robertlamproscom

The city of Weatherview is located between what is and what could be, the possible and the impossibly magnificent, where people live and the heights to which their hearts dream they might someday ascend. Some two million and four-hundred thousand residents call it home, a term that is both accurate and also ironic, since all of its people have been displaced. To see the city as life flows through it, the rolling and rushing cars gleaming with sunlight, the myriad faces of those quietly content, or perhaps bold and determined individuals striding to and from buildings, to consider the fruit of their labors, reports and emails, production and management, the interwoven interconnected interdependent machine of goods and services to which everyone contributes and from which everyone benefits, you would think Weatherview a picturesque, shining example of what a city should be—but that is not the case. Something far greater is happening here. This story begins, as many stories do, with a man.

He walked up and down the aisle of Carrigan’s Hardware with the cautious steps of one who’d just taken a ride on a roller coaster. Hundreds of illuminated lightbulbs in all shapes and sizes dazzled him with their splendor. Upon entering the store he had gravitated toward the brightest aisle of all, ignoring the large sign overhead reading, “Electrical, Plumbing, Seasonal, Power tools,” and so on. Suddenly lightning struck outside. The man flinched with his whole body, dropping his head forward and momentarily covering it with his arms. He timidly looked toward the front windows. The wall of dark clouds pressing down on the horizon had expanded into an increasingly furious storm, surging forth like a vast wave in zero gravity, as the man had been searching for the missing piece to his now frustrating puzzle.

“Can you help me?” he asked an orange-vested team member.

“Yes, what can I help you with?”“Drill bits?” he demanded anxiously.

“Those are in aisle E.”

His eyes scanned the different pieces without finding an answer, faint hope quickly followed by disappointment. “Flatheads,” he shouted unintentionally after reaching the end of the rows. No one replied. The man headed to the front of the store to get some answers. Another customer pushing a lumber cart cut him off. Microscopic particles of sawdust pulled in by his breathing lightly covered his mouth, throat, and trachea. Coughing loudly he approached the first employee he saw, the same one as before.

“Tell me you have eight-millimeter-wide flathead drill bits.”

“Um, we should… Let’s go take a look.”

They proceeded in a single file line of two back to aisle E.

“I’ve been over these rows already. The closest thing I could find was this,” he removed a plastic case of drill bits from the shelf, “and the flathead is too narrow. I need at least an eight-millimeter-wide flathead drill bit.” He was trying not to sound overly annoyed.

“Well,” the employee said slowly, “you may be out of luck.”

Later in the day he arrived home with a large flathead screwdriver. Retrieving a socket wrench and hammer from his toolbox, he proceeded to hammer the screwdriver into the steering column of an electric toy car in the storage room of his basement. After successfully removing the screw he’d stripped while assembling the miniature vehicle, he finished the assembly and test-drove it by placing one hand on the gas pedal and the other on the wheel and steering it in a circle around the concrete floor. The car seemed to function well, but soon he heard the light thumping of tiny feet approaching the basement stairs, so he quickly returned the car to its hiding spot and drew the tarp back over it.

He awoke the following day to the smell of scrambled eggs and bacon. He’d had a series of bewildering and disorienting dreams so it took him a moment to realize that this was his reality––his house, his wife, his little boy. He was a distributor liaison for a sign company. Many signs in the greater Weatherview area, for subdivisions, restaurants, corporate headquarters and offices, had been manufactured thanks to his liaising. He was a productive member of society, he thought for a moment, then quickly course-corrected. Don’t think like that anymore. Humility. Humble.

“Mmmm, a classic American breakfast,” he said upon sitting down at their kitchen table.

“It’s a big day,” his wife answered, filling his glass with orange juice. “You got the car working at last.”

“Don’t let the secret get out. I can’t wait to see the look on his face. Are you going to wake him up?”

“Let him sleep until seven-thirty. He’s been dozing on our ride to school.”

“The present will wake him up. And make him never want to go to school again,” he laughed. “He’ll probably try to convince us to let him sleep in that thing.”

The man’s wife sat down across from him with her own plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. She watched him eat for a moment before asking, “Why’d you buy him the car?”

He didn’t look up, instead took his time dipping a triangle of toast in his cup of coffee.

“It just seemed a little out of the blue, and your walks at night—”

“I can’t buy my son a great toy or take a stroll once in a while?”

“Ethan, you know that’s not what I mean. Why get so defensive? I love you. And I’m no fool. I want to know what’s going on.”

As if on cue their son shuffled into the kitchen.

“Hey, munchkin,” Ethan called out. “We’ve got a great breakfast for you up here. Mama outdid herself. Come here,” he tickled the boy and hoisted him up onto a chair. “Did you say the prayer when you woke up?”

The boy nodded.

“Praying before breakfast isn’t enough?” his wife asked.

“No such thing as too much praying,” he said. “Here, let’s pray again, ready? Our Father…”

“Who art in heaven,” his son joined in, “hallowed be thy name…”

His wife started, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen”

“Yeyyy,” the parents cheered.

“We’ve got a surprise for you today, son,” said Ethan, “as soon as you get back from school.”

Cantico Park was a little crowded even for a fair weather Spring day. The bike path may not be the ideal place for young Casey to test-drive his new wheels, but that was the plan. Ethan wanted to bless his son with a joyful experience and all the joggers and bicyclists weren’t about to get in his way. Still, he needed to be considerate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and speed racers named Casey, start your engines. Three… two… one… Go!”

“Casey floored it and the car launched forward with surprising speed, a Ferrari-red rocket approaching twelve miles per hour which, for a seven year-old, was like a shooting star.

Casey’s mom shrieked and ran after him, making Ethan laugh loudly then stifle it.

“Don’t worry, Lin,” he called

Linda, seeing that it was hopeless to continue the pursuit, slowed to a fast walk. Casey was gone.

The road ahead welcomed him, never mind the giants marching past daring to challenge his wondrous new gift. With a little luck he would outmaneuver them and break free to where the car was meant to take him. While slaloming through feet and legs he felt the change before it happened, a lightness giving way to weightlessness, as well as a newfound sense of power. The wheels retracted sliding up into the body of the vehicle as it inclined toward a blue sky full of white cotton clouds.