wonder anything; he was lying on the floor of his office, snoring.

  As the television crew unpacked its equipment and began placing cameras and microphones all around the house, Glio found himself lying on a long flat table staring up at a bright light. A cloth strap held his head firmly in place. Without warning, the table began to slide into a tube of some sort. There were a few clicks and som
e whirring sounds, and the table slid back out.

  A twenty-something woman with patrician features, a Texas accent, and pert breasts smiled at Glio. She told him that the radiologist would read the scan results and send them to his doctor in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

  The memory being consumed was Jared’s first CT scan, and Glio delighted in the range of emotions he got to experience. There was awe at the technology, lust for the nurse, fear of the report, and, of course, fatigue and confusion. It was like a never-ending-memory bowl at Olive Garden, and Glio wasn’t shy about going back for seconds. Or thirds.

  ***

  Late that same night, after the crew had gone, jumbles of wires and cables now strewn everywhere, Jackie left her room and found her mother sitting on the couch. Deirdre was in her flannel pj’s, her feet up on the coffee table, a MacBook on her lap. Jackie couldn’t help but notice the lines around her mother’s eyes and arching down from the corners of her mouth. The woman was tired, beaten down. Jackie had been so consumed by her own feelings that she hadn’t really considered what this whole ordeal had been doing to her mom.

  “Hey, Jax.” Deirdre closed the computer and patted a spot on the couch.

  Jackie sat down, but she didn’t snuggle in as it seemed her mother hoped and expected she would. She stared at her hands for a long moment before letting out a big breath of air. “Mom, why are we doing this?” Jackie motioned to the cameras that had been installed in all four corners of the living room ceiling, each one seeming like a malevolent eye just waiting to wake up.

  The interminable pause before her mother answered told Jackie most of what she needed to know. “The truth?” Deirdre asked. Jackie nodded. “Money.” Her mother’s voice was flat, devoid of life.

  Jackie didn’t know how to respond to that. She thought back to the day she learned the real value of money.

  When she was eight and Megan was six, they set up a lemonade stand at the end of the driveway. Jackie could still remember the feeling of anticipation as she and her sister and mother squeezed lemon after lemon, mixing the juice and the rinds with water, ice, and sugar. The kitchen, to Jackie, smelled like summer.

  Because she was between second and third grade and had mastered her writing skills, Jackie was tasked with creating the sign that read “Lemonade, Fifty Cents.” The next line, “Keep Cool. Keep Fresh,” was a slogan Jackie had devised on her own, and it made her swell with pride.

  Her father set up a card table, along with a shoe box filled with quarters and dollar bills to make change, and they waited. Then, as Jackie believed with all her heart would happen, a car stopped. And then another. And then another. They kept on coming.

  Some of the drivers refused to accept change, making the lemonade stand profits soar, and each looked like a happy, satisfied customer. Thinking back, Jackie realized that most of the “customers” were neighbors and family friends that Deirdre had probably called and asked to stop by. But on that July day, Jackie felt every bit the entrepreneur. When all was said and done, the girls had made ten dollars, five dollars each.

  “What are you going to do with your money?” Deirdre asked.

  “I’m going to buy a tiara!” Megan, only six, was already well along the path of the person she was destined to become.

  “I’m not sure,” Jackie said. “I think maybe I want to buy a book. But is five dollars enough to buy a book?”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Jared answered. “Let’s go tiara and book shopping and see what we can afford.”

  Twenty minutes later, the whole family was in the car, the girls each clutching a pocketbook filled with their newfound wealth.

  “Can we go to the tiara store first?” Megan asked.

  “Actually, Peanut, we’re closer to the bookstore.” Jackie knew her father would want to go to the bookstore first. The family seemed to find time almost every weekend to pay a visit to Powell’s. Jackie loved it. Megan groaned.

  After they parked, as they were about to go in the front door, Jared put a hand on Jackie’s shoulder. “Hold up a sec.” Deirdre, Jackie, and Megan followed his gaze and saw a man sitting a few feet down from the door. A sign that read “This is awkward for me, too …” was propped in front of him, and next to it sat a tattered basket lined with a smattering of loose change and dollar bills.

  Jackie watched her mother’s alarm as her father approached the man. Jared had recently won his first election and had been going out of his way to connect with the community. Jackie thought this must be part of his job. She followed her father, Megan and Deirdre staying a few feet behind.

  “Hi,” Jared said.

  The man looked up and met Jared’s eyes. He seemed confused. Jackie couldn’t tell if he was confused that Jared was talking to him, or just confused in general. His clothes—a dirty pair of blue jeans; a black sweater with little holes in the shape of some nighttime constellation, which must have been warm in the summer heat; and boots with the soles worn thin—along with the sign and money, told Jackie that this man was homeless. She knew from television and from overhearing adults talk that there were homeless people in the world, but she wasn’t sure she had ever seen one, and she definitely had not met one.

  When the man didn’t answer, Jared squatted down so they were eye level. He extended his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Jared Stone. I’m your state representative.” The man paused a beat before he burst out laughing. Jackie thought the man was old at first, but on hearing him laugh she thought maybe he wasn’t much older than her dad. His laugh was genuine and infectious. Her dad laughed, too, and it made Jackie smile.

  “Yeah, I’m guessing you don’t really care that I’m your representative. Maybe you’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  “Mister,” the man said, speaking for the first time, his voice gravelly but each word spoken clearly, “I wish to holy hell I had a fish to fry.”

  Jared smiled at this. “You know the city has shelters. You can get a good meal and a warm bed,” he offered.

  “I know. But you can only stay so many nights in a row.”

  “Do you work?” The man shook his head. He was about to say more, but he looked at Jackie and Megan and thought better of it. Jackie could tell the reason he couldn’t work was some sort of dark secret that he thought might scare children. Even at eight, this touched Jackie; this man who had nothing still had concern for her.

  “Well,” Jared said, taking his wallet out of his jacket, “maybe this will help a little.” Jared placed a twenty-dollar bill in the basket. The man stared at it in disbelief for a second, wondering if maybe there was some trick, but then he snatched it up in one fluid motion.

  “It will help a lot,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Richard.”

  “Well, Richard, it’s nice to meet you.” Jared stuck out his hand again, and this time the man shook it. He smiled at Jared and nodded to Deirdre, Jackie, and Megan.

  “C’mon, girls,” Jared said, moving back toward the entrance to the bookstore.

  “Wait.” They all turned to look at Jackie. She opened her small pocketbook and took out the five one-dollar bills her mother had given her in exchange for the pile of quarters she’d earned at the lemonade stand. “Here,” she said, crouching down and gently laying the money in the man’s basket with great care.

  The man met her eyes and sort of smiled; somehow that made him seem sadder. He nodded but couldn’t find any words of thanks to offer. Jackie was confused and worried that maybe she’d done something wrong. When she looked up at her mother in alarm, Deirdre’s smile told her everything she needed to know. She pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the top of her head.

  “You take care now, Richard,” Jared said, “and you put my daughter’s money to good use.” He steered his family into the bookstore.

  It wasn’t until years later that Jackie understood her father’s final admonition to Richard, that he not use Jackie’s money, the hard-won money of an eight-year-old girl, fo
r drugs or alcohol. On that day, Jackie simply felt proud; she felt good. So very good.

  Megan clutched her own pocketbook to her chest and, once they were in the store, proclaimed that she was not “giving my money to that dirty man.” Jared shook his head and smiled, chalking it up to Megan’s age. No one said a word as they fanned out and went book shopping.

  Jared and Deirdre bought Jackie a book anyway—Judy Blume’s Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great—as a reward for her selfless behavior. While they did stop at another store so Megan could buy a tiara (also with financial help from her parents), Jackie couldn’t remember ever seeing her sister wear it.

  Jackie thought about that day as she processed her mother’s one-word answer to the question of why they’d signed on with the television network: Money.

  The word in this context seemed filthy; it filled Jackie with a kind of dread. “Okay,” she said, “but I hope we’re going to do something good with it.”

  Deirdre looked at her daughter, sighed, and nodded. “C’mere,” she said, and held out her arms. Jackie curled up, resting her head on Deirdre’s lap. She fell asleep while her mother stroked her hair.

  ***

  With the memory of his first CT scan—and the fear and apprehension that came with it—now gone from Jared’s psyche, his thrice-weekly trips to the doctor didn’t cause him nearly as much anxiety.

  The radiation treatments—which Jared thought of as “microwaving my brain,” though he could no longer remember why he thought that—were painless. But they were making him tired. He thought about stopping the treatments and asked the doctor about it.

  “Really, Jared, it’s up to you,” she told him. “It’s what we talked about when I first signed you up for the program.” Jared tried to recall that conversation but couldn’t seem to find a marker for it anywhere in his memory. “The treatments may buy you a little more time, but they may also make the time you have left less … less …”