3.10.2007
Gardens by "Doc"
http://www.netsaga.is/media/files/Aliens%20among%20us.mp3 HIS name was Tommy boy. 2# Tommy kept looking at the wall clock, bored stiff and tiring of the conversation. Tick tock tick tock tick tock....He was daydreaming of gardens. 3# Tommy kept his eagle eye trained on the wall clock; tick tock tick tock tick tock...... 4# Time passed. He dressed, packed a bag, and walked away from his home town, his wife. Tick-tock,
Gardens by "Doc"
At least that's what everyone called him that knew him well. This is his story.
Although nobody ever believed his stories.
Today, the inner pain lay buried somewhere in the depths of his upper body; it felt like a cross between a slipped disc and a coronary. It had begun after a conversation earlier in the evening, a much too prolonged talk with his psychiatrist.
''What do you want to talk about today, Tommy?'' Dr. Wilson had asked, lighting his pipe. The smell of cherries filled the room, a sweet smell, but Tommy considered it a stagnant odor, like burning manure. Dr. Wilson thought it smelled of class; Tommy thought it reeked of shit.
''This is the story of Tommy,'' Tommy said, crossing his legs. ''This the story of Tommy and his neighbors. This is the story of Tommy and his neighbors and his neighbor's garden.'' A pause, then; ''This is the story of Tommy boy. This is Tommy's world.''
''Go on,'' Dr. Wilson said, folding his hands on his desk, puffing on his pipe.
''I am the stranger,'' Tommy said.
''How so?'' Wilson asked, looking puzzled. ''To yourself, or to others?''
''Both,'' Tommy said, matter of factly. He addressed the question squarely, head on. Tommy pulled no punches.
''How so?'' Wilson asked again, his head bobbing up and down like a plastic duck in a shooting gallery. He always seemed to be nervous, always fidgeting around or bobbing his head or smoking his pipe. He made Tommy nervous, most of the time, like he had something to hide.
''You see,'' Tommy began, ''My neighbor, Mrs. Edwards? She has this garden. It's a beautiful garden, with lots of roses and other flowers, and some big green plants that smell real good.''
''And?'' Wilson said, quizzically. He acted as though the point of the conversation had already eluded him.
''And,'' Tommy said, ''When her husband died, she had him degutted, stuffed with sawdust, and then laminated to preserve him, and now he's standing out in the front yard, like he's watching over the garden. He looks like a scarecrow, except not near as scary.''
Wilson looked petrified. ''And so....how does this affect you? How does it make you feel like a stranger?''
Here we go, Tommy thought. More useless questions, more wasted time. Tommy the screwball, ranting and raving again....gotta keep him pacified, don't we?
''How does it make you feel like a stranger?'' Tommy's own dad had asked him, right before they laminated him, and stuck him in the attic. Last time Tommy boy had seen him, he had spider's nests inside the cavernous holes that used to be his eye sockets, and huge roaches playing tag in his bird's nest hair. He had no nose. The craftsmanship had been less than professional.
''Tommy,'' Wilson said, attempting to change the subject, ''What do you want to be when you grow up?''
Tommy sat quietly, staring off into space, as if in deep thought. Then; ''An astronaut, a spy, a cop, a mailman, a doctor, and a nurse. But those aren't the main thing I want to be.''
''And what is that?''
''Just.......myself. That's all; myself.''
''Oh....I see,'' Wilson said. ''If you can be yourself, your true self, then you won't feel like a stranger. Right?''
What a doofus, Tommy thought. A regular Sigmund Freud, this guy is. ''Wrong. Being myself won't keep me from feeling like a stranger, Doc. You can feel like a stranger in your own body, too.''
''You're very observant for such a young man,'' Wilson said. ''How old are you now?''
''Fifteen. Next month.''
''So mature for your age as well. Tommy, what do want most out of life? I mean, other than being yourself?''
Tommy stopped to ponder on this. ''Well....the smell of a young girl's perfume in my nostrils, a firm, hard feeling in my jeans. I'd offer her something to drink, smoke a little pot, you know...loosen up. Then we'd do it, and nine months later she'd have a baby, and we'd live happily ever after. That's always been my dream, more or less.''
Wilson had to stifle a laugh, force himself not to crack a grin. ''You have it all planned out, do you? You have your life mapped out and have already chosen a name for your firstborn?''
''Something like that,'' Tommy said, smiling. It was smile that sent shivers up Wilson's spine. ''Why? Don't you know where you're going in life? Well...I do. Know where you're going, that is.''
Wilson's blood ran cold. He was a good actor.
''What are thinking about, Tommy?'' Wilson asked, re-lighting his pipe. Tommy was wishing he had nose plugs.
'' Aw...nothing special,'' he said, cracking another dry smile. ''Just contemplating burning all of the gardens in the neighborhood, that's all.''
''That kind of activity doesn't require alot of imagination,'' Wilson said. ''Besides, what would be the purpose of doing so?''
Tommy looked bored as well as exasperated. ''Doc, .....don't you see things? I mean...don't you ever notice things, things that weren't there before? I mean, things that make no sense at all, but are right there under your nose? Things that don't belong?''
''Such as?'' Wilson said, trying to humor him. He was beginning to think Tommy a nutcase. But he knew better.
Jeez...Tommy thought. Is he that blind or stupid? '' You know...evil things. I do contemplate some awful act of crime in the near future, Doc. Awful because it's easier than being awesome and good all the time. That gets boring. And you don't need alot of imagination to do good, to be good. I'll get along all right, slide along just like that little drop of sperm that made it to the egg, that little drop that brought me here. But....I won't just sit back and wait to die here in this shitty little town, no way. Just sit here listening to the clock: tick tock tick tock tick tock ....., my whole life ticking away from me like sand through an hourglass, or shit through a goose.''
Wilson was growing more puzzled by the moment. ''Tommy? Do me a favor...speak in English, will you? I mean, in layman's terms, so to speak.''
''Don't you UNDERSTAND?!'' Toomy said, raising his voice another octave higher. He was thinking of his mother, God bless her soul, whom he'd found several days ago, stuffed, laminated, and standing in the middle of the water fountain out back. Blackbirds and other winged creatures had been perched on her shoulders and head, trying to peck through the laminate with their sharp beaks, their beady eyes fixed on the tasty morsels underneath; the eyes, nose, lips, tongue. Tommy had ran from the yard screaming, having been picked up by a passing police cruiser and dumped at the town Youth Center. His rantings and ravings had been brought to the attention of Dr. Wilson, hence the daily therapy sessions.
''No, Tommy,'' Wilson said. ''I don't understand. You talk nothing but jibberish here. Speak in plain English, or I fear I won't be able to help you.''
''Don't you understand?'' Tommy repeated, tears welling up in his eyes now. He looked more subdued now, less frightening than before, when the session had begun. ''It's so hard to be myself! I can't be myself in a town full of.....
.........strangers, a town full of zombies. If they realize I'm ....I'm not like them, I'll be dead meat! They'll stuff me, put that thick, shiny stuff all over me, and set me out where everybody can walk by and laugh at me, spit on me....piss on me! Don't you get it?! Don't you see what's going on around this town?!!''
Suddenly, it came to him. Why haven't I seen it before? Wilson thought. He's talking about the gardens.
''Are you talking about the gardens, Tommy?'' Wilson said, tapping out his pipe.
''BINGO!!'' Tommy said. ''Give this man a cigar! ''
''What about the gardens, Tommy? What is it about them that terrifies you so much? I mean, this has always been a garden town, with a Garden Club, a garden -''
Tommy stood to his feet, his eyes wild. '' Do you know what they use to fertilize all these gardens, Doc? Do you?! I've seen alot of folks in town, I mean folks that used to be normal, hanging around the cemetery at night, digging up graves, taking something out and then dropping something back in? They're taking out the dead, Doc. Then, they're dropping in some sort of sacrifice, something to take it's place! They use the hearts and souls, to make those statues, or whatever the hell they are, those things that are supposed to look like folk's brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers. They even did it to Billy Jenkin's cat!''
''I'll have to admit,'' Wilson said, ''Hanging around a cemetery doesn't sound too....personally hygienic.''
''They're ghouls or something,'' Tommy said, knuckling tears from his eyes. ''I mean, I told my Aunt Ida about my dad the other day, about him being in the attic? She just laughed, and said, ''Well, Tommy boy, until we learn how to stop dying, we'll just have to live with the consequences. There's no room for the dead unless you respect them as ornaments, put them in their proper place. Your daddy is fine, believe me. He's happy where he's at.''
''What did she mean, Tommy? Where is your father at?''
''He's in the attic! He's been STUFFED! LAMINATED! Don't you GET IT?!!!!''
''Let's take a short break,'' Wilson said, standing to his feet. ''I want to show you something, Tommy boy. I think you'll find it very interesting, to say the least.''
.......''Tommy? Are you okay?'' It was Wilson's voice.
Tommy had been sitting there in some kind of trance. '' I'm...I'm okay, I guess. What is it you wanted to show me, anyways?''
''Step right this way, my good man,'' Wilson said, leading Tommy out through the patio doors behind his desk and outside. It was a beautiful day; a cloudless, blue sky, a gentle breeze, moderate temperatures.
The patio was surrounded by a garden; a large circle of red and white roses intertwined with green ferns. On the deck sat a wicker table and two chairs. ''Have a seat, Tommy,'' Wilson said, taking one himself. ''Sit down and relax.''
Tommy sat down, taking in the surroundings. It was a beautiful place; colorful, quiet. Even serene compared to the cramped quarters of Wilson's office.
Wilson broke the silence, breaking Tommy's concentration. '' If you were a genius, Tommy boy,'' he said, ''Which I think you are, actually, you'd be able to work for me. Here, I mean. In my garden.''
Tommy sat in silence, his eyes wide in fear.
Wilson went on. ''I mean...it's so beautiful here. The silence. The colors. The clean, fresh air. And I still have three open units, you know. Positions, I mean. The hours are good, it pays well. And we have air filters, too. One for each new addition. It filters all of the impurities coming through the air into the garden. Can't have our ornaments rotting away now, can we?''
''The grass...it isn't real, is it?'' Tommy asked. He suddenly seemed more at ease now, at peace.
''No, I'm afraid it's not. It's astroturf. Quite expensive, too. But, it never rots, never has to be watered or mowed. Easy matineance. Just like the 'ornaments,' or 'statues,' as you call them.''
''The leaves are turning,'' Tommy said, pointing to the ground close by.
''Yes...I'm afraid so. But, they're one of the only things that die around here anymore. That's the way it was planned, Tommy boy. Planned by a greater power than us. You see, everything has to die, Tommy boy. Sooner or later, everything dies. It's all part of the master plan. But here, in this town, we found a way to preserve things, so even in death, they remained in tact and beautiful. So you see, they never really die, they just.....move on to greener pastures, that's all. To the pastures we make for them. Your Aunt Ida was right, you should listen to her more often.''
''Is...is she one too?'' Tommy asked.
''Yes, she is. A work of art, is she not? You almost couldn't tell, could you?''
Tommy cracked a sly grin. ''No...you couldn't, really. Not much anyway. Almost had me fooled....but not quite. I'm no dummy, you know. I'm Tommy boy, and this is the story of Tommy boy. Right?''
''Right, Tommy boy,'' Wilson said. ''As right as rain.''
Tommy stood up, looked out over the sprawling garden before him. The birds were singing, the crickets chirping.....
.......''Tommy boy?''
''Yeah?''
''I have one more surprise for you. You'll like this one even more, I promise you that.''
''Okay.''
Wilson got up from his chair, walked back inside. Moments later, he returned, arm in arm with a young, beautiful, blond girl of about Tommy's age, naked as the day she was born and smiling. She had emerald green eyes, pouty lips, and a cute little pug nose, the body of a venus. She layed down on the table in front of Tommy, spreading her legs, exposing her sex. It was opened like a partially bloomed flower, the lips pink and wet, it's petals ready to be picked. She reached down and rubbed it with her fingers, and Tommy felt himself getting hard.
''This is for you,'' Wilson said, ''If you except my offer. I have so much work piled up, and so little time. What do you say, Tommy boy?''
Tommy didn't say anything. Wilson could tell by the look in Tommy's eyes what he was thinking.
''Good,'' Wilson said. ''But be quick, Tommy boy. We have work to do.''
Tommy just smiled, taking the girl by the hand and leading her out into the garden, deep into the garden, where they couldn't be seen while they made love.
They were gone a long time.
Alot of time. Years, then decades.
In Tommy's town, in Tommy's world, time always passes unnoticed, and no one there ever knows how long it takes for time to pass by so nobody gets confused.
After so long, even Tommy couldn't remember how much time had passed by. He would awake from an aching, aging sleep, his joints aching, his bones brittle and popping. His beautiful young wife would be lying next to him, a vision of loveliness in the early morning light. He would kiss her cheek, then walk into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. He'd grown old, while she had remained young.
His reflection laughed at him, taunting him. It spoke to him in his mind.
{How could you have been so stupid? So blind? Didn't you know there would be a price to pay for all of this beauty? For all of this peace and quiet, all of this knowledge? }
No....I didn't. I thought I was too smart to fall for any of this. Even Doc said I was a genius, remember?
{Yeah.....I remember....and I also remember he told you that he had one more surprise for you......you didn't actually think he was talking about your little blond zombie, did you? Hell....she was even sterile. Couldn't even have any kids. There goes your dream, Tommy boy. There's always a high price to pay for happiness. Remember that in the future.}
I will. Don't you worry....I will.
He looked back over his shoulder only once; what he saw was a vast and stretching orgy of zombies, walking aimlessly and slowly through the burnt out corpse of a dead world. Walking, breathing maggots, feeding off of a world long since gone.
A world without end, without even a chance at death for comfort.
Tommy's world.
Tommy's story.
Tommy's garden. One he'd fertilized himself, with his own blood.
His own time.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock................
................tick tock.