Action Figure Daniel

Category: 1000 words

  • A Time With “Zero”

    They told me it would be the same, I did not believe them.

    They told me that I would not be able to tell the difference, I could.

    They told me that I would love it, I did not.

    The only reason why I got the innocent looking “zero” was because they were out of the normal, “some” mouth wash. The bottle claimed it did the same thing but with no alcohol and thus was less intense.

    I carefully noted during my first use of the “zero” version that the liquid had a dubious creamy texture to it. It made me seriously question the cleansing power of the purportedly marvelous mouth wash. Could it really be as good while feeling like my mouth was being in a protective coat that “some” did not leave?

    Perhaps I told myself, perhaps.

    Maybe, the creamy feeling was like a wax coat that protects a car from damage. Maybe, the film would help keep the bad stuff from eating my teeth.

    Maybe, but I was still doubtful.

    Eventually the store got the old kind of mouth wash back in. I was tempted to buy a new bottle, but what would I do with the partially used old one? Pour it down the drain? I could hardly stand the waste, especially since I was already a quarter of the way into the bottle. “I can manage to finish this off,” I told myself.

    Thus entered the self deception; no longer were they trying to convince me of anything, instead, I was doing all the convincing. It tasted the same as the other mouth wash. It did its job better than the old mouth wash. I did not need to feel the nasty burn of the alcohol. I was good with the protective coat that felt like a thin film of mucus embalming my mouth every morning. It was all good, every last bit of it.

    As I inducted “zero” into my routine, I am sure they thought they had me. I even thought it was a glorious new feeling. I need not fear breathing into a roadside breathalyzer (not that I ever have before). I need not fear suspicious looks when I breathed too hard (no, I would still worry about if my breath smelled good or not). This, the “zero” was the good stuff in life. I had it, I used it and I loved it.

    As the days moved on, I noticed that the bottle was slowly being depleted. While I delayed the question as long as I could, I knew I would eventually have to face it: would I replace the “zero” with “zero” or with the real stuff? I did not want to have to decide, not yet. “Zero” was so good to me; I did not want to kick it to the curb.

    Though there was still a gentle nagging of disbelieve in the back of my mind: was it really as good? If it was, why did it take so long to get “zero” to market? Is the thicker, creamy “zero” fluid really just as good as the original? Why had they not switched all of their products to it?

    Compounding these questions was the fact that I did not care enough to actually research any of them. This is, after all, mouth wash, not investment funds or a substantial enough purchase that mattered enough that I could justify spending some time, any time, doing some research in the differences between “zero” and “some.”

    I found that the fateful day was approaching quickly: the day I would run out of “zero.” Projections indicated that I would run out sometime mid week and thus I would need to buy a new bottle in the next round of shopping lest I be caught empty handed.

    The final decision was not as hard as I thought it would be. My heart jumped when I saw the “some,” mouth wash sitting casually next to the “zero.” My hand grabbed a bottle of “some” without thinking. I knew that I would not be using the new bottle for a few days so I thought little of it. “It is virtually the same thing anyway,” I tried to tell myself, “no need to rush into the new bottle.”

    The projections were correct, it was on a mid week morning that I ran out of “zero.” This meant that it was after dinner that evening that the “some” was busted out. I was curious about how I would take the original mouth wash. What if I hated it? What if “zero” really had been all it was supposed to be, and more? What if I missed the protective film?

    I gave close attention to the sensations in my mouth as I tilted my head back and poured the liquid in. The difference was immediate: it was as if “some” (the original) was a light, thin fluid flowing in between every bud on my tongue and to every nook and cranny in my mouth. Where “zero” had feared to go, “some” did not care, in fact it cleansed with the fiery vengeance that only alcohol can bring. I had forgotten the burn, but as my eyes welled up with tears I began to remember. As I swished the liquid in my mouth, it felt so incredibly thin and agile, liked it wanted to go everywhere and get to everything, something that “zero” had been too timid to do. Even the burn felt good, not that I am a masochist, but there is a comfort in feeling that something is actually working instead of just hoping it is working, something “zero” made me take on faith.

    As I spit the liquid into the sink I noticed that the film left by “zero” was not there. Instead, I was left with a clean, invigorated feeling mouth, as if my very pores had been cleansed. In the end, they were all wrong: “zero” was no substitute for the real thing.

  • Nobody knows that nobody knows

    “Ohhh,” the tech said over the phone. “I understand now what you’re saying.” I was glad because I was running out of ways to say what I had already said. The buildings location was so clear to me and I thought I had explained clearly where the new building was. Unfortunately, the building was also clear to the tech and my directions did little to clarify the situation.

    Boss had questioned me about the installation of some communications equipment. I deferred to the tech’s judgment, thinking he knew best. He had been out to the site and knew what was needed, right? Boss kept questioning though, so I finally broke down and called the tech. I was wrong; he hadn’t been out to the sight. He was going off his memory of the original installation. He didn’t know that we had added two more buildings after the initial installation, and they were on the opposite side of the pad from what he thought.

    This was a classic example of lateral communication breakdown, mostly because of distance. Boss and I were communicating via email because I was out of state, the tech and I always talked over the phone except when he was on-site doing work. Some important concerns were being lost in the communication methods being used. I didn’t understand from Boss that the tech was convinced that we need to mount communication equipment at the opposite end of the complex, the tech didn’t understand that we had added new buildings in different places and Boss didn’t understand why the tech didn’t want to put the equipment in the logical place.

    It took me several minutes, most of the call, to realize that the tech didn’t know about the new buildings but once he knew about the new buildings he readily agreed that the equipment should be placed where the rest of us thought it should be.

    One intriguing part of lateral communication breakdown is that frequently nobody knows that other people are missing information (often the other people don’t even know that their missing information). Nobody knows that nobody knows because what everyone has makes sense to them even though what everyone else gives them doesn’t fit.

  • Essence of Cherry

    He stretches his tongue out of his mouth and rubs it against his upper lip. His tongue is so dry that every bud on it feels like a glass bead falling into the cracks of his parched lips. For a place so moist and humid he never thought he could be so deprived of water. His tongue, being nearly useless, slips back into his dry mouth. The lick probably made his lips worse instead of better.

    Slowly he lies down on his back, the gravel digging into the back of his head. He wants to brush the gravel smooth but his hands are already so dry they ache. Getting them dusty would make them worse. Instead he just lays there shifting his head from side to side hoping the gravel will magically move or that he’ll find a more comfortable position.

    The dark, thick, heavy clouds are moving overhead. He breathes in the sweet air and is grateful that at least the air is not as dry as his swollen lips. The same wind that pushes the clouds also pushes on his cheek. It is a cool, dry wind so full of deceit; even as it cools his warm skin he can feel it pulling precious moisture out of his cheek. He turns his head to face the wind, the coolness is a relief on his flaming skin but in an instant any moisture his tongue had put on his lips is wicked away.

    He pulls his hood up around his face. It provides some protection from the cruel wind. Even through the thin fabric he can feel the sharp gravel rocks poking at his skull. Cloud after moisture laden cloud move through his view, none are willing to share their abundant water.

    He closes his eyes and fills his lungs once again with the sweet air. It smells like rain, that pleasant, sweet almost dusty scent. Somewhere, someone is getting rain. He hopes they are enjoying it while he is dying like a tropical plant in a dry desert.

    His eyes fly open. For one single, fleeting moment he felt the gentle tap of a tiny drop of water on his lip. The lip so relieved that it now ached at being reminded of what it has been missing. His eyes dart across the sky. There is no sign of more rain. The memory stayed with him though, like a fleeting kiss from a lover that will never be seen again.

    Minutes passed with no more moisture. The clouds continued to move along too proud and mighty to pay any attention to him. As the aching in his lip died down he began to question the moment. Maybe he just imagined it. Maybe his lip was tingling from a momentary lapse in circulation.

    The clouds were getting darker as they rolled over head. Instinctively he reached his tongue out once again, his lips so dry that his tongue had to push them apart. He dragged his tongue across his upper lip like sandpaper across rough stone. Once done pretending to deliver moisture to the upper lip the tongue navigated down to the lower lip.

    There was no pretense of moisturizing; the tongue was here to investigate the damage. He could feel the cracking and splitting, it was more extensive than it had been when he first laid down. But what was to be expected; at least there was no blood. But there was, it just took a minute for enough moisture from his tongue to raise the blood for a taste. The bitter, acidic taste of the blood repulsed him as he started to wonder if it were possible to bleed to death through one’s lips.

    He looked over to some nearby trees and began to wonder how much moisture he could get out of them, if they could possible sooth his aching body and bring much needed relief. The effort would be too much. The leaves were tiny and frail, the dry autumn winds had already started to pull the moisture from the leaves and the bark was sure to be dry.

    He looked back to the clouds, longing for just a few drops of their bounty. Still, they would not yield.

    He could hear the distant sound of thunder. Somewhere, someone was definitely getting rain. He pulled his hood tighter and slipped his hands into his pocket as he continued to watch the clouds go by. As his body settled he could feel more pieces of gravel digging into his flesh reminding him how uncomfortable he was.

    Then there was new pain, something being pushed into his thigh. He pulled his hand from the warm fleece pockets and pushed into his pants pocket. Deeper and deeper it went until it struck a small smooth cylinder. His finger wrapped around it and retreated from the pocket. His hand held the cylinder above his face for inspection. As his eyes stared at the small white cylinder a smile broke through his cracked lips, of all the things to have forgotten, why was it this one simple thing.

    He retrieved his other hand from the fleece pocket. Gripping the top and bottom of the cylinder he pulled splitting the cylinder in two to reveal a glossy pink substance. Deliverance had been in his pocket the whole time. His mouth cracked open as his hand guided the cylinder across his lips, first the top and then the bottom, then his lips closed again. Cap met body and the cylinder was carefully placed again in his pants pocket.

    The smile returned to his face as he rose and brushed off the dirt and gravel, all remnants of his recent brush with death. He looked back up at the dark, think clouds once more. There was no more longing in his look, he was satisfied and didn’t need their cruel teasing anymore. His tongue stretches out once again to rub his lips, but instead of blood he tastes the faint essence of cherry.

  • My Car Elazar: The 76th mile

    As my car’s odometer ticked closer to the 100,000 mile mark I contemplated all the ways I could push it over. Trips down to the Grand Canyon over to Las Vegas and Death Valley, up into Glacier National Park and just across the border into Canada, even a quick trip home and to the beach were each planned and discarded as time wouldn’t allow for such trips, not to mention there wasn’t enough money to support them. No, the mark would have to be passed in a more humble manner. A trip to Craters of the Moon National Park was planned for Saturday. It would be good and fun trip to push the mileage past the threshold. We would make it a day long trip. I would go with my roommates and whoever else wanted to go. The snow was almost gone and the trip promised to be mostly uneventful, driving wise anyway. We would pass through the barren desert lands of Idaho; past the old signs announcing and warning of possible “bio hazardous waste” for those who would wonder off the path. Then we would continue past the open farm lands and through the nuclear charged town of Akron. The trip would stop at Pickle’s Place where we would once again participate in the delectable offering that would be provided. Then we would celebrate having tripped the 100,000 mile mark by hiking through the caves, or at least trying too. All the mistakes of old would be overcome and we would be sure to bring plenty of flashlights , snacks and water. It would be perfect.

    It didn’t happen.

    Saturday came and the evil scourge of homework consumed most everyone’s schedule for most of the morning. I ran to the store, the one on the far side of town. It was two miles. I needed cereal and soap. Soap for the body, soap for the dishes, soap for the clothes. I returned home. Few else were awake. I ate breakfast. The co-valiant roommate came over and pleaded to go back to IF, the “big city”, “THE place to be”, Idaho Falls. His laptop’s power cable wasn’t working and IF the nearest place to get it replaced. This was the third time we had made this trip for this reason in the past six months. No one else could spend the normally boundless time to take him so I agreed. The time was set and we would leave in two hours. My roommate Steve was to go with us too.

    Before we made it to IF I made another trip to the store, this time for another neighbor. He needed food. It was the nearby store so it was only another mile. Finally we headed to IF. I noted how close I was to making the mark. There should be plenty of mileage to make it back to Rexburg without going over. There might still be a fun 100,000 trip yet. In IF we went to the shirt store to buy some shirts, a different story for another time. The cable store was just another couple of miles. We decide to have a well deserved lunch break from school, about three extra miles. Then it was time to go home. There was even enough extra mileage to go to the bonfire that night, it was Tonya’s birthday.

    Sunday morning came with 76 miles left before the big mark. 76 miles was barely enough to make out to Camas and back. I drove early that Sunday morning watching the volcanic Idaho landscape slide past. The wind was blowing really hard. Twenty miles into the trip snow joined the wind and started to complicate the travel. I pulled to the side of the road to analyze the situation. Looking to the north I saw that the storm would only get worse. I returned home and got ready for church.

    The church meetings themselves were good, though in between meeting I could see that the storm had followed me down from the north and was now pestering the small city of Rexburg. We had long ago determined that Rexburg was the headquarters of winter and thus it was the noble responsibility of every citizen to do what they could to expedite the coming of spring and end winter’s chilling rule. The storm, combined with the eagles and the snow, was a reminder that winter was not quite gone yet.

    Despite the storm I ran home. No sense in being out in the freezing wind. My roommates followed me home but needed to return to the chapel for another meeting. Normally, I would be fine with them walking but knowing the horrendous conditions outside I couldn’t stand the thought so I offered a ride. The drive back from Camas had taken longer than I thought, 74 miles to be exact. The trip to the chapel put me a mile closer.

    Once back home I started reading a book. It was rather enjoyable. My phone rang. The roommates were ready. I again bundled up and braved the cold to my car and drove back to the chapel. I look down and noted the new odometer number: 100000. I had hit the mark on my 76th mile for the day. They emerged out of the building and quickly piled into the car. With the windshield wipers trying to brush the snow away so I could see I headed back home smiling.

    I thought back at the adventures and trips I have had with Elazar, all the things we had seen and been too. We have had a good few years together and plan to have many more. My pondering was interrupted by my neighbor down the hall who had been offered a ride by my roommates.

    “Thank you,” he said, “you are a life saver.”

    “You’re welcome,” I replied. “You know what is most amazing about this?”

    “No, what?” he asked.

    “Elazar just hit his 100,000 mile,” I said still smiling.

    I love my car Elazar.

  • Spring Agony

    The stars were shining brightly on the moonless night. There was a warm breeze sifting through the green grass. He hesitated for a moment, he could wait for another night, in a week or two maybe. He shook his head causing the thought to fall to the ground beside his feet where he promptly stamped it out. He had promised it would be tonight and so, come heaven or hell, it would be tonight. He quietly retreated back into his house. The change was quick: the pants and underwear came off together in one quick push; the shirt was dragged across his chest then over his head.

    He walked over to the closet. He put on new underwear and the black shorts with the bold white stripe on either side that came with them. He selected the tight yellow and black jersey, gently pulling it over his head and back down his chest until finally it fit snugly into place. The tightness felt good on his body, like a reassuring hug that tonight was the night. He slipped on a pair of black and white socks; they too hugged him, but only up to his ankle where they stopped leaving his legs exposed until the black shorts started. He left the room being sure to grab the small black box from his desk before going.

    He sat down on the floor of the large open living room and retrieved his old gray shoes from against the wall and put them on while he stretched his legs one at a time. He noted how the shoes were still falling apart. He had done nothing to stop them, but half expect they would heal themselves. They didn’t. Not directly anyway. The right shoe still had the same tangent of fake leather pulling away his its loosened stitching that started on the first day he wore them. At least the damage wasn’t progressing. The wear points in the mesh however were a different story. They were slowly enlarging themselves as his toes rubbed against them.

    He pulled the strings pushing his flesh and bone together. He winced in pain for a moment before releasing some of the pressure. His foot thanked him as it expanded into the newly available space. With the string still tight in his fingers he crossed the two ends, right over-under left, then looped them back left over-under right pulling two loops to complete the knot. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to do this but he had promised. He ran his hands down his leg feeling the hair sift through his fingers and tickle his palm. He held his foot for an absent minded moment before letting go.

    He looked at the black box in his hand. It was quiet and lifeless in his hand. He slid the small pink switch on the top until all the color disappeared. Then, in an instant, the whole front on the thin black box lit up as if it was trying to share its excitement for being alive with the world. He grumbled at it for a moment, it was always too happy for such things. The actions he was about to take would lead to the starvation of thousands of innocent lives, but the little black box only smiled as it cheerfully played music.

    He slipped the small mood altering buds into his ears and let the hypnotic sound of the black box soak into his head. For this he both loved and hated the box. He still didn’t want to go. Not for all the pain that he would cause, all the suffering that would take place at his hands, not for any part of the whole experience. But, he promised and so he would. His checked his waist, there was no key. He walked back to the bedroom and retrieved his keys. He pushed his nail into the slit in the key ring separating it enough to push it over the other key ring. He spun the circle until it clicked, signaling it was free. He pushed the key between his skin and his elastic waist band. The key would be safe there.

    The tune in his ears changed from the calm steady beat to one of pulsing action. His heart started pumping in time with it, he had to go. He had put this moment off long enough and the time had come. He left the bedroom then out of the house being sure to lock the door behind him, he wanted no surprises when he got back. The pulsing in his ears was growing stronger and stronger until he finally yielded. His legs started moving in time with the beat.

    Left then right, left then right.

    The black box was doing its job, the job it always did well. That was what he loved about it. The tune changed again, this time to one of steady progression. He felt like he could conquer the world even if at a slow but steady pace. The hills had started and the tune was the perfect encouragement to continue his climb.

    Left then right, left then right.

    The air was colder atop the hill than he thought it would be. There was a wind blowing too. The cool air was filling his lungs and he gasped for breath. His body wasn’t used to this level of abuse. The few token attempts to prepare for this moment had long been forgotten. Blood raced through his veins trying desperately to warm his skin before the cold air whipped away all the heat. The contrast between the hot and cold lit his body on fire and his naked skin was burning. The black box did its job and the tune changed again to a happier one that drowned out the masses of cells crying in agony and pain.

    The race for his health at the expense of his own comfort had begun under the brightly shining stars on that moonless night.