Everything is Perfect

James lives in an ideal world which is about to fall apart around him.

“Here we have Adam Johnson with the weather, Adam?”

            “Thank you, Jessica! The weather is set to be perfectly agreeable the rest of this week! The folks up at Pleasant Weather Systems have fixed that storm cloud glitch and the rest of your year should be nothing but ideal weather! Back to you Jessica!”

            “Thanks Adam! Always good to know that your government is there for you! Now we take it over to our live correspondent at the State University graduation ceremony where a record number of 100% of all graduates have achieved a 4.0 GPA this year. The valedictorians for this year are…”

            *click

            Always the same. Always happy. Always safe.

            These words are inscribed over the State government building, a reminder that utopia is no longer a dream for mankind, but rather a reality. The year is 2153 and mankind has reached the peek of its existence. There is no war. There is no famine. There is no poverty. There is no crime. There is only happiness.

            James Turner lived in a little sub division just outside the town of Pleasant Prairie. His house was a plain white with sunbaked red shell shingles. As the sun coaxed its way over the horizon, the sun gleamed off the big bay windows in his sunroom and the sprinkler turned on for its morning routine. All the houses in his neighborhood looked much the same. (Always the same). He had lived in Pleasant Prairie for all his life and the familiarity made him feel comfortable. (Always safe).

            James turned off his TV and yawned. The weather was always his favorite part of The News Broadcast. He enjoyed the way Adam Johnson always said, “agreeable weather”. There was something comforting about that thought, that the weather would never disagree with him. James never went to college, in fact he never graduated from high school. Academics didn’t really interest him, so he had no reason to keep watching The News.

            He got up and went into the kitchen where he poured himself a bowl of cereal. Capital Crunch was his favorite. He went to the fridge and grabbed the milk which had been delivered not five minutes ago. The perfect temperature. As he poured the milk Jennifer came downstairs.

            They had met in high school, Pleasant Prairie General, and were married shortly after. She was a cheerleader and he was captain of the soccer team. They had always been together it seems, and consistency led to happiness, that was James’ philosophy (Or so he thought, in fact that was the motto for the city of Pleasent Prairie, but James was never interested enough to learn that fact).

            Jennifer was perfect. She had her chestnut hair tied up in a ponytail today with a black hair tie. Still dressed in her nightgown, she showed of her creamy skin and blushed cheeks. She never wore makeup, believing that she was perfect just the way she was. Her green eyes shone with a warm glow and her voice was plain, but pleasant to James.

            “Good morning, my love,” she said (This was her customary greeting, and one that James did not find bothersome).

            “Good morning my darling” (This name she found most pleasant).

            They engaged in normal conversation. James recounted the weather forecast for the week and she talked about how she was thinking of painting the guest room the color light blue, or something comparable. Meanwhile the cat sat in the corner, purring and watching its masters’ mundane lives with disinterest.

            And so the morning went, until it was time to go to work. James always went to work at 8:46 AM, and Jennifer left just after. She didn’t work. It didn’t agree with her disposition. Instead she took the trolley to the library where she rented her favorite book. She never grew tired of it, though she had read it close to a hundred times. James took the Red Bus down to the center of town where he worked in the State government building for the town of Pleasant Prairie. He was a clerk in the financing office. It was his job to check the numbers. He received the papers from another clerk who also checked the numbers. That clerk received the papers from another clerk and so it went. Of course, they weren’t actually papers, but rather electronic documents, but “papers” sounded so much nicer.

            As he passed by the city square he saw the day’s beggar. There was no longer any poverty, but the role of beggar was still filled by some to maintain the balance of what once was. It was the beggar’s job to ask for money. Of course, he must be sure not to terribly offend anyone by his begging. If he did cause offense, which was rare, he must say, “I’m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you.” All the money he made was given back to the common treasury at the end of the day. That treasury was then in turn redistributed to the individuals who had given it. In this way charity was maintained even though money was no longer a necessary commodity.

            When James passed by the beggar for the day, Tom was his name, called out to him, “Hi there James! Won’t you please extend your charity to me?” (He delivered the lines most beautifully)

            James willingly reached into his pocket and grabbed a twenty-dollar bill, then, thinking better of himself, put it back and gave the beggar a hundred instead. James was feeling charitable.

            “Oh James, this is too much! You are most charitable!”, cried out Tom, but not too loudly for fear that someone might hear him and become jealous.

            On James went. He looked at the watch on his right arm. 9:15 AM it read. He was right on time. He made his way to the front doors of the marble edifice that was the State government building and stepped on the door mat.

            A whir*

            “Good morning, James!”, the scanner proclaimed. It was nice to be acknowledged.

            The state building was richly adorned, with thirteen ivory columns reaching from the floor to the ceiling. The marble floors shown from a fresh set of wax; tiles were set in diamonds alternating black and the deepest shade of tan. On the walls were murals, none of them predating the Founding. They depicted smiling faces, sunny meadows and calm lagoons lined with every manner of exotic bird. There was one featuring a man and a dog sitting on a porch, looking out on a field of corn. James often sat on the bench in front of the painting when he ate his lunch.

            He walked up to the receptionist, Claire, and he checked in. Everyone checked in at their jobs. It was one way that the government made sure everyone was doing ok. Claire was wearing her hair in a messy bun this morning. James preferred the pony tail, but he accepted the fact that she liked the messy bun.

            “Good morning, James!”, Claire chirped, as eager as she was friendly, “How was your ride in from Applegate?”

            “It was fine as always, Claire. The apple trees are in bloom and I saw three deer.” He knew that Claire absolutely adored deer and would be happy to hear this.

            “I absolutely adore deer!”, Claire cried. “I’m hoping to go out that way tomorrow with Adam (From the news). I’ve been wanting to go but Adam…” She stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. She was meditating, as all children are taught in school. If you ever have a bad thought about someone (Like murder for instance) you are taught to take a deep breath, count to ten and think about all the things that make you happy. Soon the bad thought goes away and everything is happy again. And safe. Claire started again, “I’m so proud of Adam and all the work he is doing.” (This was, in fact, the truth)

            James waved goodbye and walked to the elevators. It was a common occurrence for Claire to have moments of meditation. It was no secret that she had recently lost her mother in an unfortunate accident involving a city bus. Such losses were rare, but when they occurred they were devastating. James had not personally attended the funeral. He did not like to cry or see dead bodies. There was to much emotion in funerals and the Prayer Sayers had a way of making you feel bad. (A particularly strange thing had happened at Claire’s mother’s funeral, but James did not know that).

            The elevator doors opened, and James stepped inside. As he rode to the 5^th floor, he hummed quietly to himself. Once when he was three, his mother had told him how much she loved his voice. When he was three his brother had expressed how much he did not like James’ voice. Because of this, James was always careful with how loud and how long he hummed. He did not even sing in the shower unless the radio was on and even then, never loud enough for Jennifer to hear.

            He arrived at the 5^th floor at 9:20 AM.  His desk was waiting for him. The other clerks had already passed on the papers to him, so he had plenty of work to do. As he worked he began thinking about what he would have for lunch. Normally he would go to the food truck in the square, but today he thought that he might surprise Jennifer at home with an early end to his day. The numbers on his computer screen flew through James’ mind like a tornado. Minute after minute, hour after hour, he sat at his station and typed. A seemingly endless stream of numbers and sentences. Accounts payable, accounts paid, business invoices, personal expenses, all of it the same and yet somehow different. He loved it.

            When noon rolled around he decided that he would in fact head home. On his way out the door he waved goodbye to Claire at the front desk who was talking on the phone. She saw him and waved. He saw her punch his card for him. He liked Claire.

            He climbed aboard the Red Bus and headed home. He got off a block from home at Murphy’s Corner. He walked in, and gave a short nod to Murphy, who was seated behind the counter, reading a novel. He wanted to pick up some chardonnay for Jennifer and some dry gin for himself. They had been joined for fifteen years that Monday and were planning to celebrate with a small party in the backyard. He grabbed the bottles and walked out. Murphy, still reading his book, sang a farewell as James pushed out the front door.

            He walked up the block, feeling rather good about his day. A Morale Officer was standing on the corner and beckoned him come closer. James panicked for a moment.

            What was wrong?

            He had combed his hair this morning and ate a healthy, happy breakfast.

            Was he smiling funny?

            Had he said something offensive to a neighbor?

            These thoughts subsided. What a silly thing to find himself worrying about. No doubt this was a routine stop intended to improve his own wellbeing. He walked briskly and confidently over.

            “Good morning!”, the officer chirped, “How is your day?”

            “As good as it gets” (A common response) “and how is yours?”

            “Right as sunshine” (No one understands ‘Right as rain’ anymore), “I don’t intend to take much of your time, its only that I was just walking past your house up on Sycamore, and I noticed a strange vehicle parked in your drive way.”

            James furrowed his brow at this. (Something that does not occur often I would say) “Well I couldn’t imagine who would be visiting at this time of day.” He looked down at his watch, “Jennifer should still be at the library, and we aren’t expecting any company.”

            “I suppose we should go up there together and investigate together then, yeah?”, grunted the Morale Officer.

            Morale Officers rarely were needed for anything. They were more like tour guides than agents of the law these days. Their days usually consisted of giving “hellos”, strolling through parks and helping the elderly make their way to the store.

            “I don’t see the harm,” said James, “I’m certain that everything is in order.” (Everything was not in order)

            They strolled together along the avenue, speaking casually of the coming festivals and what color would be best for the new hospital. As they approached James saw the vehicle in question. He was equal parts surprised and excited to see it belonged to his brother, Eric.

            Eric was a business investor from one town over, Happy Springs. He spent his days looking for the best ways to invest money of the common trust for the benefit of the local businesses. He was considered by most to be ruggedly handsome, though James always thought he was short on the common niceness that was of the highest importance.

            As they approached the front door, James noticed their cat sitting in the window, looking at him expectantly. They went inside, and James heard a strange sound. Singing. His brother Eric was singing. What he heard next broke his heart. He heard a voice say to his brother, “Hello, my love.”

Author's Note

This is my early attempt at developing a larger stage on which to portray my characters. I have other material pertaining to James and his world that I would like to introduce for larger consumption. Please feel free to comment on things like: plot, choice of words, symbolism (too heavy handed?), did you enjoy it etc.

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

I did enjoy it and found your characters sufficiently developed for a writing of this size (short story). I was pleased to find your story did not directly attack the bland utopia created on the page, but by a telling example destroyed the whole concept of ordered perfection.