FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #1

She told him with a little gesture he had never seen her use before. He does not believe his eyes.  Then, as if she senses his disbelief, she does it again.  He jumps to his feet.  The small metal desk bangs against the cinder block wall and his pencil rolls off onto the linoleum.  Where is the video camera?  He should leave the camera running at all times!  He rushes to the gray metal closet and with hands shaking, tries to insert the key into the metal doors guarding the valuable equipment.  Twice he drops the keys.  Finally, camcorder in hand, he skitters back to her room.  It's really just a closet converted into a small room.  A window sawed out of the wall and framed out with cheap lumber allows him to watch her from his office.  A faded doggy bed and a knotted rope hanging from an industrial sized hook in the ceiling completes her world.  He turns on the camcorder, adjusts the settings and aims it at her. 

One more time, Janey, just one more time for me.  Please?

She sits on the doggy bed, her right foot cradled in her lap and stares dolefully at him through the glass of the window.  They remain like this for some minutes, man and chimpanzee engaged in a staring contest.  She does not move.

He purchased her at an auction, from a zoo that went bankrupt.  An auction!  Imagine selling your animals to pay off the bickering creditors.  It was a lucky happenstance, an ad in the local pennysaver he was browsing at the dentist's office.  How it caught his eye, he is still not sure.  No fancy advertising tactics were used, just simple text and straight up information.  PUBLIC AUCTION: Bankrupt zoo's paraphernalia, incl. animals to be sold.  Sat. June 10, 8AM.  The auction was a three hour drive away, in some remote corner of the state.  He drove with the sunrise in his rearview mirror.

She was old even then, a scraggly and cranky chimpanzee.  No one really wanted her.  Other zoos and animal collectors bid for the young, feisty chimps and the exotic zebras.  She was Lot #237.  There was only one other bidder, a taxidermist who wanted to euthanize her and add her to his glass-eyed menagerie.  He remembers his relief when the taxidermist, not too enthusiastic to begin with, gave up and the chimp was his.  It was the only one he could afford.

After the transaction was completed, the money and the animal exchanging hands, he packed her up into his car.  She was strapped into the back seat with the seat belt, like she was his elderly aunt.  He had left for the auction without a fully developed plan and had no cage to contain her.  He did not believe he would actually come home with a chimpanzee.  Lot #237 did not come with a cage.  Not that she was very active.  An hour into the dusty ride home she was asleep, snoring loudly.

Now, here she was, all these many months later, Janey, his chimp.  The stubborn animal his entire career rested on.  Ha!  His "career."  Down in this airless basement room, tucked away in the corner of a third rate university of some second-tier state located in the muddle that is middle America, he, Dr. Daniel Benson, was pursuing his life dream.  He doesn't notice the dingy gray cinder blocks walls, the speckled and puckered linoleum floors, the dented metal furniture.  He doesn't notice that his wispy pale hair needs a trim.  He doesn't notice his faded wife, Judith, when he returns to their small one story house with the modest vegetable garden just outside the university campus.  He doesn't notice what she feeds him, or how he ends up in his pajamas in bed, already dreaming of tomorrow's hope for a breakthrough, the breakthrough he was beginning to doubt would ever happen.  That gesture.  That small movement of her hand.  He looks at her, sitting there.  Janey's dusty looking hair hangs in washed out strings and her wet, dark eyes focus on Benson.  He can't read their expression.  All these months the two of them have spent together in this poor excuse for a research laboratory and he has never been able to understand her.

Benson looks up from the viewfinder of the camcorder at Janey.  She returns his stare, seems to heave a sigh and turns away.  Janey lays herself down on the doggy bed, her left arm noticeably limp.  She moves it as if it were made of lead.  Soon, she is snoring.  Benson feels his own limbs grow heavy and droop, his energy drained.  He shuts off the camcorder and returns it to the metal storage closet.  He walks back across the room and picks up his pencil.  Janey's snoring blends with the rumbling of the air circulating through the old building's vents and pipes.  Benson looks down at the papers on his desk.  He had been logging in the day's data, the ever unchanging report of each day, when he had looked up, daydreaming, and saw through his unfocused eyes Janey move her hand.  He begins to wonder whether he had imagined it.  But there was the second time, unmistakable.  Carefully, he flips his pencil over and erases the words "No Change."  On the lines in the "Notes" section of his report form he write slowly in their place.  Subject moved left hand in rotating motion one, possibly two times.  No noticeable discomfort in movement.  He sits back and rereads the two lines before filing the day's report with all the others in the filing cabinet beside the desk.  Benson heaves his lanky frame up from the desk, lifts his jacket from the chair back and pulls it on.  He walks the short distance to Janey's window and looks at her sleeping.  It is on nights like this that he suspects the old chimp is more clever than anyone ever gave her credit for.  The bankrupt zoo owner had warned Benson about her surly behavior and her possible senility.  Benson let those words slide in and out of his mind he was so elated to have obtained a chimpanzee for his study.  He frowns at the chimpanzee, doubts and hopes flying around his mind so focused on her.  He turns and heads for the exit, taking his overcoat and hat from the rack by the door and shutting off the overhead lights before closing and locking the door.  It clangs shut and the small rectangular window with its web of safety wires reflects back to Benson his pale hair and disappointed face.

 

----

 

Benson rises early the next day and distractedly gulps his coffee and the tasteless English muffin Judith prepares for him. Surprisingly, he discovers he feels well rested.  When he has finished off his breakfast, he lifts himself from the kitchen table and pecks his wife on the cheek she presents to him from her position at the sink, her rubber gloved hands not pausing in their work in the suds that fill the sink basin.  He takes his coat from the hook by the front door, squashes his hat upon his head and heads outside.  Although it is nearly April, the air of the morning still carries an icy chill and cold dampness.  The car door creaks open and he slides into the seat.  All night and morning the previous evening’s events have been scrolling through his mind.  It has repeated so many times he is beginning to think he dreamed the entire thing.   If only he could have caught it on the camcorder, then there would be no question.  He is anxious and excited to return to his office to prove his doubts to be unfounded.

The car starts up with several coughs and protestations.  Benson backs down the driveway and joins the morning traffic.  He drives the short distance to the university out of habit without noticing how he gets there.  He parks in the usual spot in the faculty and staff lot and walks across the yellowed crunchy grass of the quad to the Science and Technology building.  He is walking quickly down the main corridor of the building, his long legs striding forward towards the stairwell door when he hears his name called out.  His shoes squeak to a stop on the tile floor and he turns to see who called him.

“Benson!” 

It is a tall and thick-haired man wearing a somber grey suit and ugly green tie.  His name is Ned Jacobs and he is the chairman of the Science and Technology department of the university.  Benson is irritated.  Typically Jacobs will stop and chat with him about trite university matters and ask disinterestedly after his study without really listening to his answers.  Jacobs will interrupt those answers with offhand comments like, “Yes, yes, very interesting.”

Benson prepares for Jacobs’ usual barrage of idiotic comments and meaningless gossip about the university’s funding or professors or the weather.  Despite his distaste for Jacobs, Benson cannot avoid their encounters.  The man is his superior at the university and he must endure these pointless conversations as part of his job.  He sighs at the inevitable wasted twenty minutes about to occur.

“Benson, Benson,” Jacobs drawls as he comes up beside the other man, “I was hoping to catch you this morning before you go lost down in that dungeon.”  Jacobs smiles widely and chuckles a little at his joke.

“Good morning, Ned.”

“Yes, good morning, Benson,” Jacobs clears his throat, prepares his next line, “So, how is that little study of yours going?”  Before he can answer, Jacobs goes on, “Yes, very interesting, that study of yours, very interesting.  Now, we had a meeting yesterday of the board of directors for the university, just your usual university business, you know, course offerings, summer programs, funding, and such.  The usual business.”

Benson waits for the man to unload his gossip.  But Jacobs pauses, changes direction.

“Yes, so, uhm, Benson.  How long have you been at this study, remind me?”

“Fourteen months.”

“Yes, fourteen months.  And how are those results coming, Benson?  Have we solved the mystery?”

“Not quite yet, Ned, but…” Benson is cut off.

“Yes, yes, very interesting,” Jacobs puts his hands together prayer-fashion and touches his chin with his fingertips, a frown creasing his brow, “Now, Benson, the board has decided that our Science and Technology department needs to rise in eminence within the community, the state and the country.”  Jacobs opens his palms and extends his arms up and out. 

“We need to build it up to be remarkable so we can attract some bright young minds, you know, the usual university aims.  With that in mind, we must structure our department towards those ends, you follow me, Benson?”  Benson nods as Jacobs continues.

“We need to really get some flash-bang studies and results!  Papers and publications!  Things that matter, things that will make the country take notice and make kids want to come here, dream to come here, to study with the preeminent researcher on… fungus, or whatever.”

“Yes, well, Ned, I…”

“Now, of course, those goals are all well and good.  However, there is always the issue of funding.  And in order to really achieve what we want, we have to channel those limited funds to only those things that will best help us in reaching our goals, yes, you follow?” 

“Yes, Ned, I see, but you must…”

“So, Benson, the board has asked me to streamline the research studies since they take up so much of our funding resources.  We really can only support those studies that are making progress and producing tangible results, you know, publishing and whatnot.”

“But, Ned, I have results…”

“Yes, yes, Benson, yes, we will get to that shortly.  Now, the board has decided to trim us down and it is my job to select those unfortunate studies to be trimmed.   And Benson, this isn’t personal, it’s university business, of course, but I’m afraid your study will be cut, you follow?”

“I, well, I… Ned,” Benson stutters.  Having his funding cut off and his study discontinued had not crossed his mind.  He stood dumbfounded.  For as long as he had been with the university, as a student, as an adjunct professor, as a researcher, the university had not changed one iota.  It plugged on in full acceptance of its mediocre status and its limited attraction and reach within the state.  Now it seemed some strange ambition had gripped the directors and encouraged them to embark on some deranged mission to improve the university beyond its determined fate, leaving his treasured study a victim.

Jacobs half smiled, half frowned, in some mockery of sympathy at him. 

“Yes, yes, I see, it must be a shock for you, but you see, Benson, you must have seen this coming.  No results in uh, how long?  Over a year?  And what results, Benson, what results?” 

Benson shakes off his stupor.

“I have results!  I am so close, Ned, so close!  Really on the verge of a true breakthrough!  This will do it for the university, it will, I know it!”  Benson, showing more energy and enthusiasm than usual, gesticulated wildly, “Let me show you, just come with me downstairs, I will show you.”

Jacobs smiled indulgently at Benson.

“Ah, yes, I should have known you would take this hard, very difficult, yes, having your study cut.  No need to invent results, Benson, it is out of my hands now.  You’re expected to clean out the office and take your things out by the end of the day.  I’m truly very sorry for you but this is necessary for the university, and you do want to be helpful to the university, yes?” 

Without waiting for an answer, Jacobs turns on his heel and struts away down the corridor, his footfalls echoing against the walls.  Benson stands still with his mouth slightly open.  How could this have happened?  How could they do this to him?

Full of indignation he hurries towards the stairwell door and pounds down to his office, correction, what had been his office.  His mind races with the many things he will say to the board to fight for his research project, the shriveling looks he will shoot at Jacobs the next time they cross paths.  He is breathing hard and trembling when he inserts the key into the lock and opens the door.  He flicks on the light, which flickers momentarily before illuminating the paltry room with its fluorescent glow.  He stops.  Suddenly his energy is gone and his shoulders slump.  It feels like someone has taken away a vital part of his insides and left a cold, empty hole.  He feels near tears, but his eyes remain dry.  He realizes he has been so naïve, so buried in this basement room that he has not thought about the realities above.  Of course the board would cut his funding.  They were probably surprised he still received money, still existed, when they have not heard a single word from him in over a year.  He realizes that the fight has been fought long before and he has lost without knowing it, without even participating.  It seems a lost cause, a monumental and predeterminedly failed task to change their minds.

Without removing his coat or hat he walks slowly to Janey’s room, stopping in front of the window and gazes down at the chimp.  She is awake, toying with the frayed seam of the doggy bed.  He looks at her, places his palm against the window and rests his forehead on the glass.

“It’s over, Janey, we’ve been cut.”

Maybe she sees something in his eyes, sadness?  Defeat?  Her dark eyes meet his and she scoots over to the window.  The chimp is so lazy she does not bother to use her feet to move about her small room, she scoots on her bottom, sometimes using the doggy bed to slide across the floor.  She does this now, and gets close to the window.  She raises her hand to match her palm against his.  He starts.  It is her left palm.  Her left hand.  Her left arm.  She gives him a look in response to his expression of surprise, a look that is one part defiance, one part boredom.  He lifts his head from the glass and his hand slowly drops to his side.  He stares at this chimpanzee, this animal he has spent more time with than his own wife, and he realizes that he has never, ever, understood her. 

Janey removes her hand from her side of the window and scoots herself backwards a few inches.  She holds his stare for just a little longer before she heaves her sigh, turns her back to him and snuggles down into the doggy bed.  He stands there for an unknown amount of time, just looking at her, his mind both blank and jammed full at the same time, wondering. 

back to Contest #1