Who we Choose to Be VOL 1. CHP 2 VERSE 4.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Two

Verse Four: Who we Choose to Be

"I thought you said they weren't hallucinations?" Marion said.
 


"I said you didn't have a tumour." Harley answer carefully, "You told me that you're seeing things. If I've heard you right, that means you've either had visions or hallucinations. I'm going to tend to assume hallucinations until I hear something that convinces me to call them visions. I'm not intending to be insulting, but calling them visions requires a pretty high level of proof. Don't you agree?"
 


"I just feel like my life is being stolen by something big and awful and crazy." Marion answered, "I'm going along minding my own business and suddenly I'm walking in something out of C. S. Lewis' acid trips. I don't like it. And it's starting to seem less and less like just dreams and hallucinations and more and more like prophecy or visions or something really big and crazy and beyond what I feel ready to handle."
 


"You didn't have a dream about Darius Salt until after you met him right? That doesn't sound like a prophecy, that sounds like your brain incorporating things into a hallucination. Which isn't a fun prospect, I'll admit. But if you want answers you need to listen for what seems most reasonable given the evidence."
 


"I didn't meet Darius salt until after but I did see his wife Mary in the vision before I met her. And in the vision, she asked me to look after her children! And her daughter, Maia, called me Dreamer when she met me. And I was called Dreamer in the first Dream! I didn't tell her any of that. I haven't told any of that to anyone but you. So I'm not just adding information to the hallucinations after I learn it. I'm actually get prophetic visions ahead of time!"
 


"Are you sure that the woman in your dream was the same woman? Could she have just looked similar? Didn't you say her name was different?"
 


"Yeah, her name was Morrigan in the dream. And she was dressed different, other than that she was the same person- same face, same build same hair."
 


"You're sure that isn't your memory playing tricks on you?"
 


"If it is, then I can't trust anything I think anymore so I may as well just check myself into an asylum."
 


"Don't go raising the volume to eleven just yet. Let's just keep reviewing this, and think reasonably and see what makes sense."
 


"What if the answer isn't reasonable?"
 


"Well, then we address that when and if that's what it starts to sound like- but that would require pretty clear evidence. And even then, we still have to make our living in a reasonable world using reasonable rules. So even if you are having prophetic visions, we
need to make certain that after your visions are gone, that we aren't in jail or on trial. So let's take it slow and not assume prophetic visions out of the gate. And, let's move faster on getting you a job so that we can afford life essentials like yogurt and pickles."
 


"Always the reasonable one."
 


"That's why we're a good team. I have to head to work. You should look for work. Do you have an up to date resume?"
 


"My laptop got stolen, I might have one in my email if I can use your computer."
 


"Help yourself. I need to go. Good luck."
 


"Don't wish me good luck. You know I'm never lucky."
 


"I don't think you're unlucky. I think you're in the wrong place doing things you were never meant to do. You just have to find your place, and things will start to make sense."
 


"That's what's starting to scare me about the visions."
 


"Let's leave the discussion of the visions for another time. Job first, prophecy second. Pickle money before Prophecy."

Harley dropped the daily newspapers in Marin's lap before he left for work. Marion flipped through the classified section in an obligatory way before discarding the papers and returning to pondering the visions. Marion pulled some printer paper out of Harley's Printer and began drawing out notes to organize the things he had seen. The Firebird seemed important and he gave it a section. The Locust King seemed central and so it got a section of its own as well. The Wendigo had shown up twice, but Marion wasn't sure that they deserved their own section. Marion put the agent looking Men of Black and white under the Locust King section along with the Giant snake thing called Falsenight and the alien looking creature called The Grey. Marion added a note for the Knights of Purity and a line with a question mark cautiously connecting The Knights of Purity and the Men of Black and White. Remembering Mary and Morrigan's red bird patterned clothing, Marion listed both names under the Fire bird along with Maia. After a moment he added the son Fitzroy but with a question mark since the boy hadn't said anything. Darius Salt was placed under the Locust King. And under the Firebird section, Marion added a line with a question mark leading to the word spider and then another line with a question mark back to the locust King section. He added a note under the Locust King for the Chessboard room and another note for the Fantasy Village. He thought back to the first dream, the one in which he and Harley had been called Dreamer and Walker, and not knowing where to file that added a section that he simply labelled as 'first dream'. Under there he added: Dreamer, Walker, and Dreamwalker, then circled them all together and drew lines connecting them to Maia and to Mary/Morrigan. After some consideration he added a note for the delivery guy because of his reference to a phoenix and put a dashed line with a question mark connecting the delivery guy to the firebird. Marion noted several recurring themes, the firebird obviously. The delivery guy talked about a phoenix and called it a firebird. Morrigan and Mary both wore red bird designs on black clothing which seemed to match the vision of the firebird flying through the void of space. Marion's second full vision and first waking vision had been of the firebird. So whatever it was, it seemed to be important. The Firebird also seemed to be a good guy, in as much as Marin's visions could be divided into good guys and bad guy. Likewise, the Locust King seemed to very much qualify as a bad guy, as well as everyone associated with him. Marion couldn't quite tell you was in charge though, as the Locust King seemed not to control the agents known as the Men of Black and White. They seemed to have other superior officers. And Falsenight seemed less like anybody's servant and more like a force of nature.  It was all so jumbled, and Marion wasn't getting the nice neat course overview. He was getting thrown into the mid term exam with no study sessions.

Marion sat puzzling over the symbols and motifs in his visions until his cell phone beeped to announce that Marion had received a text message. Marion opened the phone and read the text. It was from Harley.

<<Hope the job search goes well. No trouble with my computer, I hope?>>

Marion realized he'd been sitting pondering for better than two hours. He quickly sent a text back.

<<Haven't got it working yet.>>

After a brief pause, Marion heard a chime indicated Harley had sent a text back to him.

<<Marion. I'm using my stern parent voice.>>

Marion quickly replied with his own text.

<<Yes, Dad. I'm on it. Out the door any minute now>>

He quickly loaded up his cloud storage through Harley's internet browser and brought up an old resume. The resume was outdated, and he had to mess with it a little to smooth out gaps in his employment history. But he quickly got the thing looking reasonable for menial labour and printed out copies. He hadn't washed his clothes, but a quick smell test and a look in the mirror left Marion feeling okay about that- although he sincerely regretted throwing away his tie now. Harley had left the spare key on the kitchen table and Marion grabbed it and one of Harley's canvas shopping bags to hold his printed resumes. He opened the door cautiously and looked around. Marion couldn't see Mrs. Critchwood in the yard, so he stepped out and turned around to close the door. He was just locking the door when a sharp tin voice behind him spoke loudly enough to make him jump.

"What are you doing here when your friend is at work boy?"

Marion turned around to face the coiled question mark with a witch's nose that was Mrs. Critchwood. She wore old grey sweaters and old grey socks and old ankle length skirts that may have been grey and may just have been too faded to retain a colour. Her hair was restrained in a bun with cheap hair ties.

"Hi, Mrs. Critchwood. How are you doing?"

"I asked you a question boy?"

Marion pulled the papers out of the canvas bag, careful not to show what was printed on them. "I needed to use a printer and my computer got stolen, so Harley said I could use his."

"Why didn't you do it when he was home? And come to think of it, why aren't you at work, hmmm?"

"Because I needed to print them off now, when he was off work would be too late. I don't work today, I started early yesterday and stayed late the day before. Mother day is busy for book season after all. We all know how important our mother's are. But I really need to go, if I'm going to get my errands finished. It's erratic what days I don't work, so I have to take advantage of it. I hope you have a great day."

"I'm watching you like a vulture watching a neglected baby in the desert boy. You better stay on the almighty's good side, because I will be watching you."

"Yes ma'am. I have to go."

Marion squeezed past her and ran. Now Mrs. Critchwood had seen him. It wasn't like he didn't show up when Harley wasn't home normally, but Marion figured he had a finite number of moments like that before Mrs. Critchwood put the pieces together. And Amy added an unpleasant variable to the whole calculation. Marion needed to hand out resumes and find himself a new slave master to pay for his daily bread. He started by going to one of the locally owned independent bookstores, where his education would be -hopefully- and asset and not 'you really are overqualified', which Marion didn't understand. If he had more skills than was necessary, wasn't that a good thing. Maybe they preferred people who had no other options and no ability to question the idiots who ended up as managers. But the book store was a bust. Marion tried handing a resume to the girl at the desk, but when she saw the name her expression changed. She told Marion not to bother giving the resume to the manager, they'd received a call from Percy Wheately telling them not to hire Marion. She indicated that Wheately had named Marion and said he was a liability claim waiting to happen. She also told him that it sounded like Wheately was calling all the local bookstores, and not to bother with bookstores. Marion was deflated by this, but continued on. He handed out resumes at pretty much any retail shop that he passed and, although nobody else told him that Wheately had called to black list him (Marion doubted his ex-manager had any pull outside the book industry) they all gave him the same appraising look that said he wasn't a high school student or a college student anymore and was over qualified with a weird employment history and obvious gaps where he had no job for months at a time. Marion knew what that look meant. His resume was going in the trash.

He was sitting at one of the outdoor tables at The London Fog Cafe, nursing a green tea latte he had bought with a gift card he'd discovered in his now barren wallet, when a familiar voice interrupted his moping.

"Marion! I heard you were robbed! And then that horrible Mr. Grimly threw you out! What an awful man. How's your brain tumour dear?" Marion looked up to see Mrs. Trilby walking Mercer on one of the awkward cat harness leashes. Mercer was the only cat that tolerated the lease. Mercer immediately nuzzled Marion and wormed up into his lap. Marion began to stroke the cat and Mercer responding with the purr of an oncoming freight train. Mrs. Trilby sat down in the chair opposite Marion, "You look so sad dear, what's wrong?"

And so Marion brought her up to date, him losing his job, losing his apartment, being robbed, Harley's fight with Amy. He told her everything except the visions. She already thought he had a tumour after all. Mrs. Trilby listened quietly and when he explained that he had hadn't out something like twenty six resumes and was fairly confident that they were all doomed, she shook her head.

"You will find your way through this dear. I know this. You are a good person. You like cats, and no person who likes cats can ever be all bad. And you help people. You helped me and Mercer, and don't you forget it. We won't. Now people always say that cats are magic, but I think the best Mercer is going to give you is love. Me on the other hand, I'm going to buy you lunch. And then with a full belly you can take another whack at this whole job search thing a little better balanced. How does that sound?"

"Thank you Mrs. Trilby."

"Think nothing of it. Everyone likes to pay their debts."

She bought Marion a hot dog from the little diner next to the cafe, and overloaded it with sauerkraut and relish and handed it to Marion, who happily devoured it. The two chatted a little more, mostly about Mrs. Trilby's cats while Mercer dug a contented nest in Marion's lap. Finally they parted and Marion set out a little more optimistic and ready to face further rejection. He'd printed about thirty resumes and only had four left. So he went about looking to get rid of them. But no matter where he went he got the look that promised no call back and no job. On his last resume, Marion decided to bite the bullet and try The Seed Bank and Hydroponics Shop that everyone knew sold mainly cannabis seeds. The shop had a help wanted sign in the window. Marion didn't want to work surrounded by the smell of marijuana, but he knew he needed work. He walked into the sauna of sweet rotting vegetable matter that was the shop and a stereotype in blonde dreadlocks and a Bob Marley shirt sporting a greasy scraggle of a goatee greeted him with a look at Marion's clothes that wasn't promising. Marion handed the being behind the counter his last resume and watched as the face under the dreadlocks twisted and contorted. Finally he addressed Marion.

"This resume man. It tells a story. I can read your life in this resume better than any fricking tea leaves. You study literature all the way to a Master's degree, but not to a PhD or a teaching degree. You got problems with authority and you prefer fiction to reality. You never stay longer than a year at job man, and then you don't work for like four to six months. You have a problem conforming to the structures and rules provided man. You have no skills that work in the real work man, your whole resume tells me where you live most of your life and that's in fantasy land. Nobody is going to give you a job. Not even us."

Marion stared at the the upturned mop of a human in disbelief, "You're a marijuana shop."

"No man, we are a cannabis seed supply store."

"You see a difference?"

"One is legal man. If you can't follow the rules, you're never going to make it in the real world. You don't have to like the rules you just have to know they ain't going to change."

"So I'm too rebellious to sell marijuana?"

"No man. You're too rebellious to self cannabis seeds legally."

"It's not any more right this way."

"Nope. It's just more legal. It ain't about right. The man don't care about right. The man only Cares about rules. His rules. You follow them. Even if you bend them he only cares that you walked his line. You walk in circles man. You're life is nothing but circle. We can't hire you. We need people who can walk the line. Like Johnny cash man."

"With dreadlocks." Marion shook his head, the man behind the counter didn't notice.

"Yeah man, like Johnny Cash with dreadlocks. Like, he's still the man and he still walks the line, but with an attitude that says 'Yeah, I follow the rules, but I do it my way.' You know what I mean?"

"That makes no sense."

"You don't get it man, and that's why we can't hire you."