“I’m Stu, Stu Hessler,” said the man–more like, exclaimed the man. “I see nothing but rotten fruit and expiration dates! I see rat mazes and hamster wheels monitored and regulated by booby traps and superheroes! I see a land that was once a great land, but hasn’t been that land, for far, too long!”
Nearby two kids, little brothers, a six year old and an eight year old, kicked a soccer ball and chased each other around the grass and the under trees in the park. They heard the angry voice and followed it until they saw this figure standing atop a bench wearing a dirty sweater over an old bowling shirt and bright plaid golf trousers. He was old, maybe in his eighties. He had waxy skin, white hair and scraggly beard, a bloated belly and a hunch in his back. He flailed his long bony arms in one direction, then another. His hands were frozen with arthritis.
“The world is on an express train to hell!” he shouted. “A train that’s a parody of a train, and everyone wants a part of it; they want to be a part of it! New and improved living!”
The rest of the park was unaware of Stu’s anger towards the world. In fact, aside from the two boys, the rest of the park just went about their business: people walked by on cell phones, some jogged passed wearing headsets. A young couple fed lunch to each other, parents changed diapers, and a group of friends sat in a circle and discussed the results of last night’s episode of American Idol. Yet, Stu continued.
“Everything you see becomes a parody! There’s no fight anymore! It’s all a bandwagon without reason!”
The two boys walked close enough to be Stu’s audience. “What is he talking about, Brandon?” the six year old asked the eight year old.
Brandon picked up the soccer ball and held it in his arms. “I don’t know Kyle,” he said. “You know how Mom says when we grow up we’re going to have to have special responsibilities? Maybe he has too many special responsibilities.”
“My parents were there when the Titanic capsized!” Stu shouted. “Back in 1912! You know when that was?” The boys looked at each other. Brandon shrugged. “A British shipyard company built a giant steamship that could hold thousands of people. It was the first of it’s kind! It was the largest ship in the world! Once it set out on its Maiden voyage, four days later, the goddamn thing hit an iceberg, broke in two, and viciously plummeted into the Atlantic Ocean! Over fifteen hundred people died!” Stu poked and prodded his hands at the ignorant public surrounding him. “The world around me has become a tragedy much the same!”
The two boys squinted their eyes and Kyle craned his head. The afternoon sun beamed through a tree behind Stu and the rays lit his silhouette up like he was an angel. His arms outreached, hands trembling, his eyes focused and relentless as if all he has to say is, nothing matters, nothing you care about holds any weight.
“Imagine being there that night when it sank! Imagine being amongst all the families, and lovers, and staff and crew, and the scum and the splintered wood, all floating atop the surface of the Atlantic–some fortunate to have found scraps to float on, others fighting and getting nothing, then freezing and succumbing to their fate! Imagine seeing thousands of eyes crystallize and frost over white, skin taught and blue, and screams calming to a labored panicked last breath . . .”
Someone in the group next to the old man said something unrelated and they all started laughing. The boys didn’t really take notice. Stu didn’t miss a beat.
“You goddamn kids and your television programming! You’ll never know sorrow! You’ll never have worry, or pain, or even an idea of pain! It’s all a goddamn game these days! Worthless! Now, imagine floating amongst this site great site, where your tombstone would sink just as fast as your frozen corpse! You want to feel desperation? Or do you want to be entertained by desperation? When my parents made it to one of the lifeboats, they watched as this great ship sank, and the stern rose into the air a million miles and plunged violently into the ocean, shattering–it was being torn apart by the pressure of the magnificent ocean! The ocean opened up like this great big creature and swallowed everything! The pressure sucked the people in! It was the closest thing to a black hole anyone would ever see!”
The two boys gasped in excitement. Stu was like one of the presenters at the carnival, loud and boisterous, colorful and uncanny, quirky.
“Now, as the stern picked up speed, as it was being gobbled by this great big ocean, I want you to imagine being there! Torrents of ocean rushed into every cabin, every dance hall, and every kitchen attached to every dining room! Now, as you see this great catastrophe before you, imagine the people fighting to re-board the ship! Actually wanting to chase after this devastation that’s barreling into the deep dark unknown water!” Stu took a deep breath. “That’s how I see all of you!” he shouted, pointing a withered finger in the direction of every passerby, and every picnicking parent he could see. “Every single last one of you!” He pointed at every busy pedestrian within an earshot. But not a soul, save the boys, gave him the attention he so much cried out for. His performance was on a lonely stage to an empty room where the bartender doesn’t remember your name.
“There’s your television programming! Your latest in technology! It’s the faster motor that is more environmentally aware! It’s electricity without electricity! It’s addiction to addiction! Wireless, disconnected goddamn lunatics! You have no pride! All you do is consume! And it’s all just to get more people to climb aboard! It’s watching your favorite film only to realize the actors are newer, younger, more beautiful! Or hearing your favorite song, only it’s been rewritten, re-recorded by some kid who wasn’t even around to hear the original! Out with the old! Women and children first! Climb aboard!”
The boys laughed. Brandon dropped the soccer ball to the ground. It bounced a couple times before he wound up and kicked the ball straight at Stu. Stu turned to see the ball coming right for his head. “Ungrateful, robotic sons of–!” It connected just below his left eye and Stu was off his feet. He toppled backwards over the bench and smashed down into the pavement beneath. Just then, a crowd gathered around the fallen old man.
Author: Lawrence Goodwin
