Volume
One: The Road Out
Chapter One
Verse Two: Never Lucky
Marion stood and tried to run to the
pile of clothing to look for his work clothes. His legs crashed
against the inside of the sleeping bag he used for bedding and he
landed like a drunk in a three legged race on the floor, aging
synthetic carpet scraping open his forearms.
"Late. Late. Late." Marion
muttered and he belly crawled out of the sleeping bag towards the
pile of clothes. On the top of the pile sat two socks: one red with
two black horizontal stripes and one with an argyle design in burgundy
and salmon. Marion gave the socks a sniff, shrugged and slipped the
socks on. Sifting through the pile of clothes he found his gym shirt
and gym shorts, a Star Wars t-shirt, a Fight Club T-shirt, an Avatar
t-shirt, a grey silk neck tie and no collared dress shirt.
"Late. Shirt. Late. Shirt."
Marion stood up and opened his closet. He flung the tie over his
shoulder and began digging through the bigger pile of t-shirts in the
closet. No collared shirt materialized. Marion only had one collared
shirt, and it was not on his floor or in his closet.
"Okay, shirt later, eat first.
late!"
Marion slid across the linoleum in the
kitchen to the fridge and pulled it open. The fridge sat empty save
for a tin of cat treats and three MacDonald brand single serving
ketchup packets in the door tray. Marion paused and looked at the cat
treats and then the ketchup and finally picked up the ketchup packets
and squeezed each packet into his open mouth in turn.
"Breakfast of Champions!"
Marion spun, and made his way to the
bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, and began to wash his
face. Something caught his attention. He made a few attempts to comb
his unruly hair, but gave up. Marion's hair didn't sit down without a
shower and more product than he liked to admit to- and he didn't have
time right now. He looked back in the mirror. Something was off. Then
Marion saw the problem. He was still wearing his work shirt.
Marion's memory kicked back into gear, admittedly a little late. He had been told last night that he had to do mandatory overtime to get the Mother's Day stock out on display for the morning opening of the store. He'd been up until almost two in the morning sorting Oprah bait. Marion was amazed he'd made it into his bed at all. He tied his tie using the Kent knot, adjusted it a little to get the tie looking symmetrical, and then headed for the door. he grabbed his red converse sneakers and laced them up. Marion noticed, as he laced up his shoes that the scrape on his left shin had scabbed over and seemed to be healing nicely. Mr. Grimly, Marion's landlord, had opened the scrape in Marion's shin when the landlord had tried to push his way into Marion's apartment last Friday to demand overdue rent from Marion. Marion finished lacing his shoes and stood up.
Marion's memory kicked back into gear, admittedly a little late. He had been told last night that he had to do mandatory overtime to get the Mother's Day stock out on display for the morning opening of the store. He'd been up until almost two in the morning sorting Oprah bait. Marion was amazed he'd made it into his bed at all. He tied his tie using the Kent knot, adjusted it a little to get the tie looking symmetrical, and then headed for the door. he grabbed his red converse sneakers and laced them up. Marion noticed, as he laced up his shoes that the scrape on his left shin had scabbed over and seemed to be healing nicely. Mr. Grimly, Marion's landlord, had opened the scrape in Marion's shin when the landlord had tried to push his way into Marion's apartment last Friday to demand overdue rent from Marion. Marion finished lacing his shoes and stood up.
Marion glanced at a retro Spider-man
wall clock over his weary looking iMac. He didn't have much hope of
making it to work on time, even if he hit every bus transfer
perfectly. But he knew he had to try. He quickly stepped out the door
and locked it behind him.
He needed to his the Number 8 Main
Street Bus first if he stood any chance of making it to work. Then he
stopped as a thought caught up with him. He wasn't holding his buss
pass.Where was his bus pass? It should have been in his pocket. Where
was his pocket? Wait, and why could he see his shin? He wasn't
wearing pants. And the door was already locked.
Marion was standing in the hall of his
apartment building wearing a white dress shirt a grey silk tie,
red converse sneakers and red Astro Boy boxer briefs and nothing
else. When he stumbled home last night after his shift he had managed
to get his pants off, but not his shirt.
Marion stared at the door as it barred
they way between him and his pants. Allons-Y Books drew its employees
from a large pool of perpetually unemployed and underemployed arts
students and arts grads. Marion knew he was utterly replaceable.
Getting to work involved two bus transfers and a three km run and was
never convenient. Marion had been late before, particularly when he
was required to work late and start early. His manager, Mr. Wheatley
didn't care about excuses, especially when the excuse was that his
management ability was more in line with the Pharaoh in Exodus than
with modern human ethics standards.
Marion had received two previous
disciplinary warnings, one about his tardiness and one about his
'lack of company spirit'. Marion sold more books than any three other
employees at Allons-Y combined, but he never managed to sell any of
the highly promoted odds and ends that the company called 'display
pieces' and Marion called 'Oprah Bait'- useless items that looked
good placed around Oprah Book club books displayed in a way that told
you instantly that their owner would never read the books the pieces were designed to compliment.
Marion debated his options. He could
buy pants on the way, but that would take too long. He was particular
about his pants, and didn't have money to spend on pants he didn't
like. He could simply show up without pants, but then Mr. Wheatley
would be able to add Marion's perfectly sculpted quads to his list of
reasons to hate Marion. He could simply deny that he had forgotten
his pants, but his ability to effect a Jedi mind trick was still in
development. He could climb into the clothing donation bin underneath
his fire escape and use those pants, but he would almost certainly
get stuck and then some homeless guy would steal his astro boy briefs
while Marion was trapped.
No, Marion knew that his bus pass, his
keys and his pants were all essential to getting to work and keeping
his job, and he needed his job to catch up on the rent after he gave
Mrs. Trilby next door the $500 to help with Mercer's colon surgery
last month.
Marion needed to get back into his
apartment.
Marion realized he had another option:
fire escape. Marion had climbed over the fire escape and in through
a window into his apartment to avoid Mr. Grimly several times in the
past, and had climbed out the same way many times for the same
reason. Marion had used the window as an entry point so many times in
the past that he had rigged a pulley system with clothesline and
several coat hangers so that he could pull open the window and still
have it appear locked.
Marion discounted the fire escape as
soon as he considered it though. he would have to go outside and
climb up, people would see him and he was fairly confident that they
would attempt to steal his Astro Boy boxer briefs. He also considered
the possibility that he would be arrested for indecent exposure. He
also decided that he probably should have included that in his
previous calculations.
The only option, that he could see was
to ask Mrs. Trilby next door for help. Mrs. Trilby never slept. Their
apartments were adjacent, and the fire escapes were attached. If Mrs.
Trilby was home, and she was always home, Marion could climb out her
window and onto the fire escape and use his pulley system to unlock
the window and climb in and get his pants. Marion was fairly
confident Mrs. Trilby would let him climb out her window, he looked
after her cats when she went on her bus tours and he even sat and let
her show him her photos when she got back. Marion had never been on a
road trip.
Marion nodded to himself and knocked on
Mrs. Trilby's door.
After a brief pause punctuated by the
cries of her seven cats, Mrs. Trilby opened the door. She smiled when
she saw Marion, then her eyes tracked downward and widened as she
noticed his attire and then she shook her head and sighed.
"Hi, Mrs. Trilby, I need to climb
out your fire escape."
"Marion. You're just wearing your
pants."
"No, that's the problem, I'm not
wearing my pants. They're in my apartment along with my key and my
bus pass and I'm late for work as of roughly zero minutes. Can I
climb out your window onto the fire escape so I can into my apartment
and get my pants?"
"Oh dear, Marion how did you
forget your trousers? I've worried about you for some time you know
boy. You need to see a psychologist or psychiatrist or, you know,
some other Brainshrinker specialist, because you may be clever, but I
wonder if everything is wired in correctly some days. Today is
definitely one of those days."
"My brain is wired fine Mrs.
Trilby, I'm just distracted. But I really think that getting my pants
is more important that us discussing the wiring of my brain at this
exact moment, don't you?"
"It's never a good time. But you
are a dear and I am not going to sit by and not state my worries. The
more I think about it now, the more I am sure that his episode is
proof of some dangerous malignant brain tumor And you will not brush
this aside, just because you are young and think you are invincible."
"I don't think I'm invincible Mrs.
Trilby. I think I'll lose my job if I show up late or without pants
or both. Don't you? I can't pay for a brainshrinker if I lose my job
now can I?"
Mrs. Trilby considered this, "That
does make make some sense. But you remember what happened to my
Mercer, he almost didn't make it because we ignored his tummy pains.
Fine, you can come in, but I expect to see you looking into a good
shrinker person as soon as you have cash. Do you hear? You were a
dear to help us out, now I insist you help yourself."
"I will Mrs. Trilby. Now, please,
the window. Pants."
She let him in and as she closed the
door, her cats engulfed him. Seven big aging tabbies each a good
fifteen pounds at least, surrounded and nuzzled Marion. The oldest
cat, Mercer stepped off the bookshelf right onto Marion's shoulders
and snuggled in and began to purr.
"He knows you helped him. I
swear." Mrs. Trilby added.
"I think he knows I keep treats
for him in my fridge. And I love Mercer, but I have to get moving or
I'm going to lose my job and probably this apartment."
"You know, if you had a degree in
something you might be able to get a better job."
"I have a Masters Degree in
Literature specializing in Post-Colonial Literature. I am an honest
to Vishnu scholar."
"I meant becoming a Doctor or a
lawyer or something 'real', like Sammy across the hall, she's a hospice
nurse- she gets paid to wipe the behinds of people like me when we
start thinking that we're seeing our parents for the second time.
It's good money, you could some of that action if you got a useful
degree."
Marion waded his way through Mrs.
Trilby's seven cats. Cobra had latched claws onto Marion's argyle
sock and Marion was forced to drag the black cat along, a game that
Cobra never tired of. Fluffy leaned in to every step that Marion made
and even though Marion knew to lift his legs up and over the white
Persian, the effort made walking a challenge. Fone, Phoney and Smiley
meowed in stereo or whatever the triple version of stereo was and tried to block Marion's way. Robin Hood lay
several steps in front, creamy belly turned skyward and already
purring expectantly. Marion held his left hand away from his body and
snapped his fingers. The heads of seven cats turned in unison and
moved under the the outstretched hand allowing Marion a chance to
move past them.
"They listen to you better than me
some days."
"Being their uncle and not their
mamma makes it easier. I get to bring the treats and not the spray
bottle."
"That's true I suppose."
"I'm getting distracted again. I
need to move."
"You see. Forgetting again. I
think you've got a brain tumor like that John Travolta character in
that movie where he's telegraphic and buys all those ugly chairs from
that nice lady and Forrest Whittaker plays that nice Radio guy, or
was that Cuba Gooding Jr? I hope it was Whittaker, I like his acting
better, he seems nice even when he's playing a bad guy."
"I'm not sure that there are a lot
actual bad guys in the world, just people trying to be good in the
wrong ways."
As he spoke, Marion opened the window
and climbed onto the fire escape. He looked to his left at his own
window and stopped. Mrs. Trilby saw him pause and asked, "What's
the matter dear?"
"They don't connect." Marion said, staring in dismay, "There's a
three foot gap or so between the fire escapes. I'd never noticed before."
"Before?"
"I've used the fire escape a bunch, but always up and down. Never across."
"That's not very far. You're
young."
"We're five storys up."
"Well that is a fact."
"I don't know that I have a choice
though, "Marion said.
