Angels and Electrons: A Sub-Suburb Tale

by Paul Hawkins

  *

  Blaise could have taken an even harder turn for the worse right then and there, but there, in that rapidly-deserting oil bust of a town, the elders had decided that nothing would show good old Oklahoma grit in the face of adversity than by doubling down on the honor and the glory exemplified by PLOVANDO.

  His main competition was Laredo, sponsored by Tumbleweed Motors ("Roll in just the way you are, roll out in a brand new car! Tumbleweeds, Tumbleweeds, TUMBLEWEEDS! (vehicle number a41988Az7; subject to credit approval and prior sale; not all credit applicants are well qualified; actual model availability may vary).

  Blaise was sponsored by Fashion Shots, the Car Graveyard, the Bait Shop, and Rosalind’s mother’s across-from-the-trailer park hair salon, all working together under the collective pseudonym of the “Oklahoma Growin’ Places,” with an application hand-delivered by Rosalind, dressed up in drama department salvages left over from “Prometheus Fit To Be Tied,” “The Lady’s Not For Burning,” and “Gaslight.” They were impressed.

  Also in the running was a boy sponsored by the bank, but he broke his neck diving drunk into the shallow end of a swimming pool, and the local stockyards candidate, while earnest, sincere, clean-shaven, and as aw-shucks as all get-out, screamed everything about the state's hayseed past the chamber folks were dying to get away from. They wanted to attract white-collar businesses to the state. Businesses that used computers.

  One evening outside the Junior League hall at one of the many speech-n-greets, Laredo cornered Blaise.

  "Come on - I need this award. You have no idea how cut-throat car sales are. You, you have an easy life and a cushy job at Fashion Shots, a future in computers. Me, I pulled myself up from nothing. I was raised by my grandparents - my folks died in a trailer fire caused by faulty Christmas lights. My dog died saving me. Since then I've scrapped for everything I've had. You - a brainiac like you has had no trouble getting into junior college. But for me winning PLOVANDO would be that first rung on a ladder to a better life, to be somebody."

  Blaise looked at him and his heart was moved until Rosalind told reminded him it was all a lies and he knew Laredo’s past very well. Laredo had rattled off the sob-story he told to the judges. This made Blaise seethe. He hated being lied to, even when he was not sober.

  Rosalind laid the many sins of Laredo before him. "He is the most cut-throat, smooth-talking car salesman in town. He wears rings on every finger when he's not making these speeches. He goes through more women than Brawny makes paper towels. Didn’t you see that snake-like glint in his eyes, Blaise? He doesn't want to win to make himself a better person - he wants to win just to win. Just to beat you."

  And so the next time they met, Blaise told him he had decided to stay in, and so the final competition ceremony commenced and Laredo, driven by hatred, exceeded Blaise in all measures: he performed a sharp-shooting exercise that left the judges breathless; he juggled knives; he recited vast portions of the Lincoln-Douglas debate; and, for a finale, he sang both the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” and Roger's and Hammerstein's “Oklahoma” like a nightingale. Blaise, for his part, gave a speech about the need for fewer one-way streets; he spun plates that would not have fallen of their sticks even in an earthquake, and he gave a half-assed trick roping exhibition he had learned and practiced the night before. For his finale he sang Woody Guthrie's “This Land is Your Land,” a little off key. Then he thanked the judges for their time and saluted the flag.

  When all the speeches and sage nodding and sound of forks on cake plates was finished, the judges retired to deliberate and Laredo shot a smug glance at Blaise. Blaise shrugged but Rosalind shot daggers at Laredo and flipped him the bird.

  It was only minutes before the judges returned and resumed their place at the long table that had little paper placards for their names. Several sat at the wrong places - the tall tough cowboy was now apparently Miss Edna Grace. This did not deter them. They began by noting that both finalists were fine young men and that their decision had been the most difficult one since last year. It had been a tough, tough call indeed. But after all these platitudes were finished the judges pointed out one thing:

  "Laredo is in Texas."

  The hall grew silent and this pronouncement dropped like a rock down a well or turd into a punch bowl.

  "Yes," a jittery old woman (Miss Grace aka Tom Mix III) continued. "We're sure you're a fine young man, and you have performed admirably all around, but PLOVANDO is about Oklahoma values, and Laredo is clearly in Texas."

  Tom Mix III cut to the chase. "When people hear 'Laredo' they will think Texas, not Oklahoma, and we can't have that. Damn I hate Texas. Our winner is Blaise Bohrs!"

  A smattering of applause filled the meeting room of the Budget-by-Marriot. The cowboy slapped Blaise on the back and left for the hotel bar.

  Blaise stood kind of dumb at first, but warmed as Rosalind hugged him. A local hottie in a one-piece swim suit presented him the keys to the Datsun B-210 while another draped the PLOVANDO sash around him, and the remaining judges made a semi-circle behind him for a quick photo. Blaise gave a lopsided smile for the flashbulb and thus the PLOVANDO decision for that year was recorded in history.

  Offstage Laredo stood fuming. As the crowd dispersed the old lady judge went over to him and patted his hand. "There there - you have so much talent, it pained me not to vote for you. Change your name to 'Tulsa' and you'll go far."

  Blaise had won but in the very act of leaving the award ceremony Laredo cornered him.

  "You didn't deserve to win. This state means nothing to you. Its bright future means nothing to you. A bright future needs MONEY, Blaise, and you have no killer instinct on how to get it."

  "I suppose I do - through hard work and virtue, like the judges said."

  "Hah! You think they believe that? Not one of them made a dime without screwing over someone else. That's just the nice façade they wear now that their fortunes are made. And here you are, with your dog-eyed sincerity and your stupid 'I will uphold PLOVANDO' shit. Well, that's not for me. I don't know why I cared about that stupid award anyway."

  "The lady said if you'd just changed your name to 'Tulsa'…"

  "Screw that old lady! Screw Tulsa! I know what it takes to make a buck in this world and I'm going to make them, plenty of them."

  "Well good for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some PLOVANDO to live up to."

  "You do that, Blaise. But just remember one thing: while you're spreading Oklahoma values and goodwill all over the place, you better keep an eye out for that pretty little sister of yours."

  "Tess?"

  "No, not Tess. There ain’t a crappy bass player in the state who couldn't have Tess for the asking. I'm talking about Janet."

  Blaise's face fell then recomposed itself. "Hah! She's the straightest arrow there ever was. Good luck with that. She would never have anything to do with you."

  But there was something sinister in Laredo's eyes. "Oh Blaise - they always fall hardest for the bad boy. The more virtuous they are, the more convinced they are that they can be the one to save him."

  "I'll warn her about you!"

  Laredo laughed. "You do that - nothing drives a girl into a guy's arms like her family telling her who she can't be with!"

  Blaise felt his fists clench at his sides. "She'll be smart enough to avoid you."

  Laredo walked away. "You keep telling yourself that, Blaise. I got a buncha notches in my headboard that says you're wrong. You go on enjoying that PLOVANDO - I'll be enjoying your sister. Hahaha."

  He disappeared into the night and Blaise stood in the darkened hall, his fists clenched in fury. But then he remembered he had an honorary headdress to accept in the lobby, and anyway Rosalind assured him that only some women like bad boys and Janet was certainly too smart for that.

  And in truth, although he probably didn't deserve to win, Blaise embodied the spirit of PLOVANDO, got the scholarship and the Datsun B-210, and gave sincere "Don't Do Drugs" speeches to at le
ast three local high schools.

  The trouble for Laredo began when he bragged to too many people about how he was going to get back at Blaise by seducing Janet, and when Ray Jr. and Jude found out, they decided to break into his trailer and spray paint an ominous warning/threat on his walls. Unfortunately Laredo was home at the time and accused them of breaking and entering, so Jude hit him in the head with a hot frying pan (Laredo was frying Spam at the time) and Ray pulled his phone out of the wall so he couldn’t call the cops, and then they both ran.

  Laredo would have called the cops, but he had three baby marijuana plants growing in the herb garden in his windowsill. So he took revenge into his own hands - he hitched a chain to Blaise’s silver Airstream in the middle of the night, with Blaise in it, and tried to tow it into the lake. Blaise felt the insides of his trailer shake and heard the engine gun outside and held onto the sides of the bed.

  "What the..?"

  Bess Truman, now a full grown mountainous sow, woke up and began pounding her huge piggy head into the side of the Laredo’s pickup truck (which was not really Laredo’s - he himself drove a two-seater weenie convertible) and dented it severely.

  "Oh shit!" Laredo shrieked at Bess. "Stop it - it's borrowed! I can’t pay for that!"

  Just then the lights came on in the bait shop in the distance and Dale Charboneau came running over in a night-shirt. Who the hell wears a night-shirt? Dale Charboneau does.

  "Oh shit!" Laredo screamed and climbed out to unhitch the chain. Bess pummeled him mercilessly into the mud. He curled up in ball and tried to cover his reproductive parts.

  Blaise came out in a sleep fog and rubbed his eyes just in time for Dale to shine a flashlight in them. "Get that damn thing out of my face!” he said. “Now Bess - Bess! Stop it!"

  Bess retreated and Dale, Bess and Blaise looked down at Laredo in the mud. He was still shrieking.

  "Good grief get it off me!"

  "She's called off. Now what is this about?"

  “It’s about you winning – and what your friends did to my trailer!”

  Dale helped him out of the mud but Blaise just stared at him. He knew nothing of it yet, but he knew enough about Jude to hear the note of truth in it. "There's one thing you need to know about Jude," Blaise told him. "He's intensely loyal. Loyal to the point of stupidity. I didn't put him up to anything - the fool did it himself."

  "Yeah well he didn't do you any favors this time. See, I was willing to let bygones be bygones till they took things too far. I told you I was going to get back at you through your sister Janet and I meant it. I just happen to have found out that she wrote a fake biography of herself to accompany her college admission application. See, I’ve got a friend who works in the admissions office at the state university. Seems she finally wised up and decided being a dirt farmer’s daughter wasn’t good enough. I could have told her that - you gotta be something bigger than yourself to get attention these days. I know that and I was going to overlook it Blaise - overlook it - but your dumb-ass friends have pushed me too far! So here’s what I propose: you resign PLOVANDO and I’ll see to it that no one from the Dean of Admissions’ office makes any nosy phone calls about your sister. Your choice, Blaise.”

  Blaise felt his hands clench hard and he leapt at Laredo. “You bastard!”

  Dale held him back. Blaise stared at him with a hate-filled smolder.

  “So do we have a deal?” Laredo asked.

  “Hell yes, damn you,” Blaise said. “We have a deal.”

  Laredo walked forward and offered his hand to shake on the gentleman’s agreement. Blaise just growled and gave his hand one hard toss.

  “Oh, and have your greasy monkey friend here pull those dents out of the truck,” Laredo continued. “I want it looking better than new.”

  Blaise growled low.

  Dale spat chaw. "You come by tomorrow - we'll see if Ray Jr. can pull 'em out."

  Blaise glared at Dale but Dale just said. "Jude and Ray put them dents in, Blaise, when you think about it. I hate this snake of a man but fair is fair."

  Blaise couldn't agree out loud, but Dale always made sense. All he could say was, "Get the hell out of here, Laredo."

  Laredo left, then Dale left, then Blaise put Bess back to bed and then went inside. His mind hung on the fleeting fame he'd lost. He saw his faint flicker of hopefulness ebb away a coal stirred then fading. He wandered back into his trailer and uncorked a bottle.

  He sent his resignation in the next day, and it was accepted.

  The trouble for Laredo, though, was he didn't get the title. They skipped over him due to the Texas-ness of his name and they gave it to the boy from the bank with the broken neck instead, and afterwards doctors credited it with his miraculous recovery. Nerve cells re-knit, the spinal cord re-wired itself and the lame walked - all because of the spirit of PLOVANDO. It really happened - it made the papers.

  So being the slime that he is, Laredo dropped the dime on Janet anyway, and so the school admissions officers called on her and called her out on her story and thoroughly embarrassed her to herself. I gather she had said she was a dyslexic transgendered Eskimo. At least that’s what I reckon - she never said. Anyway, it drove her into Jude’s arms for one misbegotten night of sympathy during which they knocked Laredo’s trailer over sideways and let off the parking brake of his sports car so that it rolled into the river. And now they got themselves some twenty-year-old baby out there someplace that has never seen them, and now Janet buttons herself all up like she has never been nothing less than Mrs. Wonderful.

  As for Blaise, once he had surrendered the title he sank back into his old despair. He still kept the ceremonial head-dress though. Big old Anadarko Indian thing - he told them he’d lost it. After forfeiting PLOVANDO he used to get the damn thing out when he was drunk and wanted to make it rain. I know he’s still got it tucked away some place. I’d give real money to see him put it on one last time, get a belly full of whiskey, and see if he couldn’t stomp up a storm from the rags of vapor in the Western sky. Damn fool got enough fire in his belly he’d carry on to midnight just to see - I’ve seen him do it.

  Anyway, winning PLOVANDO (for a little while, anyway) was a brief shining moment in the midst of his rapid decline. I’m sure I told it better than Janet would have. If I ever get my hands on Laredo he’ll be wearing his own guts for garters. I know guys who’ll do bad things to guys like him.

  After Blaise was stripped of PLOVANDO I tried to talk him into coming with me to someplace sunny but he wouldn’t have it.

  “Maria might come back.”

  “Hell Blaise, she isn’t coming back and you've got to get out of here. Dad is bringing you down. You've done all you could for him."

  "I miss her."

  I waved him off. "That's the way of the world.” He wouldn’t listen. He stayed in that Airstream next to the farm and lived in a slow decay and watched the old man die. That was the end of the world for him.

  After the end of the world, he kept his company with Bess Truman and the goats. For two years he did nothing; during the third year he opened his father's electronics books. He discovered an aptitude for their content, and he followed the algorithms up and down the Chains of Being, along the strands and path of resistance and conductive, the glows and pauses.

  The angels came to him; they told him secrets.

  But things had to happen first.

  God bless you, Blaise. You didn’t deserve the events you fell into, though you were probably fated for them. You went through a hell of a lot but you are clean and sober now. Janet wants to ship you off to the Philippines, and that probably is the safest thing, but God bless you, my brother, when you had it you had it in spades. You still do. Here’s to you, Blaise Bohrs.