That Place

by Jay J Carr

  New Jersey-

  10.

  The next morning when he peers out of the crack in the curtains there is no longer the chaos from the day before. He sighs in relief. He had not said goodbye to Charles at the door fearing the same fiasco as before. He needn’t have worried, as Charles was right after all. They wanted to hear from him and they had, albeit indirectly through Susan.

  The coffee pot still has some leftover coffee in it and he pours himself a cup and slices a banana over his granola. He eats slowly, thinking about the last 24 hours. What did today have in store for him?

  With guilt he looks at the dogs. Both are staring at him, reminding him of his responsibilities at home, like taking them for their twice-daily walk. He will do it in the afternoon once he is back and has satisfied everyone.

  Clothing and him were never friends. He didn’t get what all the fuss was about. Normally he did not care as long as the pants were ironed and shoes and shirt matched. Today is different though, as he is sure that someone will comment on what he is wearing, like they had on everything else so far.

  In the end he chooses a recently bought shirt and a jacket from the last graduation to go with it.

  What did he do once he arrived at the Institute? First thing would be for Susan to get a new SIM card for his phone. He needed a new number, one which only her and Charles would know. He isn’t thinking clearly, that would not be possible as he would be speaking at a news conference and Susan had to be there. His priorities.

  He gets his keys from next to his bed, kisses his ‘fluffy children’ goodbye and ventures to the garage where his car is parked. He opens the electronic gate and no sooner has he done this when his car is swarmed by three or four, he couldn’t count, flashing cameras. Instinct takes over and he reverses as fast as he can leaving the shocked ‘attackers’ in the wake. With a quick flick he pushes his remote, closes the gate and races off down the road.

  The Institute is swarming with people and even as he tries to drive in he struggles to make it through the boom gates. Cars are backed up on one side of the entranceway. Luckily he has an electronic tag reserved for tenants and is quickly able to enter. So far, no one has recognized him.

  He parks in the basement and Susan materializes out of the shadows. The relief is overwhelming. As he sits back he motions for Susan to join him. She slowly walks over, opens the door and slips inside.

  “Hello,” she says awkwardly.

  “Hello.”

  “I didn’t realize there would be this much pressure.” She is looking drained.

  “I am so sorry to have left it all to you, I just didn’t …”

  “No problem, its just that it is insane up there. I have all the Institute staff doing various things - controlling crowds and cameras and the crazies that have also come.”

  “You are a lifesaver.” He didn’t look at her when he said this.

  “I said … no problem. Look, I tried my best … it’s not something that one can write quickly and the subject matter is incredibly complex and maybe there will be a chance to be spontaneous.”

  He looks confused, “Not sure what you mean?

  “The speech you asked me to write.” She hands him some papers and as he looks at it he remembers that he asked her to do this for him.

  He doesn’t want to glance over it now. He is also too scared to leave the car and deal with the pressure of what the day has in store, as Susan so glibly put it.

  They both sit in silence for a while, neither one wanting to take responsibility. Susan is the first to break and says, “All right, let’s get the show on the road.”

  She is back in control and looks at him and says, “Right, so this is what is going to happen. We are going to go up in the elevator. You and I are then going to slip into the back entrance which is being manned by the temp we hired yesterday. We had no choice, there were too many calls and we needed someone to help answer the phone. This means you will have direct access to your office. At 9:55 I will let the press know that you are ready to address them. I have set up a table and a tablecloth, as well as placed the banner of the Institute behind it. At least we can get some publicity out of this,” followed by a quick and nervous laugh. “Only kidding! Then you can wait in the passageway and enter after I have given an introduction. I thought it best to address the press and let them know the format of the press conference. This is all from a Google search at 4:00 this morning. So, do you want to answer questions?”

  He hadn’t even thought of it and quickly shot back, “Hell, no!”

  “Right, thought that would be the case. So I will let them know there will not be an opportunity to ask questions. I will then wait while you scuttle back to your office and will ensure everyone leaves. So far there have been over 45 requests for a personal interview; one which even agreed to pay a few hundred thousand dollars; and then one which said they would be happy to do it at the resort of your choosing from the Maldives to Majorca.”

  The terror has returned, he is struggling to breathe again and has to concentrate hard on ensuring that he gets sufficient oxygen. This information, supplied in this rapid way has fueled his anxiety.

  “I have everything under control.” For the first time she turns and looks at him. “You won the peace prize. Well done. There is a reason for it. Now, you are going to be great. I know how much you hate crowds and people but lets do this in the best way we can. Once it’s over, I will come through to your office and we can talk about the next steps.”

  The words come out all jumbled, “Susan, really, thankful ... I can’t express how … you are amazing.”

  “You are welcome. Charles is sitting inside. Do you want me to send him through?”

  “No, I need some Barry time.”

  She squeezes his hand and opens the door.

  They walk in silence towards the elevator and make their way up. When the doors open, he looks around in panic but Susan has managed to keep the press out of the trade elevator area.

  He meets the temp at the door, a sweet looking boy albeit terror-filled and wild-eyed. The boy half bows as he stands back to let them in. “Hello,” he hears himself say, “my name is Barry and thank you for helping out.”

  The boy does not say a thing but quickly moves out of the way to close the door and lock it as instructed. He walks to his office, closes the door behind him and sinks into his chair. The desk is a mess filled with papers, requests, a collection of phone messages as well as flowers, and plants and other gifts which have been delivered. He turns the chair around and stares at the wall, as he desperately needs to meditate and prepare himself for what is coming and not face what’s on the desk in front of him.

  He reaches into his pocket and removes the speech. He wants to go over it a few times. He scans it first, trying to get an overview. He reads it and is quietly taken a back at how much effort has gone into this. Susan knows him so well. She has captured his spirit and even his wording. He does not need to change anything. The speech has a nice rhythm and he can make this work. Even be spontaneous as Susan suggested.

  The clock on the wall shows 9:50. It is nearly time. He stands up, prepares his tie and jacket; looks at himself in the reflection of his computer screen; and is relieved that he can’t see his face clearly like he did on the television yesterday. Well this will have to do. There is a knock at the door. It is Jack. He still can’t speak but motions to the passageway. Poor boy, he thinks, with such an adorable face.

  “Thank you,” he says, as he walks down the passage. From the next room he can hear Susan speaking.

  “Please note that we are not going to allow anymore microphones on the table. As we are about to begin could I please request that you switch off your mobile phones and keep them off for the duration of the press conference. I am aware that we have not been able to accommodate everyone today and appreciate those who are waiting outside with the audio feed. Professor Cunningham will be speaking shortly and I kindly ask you to respect his wishes at this time. He acknowledges
all the requests for personal interviews and will consider them in the next few days. He won’t be answering questions at the end of this address. So on behalf of the Institute of Peace Studies, please welcome Professor Barry Cunningham.”

  There is applause as he turns the corner. There are blinding lights everywhere and he has to squint as he walks. In front of him there are so many faces all intensely staring at him.

  He walks to the table and sits down but not before losing his balance and slightly stumbling. He tries to remain composed. He smiles at the lights because the faces have disappeared into it. He reads:

  I would like to thank you all for coming here today. Your patience in awaiting my response is much appreciated.

  I would like to thank the peace prize committee for this honor. I stand back and take stock of the hundreds of other politicians, practitioners and academics who should have this honor bestowed on them instead of me. But I thank you for there must have been something in me, which you are acknowledging, and the work done here at the Institute.

  On reflection, looking over the mountains of our county, I thought about the ramifications of this honor. My speech here today can never do justice to this prize and all it stands for. I am humbled and share it with all the people around the world who try hard to make a difference and ensure that peace exists in every community. I share it with community leaders, communities and those who stand in solidarity with people who are marginalized; who suffer at the hands of those who use power to rob them of rights; but more than this rob them of dignity. It is dignity, which I would like to remind us is the one thing that every human on earth can demonstrate to others. If we can ensure that dignity is maintained in every interaction we engage in, if we can see the very real possibility of empowering people through simple words, or acts of kindness, we have the ability to transform the hatred and unkindness we see, into something different, something which says that there is a possibility for change, one which will restore dignity.

  Charity, dignity and change do not require being heard, or even noted, they happen because people will it. They do it not to be recognized, but because it is their wish. I urge you to consider what you can do in your communities to initiate the change.

  In this age, where we yearn to be noticed, yearn to have our actions acknowledged, yearn to do something so we can benefit in return, let us remember that every act of kindness regardless of the intention deserves to be acknowledged and I would rather that something is done positively, even if the intention is for reward.

  My request to you today is to pass on an act of kindness, whether it be on Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter. Do something good for someone. I humbly urge you to transform a life. Please help to make the difference and give dignity.

  Once more, thank you, once more, I am humbled by this award.

  There is silence after his speech. No one says a thing. He isn’t sure what to do and sits for a few moments paralyzed. Questions are shouted from across the room and he quickly puts on his fake smile, stands and exits through the door. He stands against the wall in the passageway out of the prying eyes of the press. He let’s out a big sigh. Susan passes him and gently squeezes his arm. She then disappears back into the room.

  “Thank you for making the time to come here. Copies of the speech are available as you exit, as well as a brief biography of Professor Cunningham and the work done here at the Institute of Peace Studies.”

  Standing is calming for him and he waits for Susan to finish and close the door, blocking off the hum in the room. They both look drained – conspirators in a plot to fool the naïve. He hugs her. “I don’t know how to say thank you.”

  Part 2

  New Jersey-

  1.

  It has been a week since his life had been completely turned upside down. While most people would be thankful for the experience and accolade, he hated every single minute of it.

  In true form, the analysis of his speech had been anything but kind. Some of the comments were:

  -Didn’t say anything.

  -Shortest acceptance speech in the history of the prize.

  -Speech like a poor self-help book.

  Susan had once again been amazing. She had warded off the press and every organization that wanted information or an interview - in a polite and cordial manner. Basically, she told them to piss off nicely.

  The news channels are also bored with the story and are now focusing on women who are trained to execute people in a country with a dictator. The reason being that – ‘women are likely to feel less emotion’. Even a Professor of Psychology - from some absurd academic institution agrees with this ludicrous claim - and it is he who is currently being transmitted, over and over again, to the world.

  There had been press circling his house for three days after the statement. He would have the same fear whenever he opened the electric garage doors. However, this too had petered out. Yesterday was the first paparazzi free day and he felt normalcy returning.

  He wanted to go for his daily early morning walk with his dogs and he felt that now it would be possible. He put the dogs’ leads on, shut up the house and puts on the alarm. When he opens the side gate and looks around the street is deserted and he lets out a huge sigh of relief.

  The mountain is looking beautiful this morning, with the rays of sun gently catching the various buildings that reflect an orange and pink hue back. The air is crisp and he quickly crosses the street to the pedestrian pathway on the other side. He lets the dogs loose and watches as they bounce up and down, sniffing everything on their way.

  He is deep in thought when he hears, “Wow! It’s you. The Peace Prize winner?” The man has been jogging and has stopped. There is the outstretched hand, “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “What are the chances of actually meeting someone that has won the Peace Prize and in our neighbourhood? I am going to have to tell my wife this.”

  He smiles and does a sort of slight bow with his head and carries on walking to ensure that he sends out the signal - he doesn’t want to chat. It is then that more ideas start to gnaw. What if he is known for being rude and not engaging with people? Wasn’t there pressure, once you won the Prize, to act in a certain manner? The more pressing thought was – is this going to be everyday? Everyday, people wanting to say hello?

  Ever since he had been to high school his social skills had been destroyed. His ability to engage with others was ripped out of him and could no longer make small talk; deal with strangers; and had been known to be unfriendly to others, when in fact it was his built in security mechanism.

  And here it was happening - he had been anonymous and now he was the opposite of it. Not that he could think of what the word was. Someone had stopped his daily activity to speak to him. Would this also be the case when he collected the dry cleaning, or went grocery shopping or decided to go and see a movie? If it was, he didn’t know how he was going to survive.

  He looks around again to see if there are any other joggers or people going for their early morning walks and sees some in the distance. He quickly collects the dogs, puts on their leads and crosses to the other side of the road. Here, he is not in close proximity to the walking pathway and hopefully more inconspicuous. The dogs are happy with this decision, as this is newer territory and more to smell. When Charles wanted to talk, they would take this path as they could chat freely without having to worry about dodging people.

  The song he hums is one which is filled with sadness from the playlist he created called ‘Melancholy’. It sticks in his head and he has been haunted by it for the whole week. He hums it because he wants it to leave him, to be expelled as it goes from thought into sound but this is not the case.

  It is as he is coming to the final stretch of his walk that he hears two people running behind him. This is not the sound of runners but of people desperately trying to chase someone. He is worried that they might attack him, as crime has increased in the area but is too scared to turn around.


  “Barrryyyyy,” he hears and he is startled and jumps forward in fright. As he turns he comes face to face with two ‘makeup mothers’, as Charles puts it, neither of which he knows.

  “My name is Anastasia but everyone calls me Anne, and this is Samantha but everyone calls her Sam. Can’t believe that it is you walking here …”

  How can it get any worse? Then out come the phones and he hears, “We have to get a selfie with you. We simply have to.”

  He has not said one word in the entire conversation, or monologue he later realises. Now it is him scurrying away, breaking into a run before rounding the corner and opening the gate of the house, diving into the opening before slamming it quickly behind him.

  He is panting and tries to catch his breath, all the time being observed by the dogs that have been yanked along as he ran. It is then that he feels he is slowly cracking and that his soul is running out onto the grass below. Filled with self-hatred, the tears start running down his cheeks, as if he is able to watch himself - he is a cry baby. A grown man crying. He detests himself - he wishes he was dead - he wishes he could get the strength to do what he has always wanted to do - he wants to die. It is dying that is the hard part, because he is pathetic and does not want to ‘hurt’ himself in the process. Trying to find the painless options for suicide are no longer easy. He has looked on the internet and tried to get Nembutal. Like everything else, he failed at that too. Cutting his arms, hanging himself, taking poison all have an element of pain in them. He is pathetic, a pathetic human being.

  Bangkok-

  2.

  Hurtle seemed pleased with himself. The second take was more clinical and Tod had stated facts without any analysis or further explanation. They had left the Soi and decide to go their separate ways. The cameraman and Hurtle got in a taxi to go and edit the footage and speak with the powers that be about the story. Tod had offered to do a voice over but Hurtle had insisted that it was not needed. Tod had the night off, left standing on the street, with the gay bars behind him. Eager to leave the area, he walked quickly away following the crowds of people who were teeming the streets.