Parallels of Men

Jake is a homeless veteran with a secret past. An encounter with a mysterious stranger forces Jake to revisit his past while exposing a sinister truth about the nature of man's existence.

Parallels of Men

by Robert A. Lehman

 

Snow has a transformative effect on a city. An invasion of fluffy white paratroopers, a specter of conflict and change. It demands your attention, you admire its beauty and despite the challenges, you welcome the immediacy it imparts to life.

The sheer volume from the lake effect transmutes fallen snow to landfill and from frozen refuse pile to architecture. Temporary wonders of the world painted in an industrial palate of dirty whites, grays and piss yellow.

This mountainous maze morphed Detroit into the perfect playground for the active imagination. Jake navigated the narrow snow corridors as a child might. A child possessed by the spirit of Motown greats like Jackie Wilson and James Brown. His proprietary dance moves included the Icy Street Shim Sham, the Pant Piss Shuffle and some Not-So-Happy Feet as he slowed down and slid around the corners. Today, as Jake neared his destination, he demonstrated mastery of the shuffle.

The dull clank of the cowbell appropriately announced Jake’s arrival at the Black Ball Diner. Not to appear desperate, he took a seat and marked time with a bouncing leg.

Jake took the same seat every morning. The one in the corner with the best view of the street and the electrical outlet just behind the bench. He smiled at Sheila and nodded as she shook the bottle of ibuprofen. Sheila knew he didn’t really have a home, or any steady work but she played along with his act. “How goes the battle there Jake?” She never waited for an answer, “You want the special?”

“Please and thank you”--Jake slid the coffee cup in her direction and kept two hands on while she poured. While he welcomed the generous transfer of warmth from the liquid to the cup, it did tend to exacerbate things a little where his bladder was concerned.  

“Trusting” she said--while carefully filling the cup between his hands. Jake looked up and smiled. She found that look of his endearing and she smirked approvingly, sideways like, out of the corner of her face as she poured.

Jake lived in an abandoned house on the other side of the city. He valued privacy and did not mind the commute. The location provided him a certain anonymity when he ventured downtown. He avoided admitting the truth about his situation to everyone, especially himself.

According to Jake, people lived their lives in two ways, as a participant and as an observer. Currently, his participant self believed he played the part of a gypsy, a nomad, a free spirit who cast aside the chains of conspicuous consumption whilst his observer self watched his slow painful decline and inevitable slide into the world of an under-bridge dwelling man-troll. When Jake was in the mood for conversation, he preferred to talk to his participant self.

 Jake’s bouncing leg was still marking time--and five, six, seven, eight--“I gotta piss like a racehorse.” Jake jumped up, popped the ibuprofen, removed a book from his bag and placed it near the center of the table. It was a different book every week. He never read the books; he just used them to mark his territory, like leaving your coat on the back of your chair, only people don’t steal books.

Following his normal routine, Jake walked as un-racehorse like as possible to the men’s room. He locked the door behind him and pranced Lipizzaner-like until he had positive penis control. With his squirt gun finally un-holstered, pointed downrange and in a safe direction--pew, pew, pew, he fired wildly from the hip at the urinal mint before a comically long pressure washing for the porcelain.  

After the piss-part, it was game time. He moved with a purpose. Every move carefully choreographed. This was not a drill. This was the real deal. This was a sponge bath. Shoes off, pants down, shirt off, toiletries and sundries carefully organized. Scrub-scrub-scrub…pause, sniff…dry-dry-dry. He was in flow. A master multi-tasker deserving of applause and admiration.

While his participant self frantically scrubbed his balls in double time, his observer self watched the spectacle in slow motion. Some days he hardly recognized his face in the mirror. Two years had passed since his last lab work. His hormone levels now had more red flags than a Socialist pep rally. The bags under his eyes were thick and dark. The constant rash on his hands looked like a bad case of athlete’s foot and every joint in his body hurt.

As if the physical symptoms were not bad enough, he suffered from a classic case of complex-PTSD. Stress and Jake did not get along. His body responded to stress similar to that of a fainting goat. Next month would be worse. With no checkup, there would be no prescription renewal. Jake was too proud to ask for help and too impatient to deal with all the red tape at the VA.

Exactly why his body was attacking itself was a mystery. The a*s kicking was not limited to his immune system. Life itself attacked him. His fall from grace came hard. After his initial fall, he kept tumbling and tumbling, down one hill after another, like a character in a slapstick comedy movie, flailing wildly and bonking every body part on rocks and trees as he tumbled, until he finally came to rest at the bottom of the hill with a fence post between his legs.

His observer self expected him to end it soon, and every day his participant self somehow found the strength to resist. “Not today,” Jake said to the mirror, “not today.” “Today is the day it gets better, today I choose to live.” He said it every day and every day he meant it. Every day he committed to turning over a new leaf, but every day he crawled back under the same rock. It was as if free will was just some happy notion. It was just an illusion. His choice made no difference. The outcome was already set.

Jake took another quick look around the bathroom, to make sure it didn’t look like a car wash, and then back out in public. Back out in public like he just went for a quick pee. Back out in public like he was just a regular customer, with a regular job, having his regular breakfast. On the way out, his participant self tripped over a spot of nothing, his shoes squeaked, his observer self felt embarrassed and Sheila just smiled nonjudgmentally. Jake smiled back. So far, a good day.

“That’s odd,” Jake said, he examined the book by flopping it back and forth.

“What’s odd?” Sheila placed his plate where his book had been before and then refilled his coffee.

“It’s just…I could have sworn this was a hardcover.”

“I don’t know there sweetie, I wouldn’t worry about it. Maybe that was last week’s book.”

Jake had grown accustomed to the memory problems and foggy mind. On the upside, not everything is worth remembering; however, every time it happened, it just felt like he was occupying someone else’s body. It always started this way. The day would get progressively worse from here.

The cowbell announced another arrival and a man seated himself at the counter. Jake observed him curiously. He was dressed from head to toe in leather biker gear. The outfit most resembled the British biker leathers and not the Harley Davidson variety. Although, it was similar to the British leathers, it was far from a perfect example. More modern or tailored perhaps. That outfit would not look right on just anyone. It required a certain build and a certain swagger to pull off without looking desperate. Especially this time of year.

He was a good-looking fella too--Not that Jake was into that kind of thing--but guys do look at other guys and admire their swagger. He was tall, trim, and muscular and had a somewhat abnormally angular jaw line.

Jake wondered if he knew him. He was familiar looking. A celebrity perhaps? A friend of a friend?

Sheila served the man coffee, with a smile, and they exchanged words. She smiled one more time before relocating to the far side of the pastry cabinet where she continued to surveil him between two mountains of meringue.

Jake slowly raised his fork to his mouth. His full attention on the stranger, Jake was completely unaware that he was staring. The stranger raised his coffee to his lips and slowly began a turn to his left. He moved at the same slow pace Jake was eating at and caught Jake by complete surprise. Jake, with his mouth wide open and fork midway to its destination, found himself motionless and looking directly at the man, with the man looking directly back at Jake.

Jake broke clumsily form his trance and tried his best to play it off as if he was looking past the stranger, and then like he was following some event outside, and then to his cell phone, and eventually to his book, which he raised to cover his face.

Now what? Jake thought to himself. This guy might still be looking at me. This was embarrassing. What if this strange man thought Jake was admiring his angular jaw line or the near perfect fit of his fashion forward leather outfit?

Jake needed an exit strategy, some reason to get up and leave without this stranger thinking the awkward eye contact had anything to do with it. The execution must be flawless and Jake surmised it best if he looked cool while doing it. If he could match this stranger’s swagger, he might actually make this well dressed stranger a little jealous. Sheila might even be impressed. If he could pull it off, she might see him in a new light, as some kind of supremely confident swagger master or bad boy. Women liked bad boys.

Jake played out a few scenarios in his head before deciding on one he thought was particularly good. He would stop reading his book by abruptly removing it from his field of vision. Then, using the manly one hand method, firmly slap the book shut with his left hand while simultaneously gesturing to the waitress for the check with his right. He would then regard something apparently important on his cell phone, quickly fork down the remaining food, pay the bill, glance at his watch and exit the diner in a mission oriented and purposeful manner.  Counting down now. On one. Five…four…three…two...ffflap!

“Works better with a hardcover, don’t you think?” Paralysis struck Jake, not quite fainting goat paralysis but close. Seated directly across from Jake, in Jake’s very own booth, sporting an abnormally angular jaw line, was the mysterious stranger.

Outwardly, Jake managed to maintain most of his cool, with his shoulders only just shrugging a little. However, inwardly, he felt that familiar electric jolt of surprise followed by a cascading rush, like someone pouring hot water on his brain and then down his neck, shoulders, back and arms. His mind was blank. Completely blank. Even his observer self was impressed at how perfectly blank Jake’s mind was.

The man spoke again, “I mean it makes more of a flapping sound as a paperback, doesn’t give you that deep woody THUNK that a hardcover book does.”

Jake’s participant self was still not ready to deal with this. His observer self decided to pass the time with a mindfulness exercise. He heard the sound of clinking dishes, The Girl from Ipanema played softly in the background, the kitchen staff spoke Spanish and his observer self existed somewhere in the ether, not judging, just watching it all. Meanwhile, Jake’s participant self was beginning to come back around. Jake emerged from his stupor and found himself feeling like a winter driver, seated behind the wheel of a car that just completed the second of two 360’s, and was now miraculously pointed in the right direction.

The man spoke again, “I’m Val Parker,”--he offered his hand--“we’ve met before, I’m sure you don’t remember.”

“No, not really, I mean you look a little familiar maybe, but not really. Was it a long time ago?” Jake asked.

Val leaned back in his seat, “It was a lifetime ago, a whole other world ago. You wouldn’t remember, don’t worry about it.”

     “I’ll bet it was when I was in the Air Force,” Jake suggested and then asked, “was it when I was in the Air Force?”

“Actually, it was,” Val nodded and smiled. “I was conducting an investigation, following a trail that lead me to your unit”--The man was thinking and his look became distant. He stared blankly at his coffee cup and slowly rotated it as he searched for the right words--“Our paths, they crossed briefly during the investigation, that’s all. It was a while back but still, I can’t really talk about it, I’m sure you understand.”

“Is it still classified?” Jake intended it as tongue-in-cheek and added air quotes for affect.

“Well, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” the man responded in kind. The two chuckled together and Jake was like his old miserable self again.

“So, do you mind if I join you?” Val asked. “We both did some work at the Area, maybe you can tell me a little about the project you were working on. I never fully understood what you spooks were doing there. I had the clearance, just not the need to know.”

Val continued, “Let me treat you to a good breakfast.” “I mean, that looks good…what you have there”--he gestured to the $1.99 homeless person special that Sheila always served him--But, you know what I really like? Chicken and waffles. Do they have good chicken and waffles here? My treat.”

“Well,” Jake responded, he was getting a little excited about the special meal. “They do fried chicken dinners and they do waffles. I guess we would do it that way. But that’s a lot of food and I don’t remember all that much from that place. I have memory problems now.”

“That’s alright” said Val. “No worries, let’s just have a good breakfast. Your name is Jake right?” Jake nodded and Val gestured to get Shiela’s attention.

Jake leaned his cheek up against the window. The glass was cold and it felt nice against his skin. His gaze drifted to the snow globe world that existed just beyond the window. It had recently been shaken and was alive with sparkles and slushes and the motion of busses and people moving with purpose while dancing their dances. It was beautiful. It was perfect. Today was a good day.

There comes a point, late into a man’s pig-out meal, when he arrives at what Jake called the “Slow Eating Stage.” Nourishment had been satisfied a few thousand calories ago, and now you are just eating for sport. It’s during this stage that conversation consisting of more than single syllable words and grunts becomes possible.

“So can you tell me about the project Jake? Do you remember what you did there?”

“Man, if I was on death row, that would be my last meal,” Jake said.

Val just ignored him. “The investigation I was conducting…I was on the trail of something. The trail lead me to the Area for a reason. It had something to do with that project. If you can remember anything Jake, anything at all, it could really help.”

“Ok, I’ll leave”--Jake spoke softly to himself. He started to get up, but his arms collapsed and he sat back down.

“Who are you talking to Jake?” Val asked.

“Huh?”--Jake seemed to come back around.

“I think you should stay right there,” Val insisted. “What about that project Jake?”

“It’s hard to remember that stuff,” Jake said. He appeared flustered. “I don’t know why I can’t remember. It’s like I can see it, but it’s fuzzy. Like looking at an eye chart but you can’t read the letters, only it’s not my eyes that are the problem, it’s my thoughts.”

“Don’t worry about the specifics; just give me some broad strokes. Was it a weapon you were working on? Were you interrogating a prisoner?”

     “Not a weapon, not a prisoner. It was a text, some kind of journal. We were translating it. It came from the crash.”

“What crash Jake? Who crashed?”

“They’re not from here,” Jake responded--He looked directly at Val. His eyes were open wide and spoke each word individually--“It-won’t-let-me-remember.”

 Val leaned forward and spoke in a forceful whisper, “I bet YOU remember though, don’t you? You f*****g parasite.”

Jake’s body leaned forward, showed its teeth and sneered menacingly at Val. Jake started to speak, but was interrupted by drooling. He lifted his hand to his mouth to catch a long string of slobber. “That’s weird,” he said, apparently unaware of what just transpired.

Val knew Jake was running out of time. If he could just get a little more information before it was too late. “What about your personal life when you were at the Area? Anything out of the ordinary there?”

Jake sat back in his seat. “I remember, I had decided to ask her to marry me. I was due to transfer. I was going to ask her when I was on leave. But, then things started to fall apart. I was doing so great, and then things…they just fell apart.”

Jake continued, “The Lieutenant kept forgetting to lock the safe, and she tried to cover it up. I had a duty to report her.”

Jake’s speech was beginning to slur. “Then the Colonel seemed to have it in for me. I wasn’t overweight, I wasn’t out of shape. He had no reason to monitor me like that. He screened everyone else twice a year. He had no right to screen me twice a month. I felt violated. Like I was being strip searched for body fat.”

“Then I was ordered to babysit the new Lieutenant’s kids and it was just one thing after another.” Jake’s speech was almost unintelligible by now. “I couldn’t catch a break. They rode me till I broke and then I got blamed for breaking.”

Jake’s participant self did not feel much like participating anymore and his observer self knew it was over and he had been caught. Jake was only barely able to move his mouth, his hands and feet felt like melons. He could feel his body from the inside out, but it was growing cold in there.

Val leaned forward again and spoke to Jake’s face in that soft but forceful voice. “So, when he made the decision to marry her, that’s when you made your move. Isn’t it? We figured it was something like that. You can’t do anything until they create.”

Val shook his head and smiled disbelievingly. “They spend most of their life at the mercy of their universe, most of their life, believing in the illusion, believing they have free will. And when they are finally presented an opportunity to create, when they finally get to exercise free will and create their own parallel, that’s when you jump in and take the wheel. A brand new universe, just for you. And after that, you’re in control.”

Jakes body spoke in a wheeze “They are ours to control.”

“Is that right?” Val responded sarcastically. “No universe likes you, you know. Did you know that? No origin, no parallel, no level, no orb. You don’t belong here. That’s how we find you. That’s how we track you”

“You see, they always get sick. Your presence triggers the autoimmune storm. It’s not just their antibodies that attack them though. Their new parallel attacks them too, trying to get at you, throwing one thing after another at them until their new world is just a living hell.”

The entity spoke again, “Why should you care?”

 Val responded, “Because it’s not just one life you destroy, not just a single universe. They interact, they are entangled, it’s not a closed system, you f**k! And Jake had family in my level.”

“We’re better at tracking your kind now. We can’t kill your kind yet, but we will. It’s only a matter of TIME and well, MY kind wrote the book on that.”

“I’m sorry Jake, I let you down. I let my family down.” 

 Val then spoke to the entity, “It won’t be long now and you will be loose again. Looking for another life to steal and I will track you to every end of the multiverse to stop you.”

“I’m sorry Jake, but this parallel was no good for you anymore. You had no chance here and your super-positions were infected. You were impacting other worlds.”

“If I’m getting past this monster’s defenses and you can hear me Jake, you still have the power. You always have one more free will card to play at the end. You just have to believe you can do it. We don’t know why it works this way.  It’s just a universal law. At the moment of death, you can make a choice Jake. You can create a new parallel and this time don’t let it in.”

Jake’s participant self was seconds from dead. His participant heart, with one last labored pump, pushed the poison just one inch further and then beat no more. His participant lungs drew their last breath before a final sigh and his participant eyes stared blankly into a universe of his creation with no observer self left to admire it.

Val Parker closed Jake’s eyelids, tucked Jake’s military issue coat in around his body and opened the book to the page where the bookmark was. The pages were blank. Val smiled before he abruptly removed the book from his field of vision. He then, using the manly one hand method, firmly slapped the book shut with his left hand while simultaneously gesturing to the waitress for the check with his right. THUNK

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[C. S. Vincent]

Thai is a wonderful story. I really like the idea that there's on,y two sides to a man: the participant and the observer. I also really like your comparisons. They were really descriptive and brought something to the story. It was a great read. Definitely thought-provoking.

[Salem Gray]

Very beautiful story! Love the images and the writing style, you have a knack for imagery. I especially like the first few lines; about snow being little white paratroopers. Great line! It was a very deep yet simple read.