stirdgit
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jun 5, 2005
- Messages
- 89
A new short story.
Virgil’s Descent
A thin layer of silver frost covered the parking lot and the silent cars. It was the first frost of the season and, after such a hot summer, John welcomed it with open arms. He stood peering, readying himself for the comfort of a day off from work, a day of relaxing, recuperating and recovering from the long week, from the mounds of stress and the idealized speeches from management about how they should all feel unbelievably fortunate to have such good jobs. If they were to believe the rosy portrait management painted, there would be no need to pay the workers for showing up. But as the facts and the reality would have it, they did.
He turned from the window and eyed the coffee pot in the kitchen, still sputtering and coughing up the beautiful black bean beverage, the antidote for the lingering sleep. Already the smell filled the small apartment, exciting his sense of wonderment for the day ahead. He yawned and stretched and for a moment actually contemplated heading back to bed for another hour or two of sleep. But that seemed highly unlikely. Days off saw John up earlier than work days. The way he saw it, there is only one way to make the most of a day off; get up extremely early and spend an exorbitant amount of time in a conscious state. To sleep away a day off was a sin, in his book.
Finally, the coffee finished brewing. John practically raced into the kitchen for it. As he poured his first cup, his laptop - resting on the kitchen table - chimed, announcing the arrival of a new e-mail. With cup in hand, he walked over and gazed the waiting message.
Sender: Virgil777
Topic: Urgent!
John nearly cringed. Knowing Virgil - and John knew him better than anyone - the odd ball had contracted yet another terminal illness, or had uncovered yet another governmental plot to subjugate the masses; or something else along such paranoid lines. John did not dislike Virgil, they had actually been friends for nearly thirty years, but he did not necessarily like what Virgil had become. The man had once been a mathematical genius, book smart, with a dire lacking of common sense, but creative and fun to be around. This insane and paranoid manifestation that had come along later in life was not to John’s liking at all. Still, he refused to give up on him. And besides, sometimes Virgil’s rants were so insane, so twisted, that one could only perceive good entertainment from them.
He opened the message. It read:
I know what you must think of me at this point but I really don’t care any more. I am beyond caring, beyond the usual and typical concerns of our current times.
I have a short list of questions for you, my good friend. If you answer yes to any of them, then you must take me seriously, or else you must re-answer the questions. I ask you to be truthful in your answers, and to answer with your heart and mind, not with the ideas to which society wants you to adhere.
1.) Do you believe that Pythagoras was anything more than a kook?
2.) Do you still believe in the Holy Bible?
3.) Do you believe the atom can be split?
4.) Do you believe technology is an ever evolving commodity that will continue to evolve?
5.) Do you believe we are at war in Iraq?
John read the questions once, twice, then a third time, trying to ascertain what on Earth his friend could possibly mean. The questions were simple enough to understand, but what was his motivation for asking them? That was the real question. What on earth was his goal?
He sipped his piping hot coffee, smiled at the taste and reached for his telephone; knowing somehow, even before he dialed, that Virgil would not answer. He didn’t. And so John, not really having any plans for the day, not caring where he went or even how he got there, decided to head out on the forty eight minute trek to Virgil’s house. Across an entire county he would drive, listening to whatever music seemed good at the time, daydreaming, letting his mind wander, and all the while wondering what on Earth his friend Virgil was up to this time.
Genesis, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, disc one, filled his SUV as John drove through the magic of Autumn, past the Wal Mart, the three Star Bucks and sixteen McDonald’s along the way. The blue sky poured golden light from a warm, early October sun. Random, zig-zagging drivers beeped and cursed as the chore of driving seemed to drastically interfere with their cell phone conversations. As he passed a large mall, cars sped to claim the victory of a good parking spot, a new McDonald’s was being built and somewhere, from some location near-by, black smoke rose, filling the fresh air with the smell of burnt leaves. The experts had been saying that the foliage would don its colored coat earlier than usual this fall, thanks to the sweltering heat of the dearly departed summer. The experts, for once, had been right.
After forty eight minutes of driving, John turned onto a narrow, dirty and rocky back road, overhung by massive oaks and sycamores. He eyed the orange and yellow leaves clinging desperately to their last moments of life and once again smelled the pungent aroma of burning leaves.
Virgil’s small, dilapidated mobile home appeared down over a grassy knoll, resting at the foot of one of the many rolling hills of the area.
John pulled his SUV into the driveway, clutched, turned the key and allowed his momentum to die away. Yanking firmly on the E-break, he turned his head to see Virgil running out of the house, looking as frantic as the e-mail had made him seem.
Virgil Xavier Cota was once one of the most highly touted non-linear mathematicians in all the state. He had studied at CMU, graduated from Pennsylvania University and... and then his parents both died, only a year and half apart from one another. John could still hear his life long friend telling him that he had just gotten over his Father’s death, when his Mother had passed. Those words had broken John’s heart; he could only imagine the pain that Virgil was enduring. And the pain lingered still, though it did not openly appear as pain. It manifested as insanity.
Virgil stood by the SUV, wearing a gray T-shirt that appeared to have once had writing of some sort on it. His blue jeans were tattered, worn out at the knees and the crotch.
“Good. You got my message. Get out. Come in, you have to see this.” Virgil said in a shaky voice.
John climbed out of the vehicle and sighed, knowing that this could have been a costly mistake. There was now the very real possibility that he would end up in a very uncomfortable situation. Sure, he always felt inclined - and even obligated - to lend support to his friend, but there were those times when all he wanted was to relax, read a good book, and stay as far away from Virgil as possible.
“Good to see you too, Virg.”
Virgil’s Descent
A thin layer of silver frost covered the parking lot and the silent cars. It was the first frost of the season and, after such a hot summer, John welcomed it with open arms. He stood peering, readying himself for the comfort of a day off from work, a day of relaxing, recuperating and recovering from the long week, from the mounds of stress and the idealized speeches from management about how they should all feel unbelievably fortunate to have such good jobs. If they were to believe the rosy portrait management painted, there would be no need to pay the workers for showing up. But as the facts and the reality would have it, they did.
He turned from the window and eyed the coffee pot in the kitchen, still sputtering and coughing up the beautiful black bean beverage, the antidote for the lingering sleep. Already the smell filled the small apartment, exciting his sense of wonderment for the day ahead. He yawned and stretched and for a moment actually contemplated heading back to bed for another hour or two of sleep. But that seemed highly unlikely. Days off saw John up earlier than work days. The way he saw it, there is only one way to make the most of a day off; get up extremely early and spend an exorbitant amount of time in a conscious state. To sleep away a day off was a sin, in his book.
Finally, the coffee finished brewing. John practically raced into the kitchen for it. As he poured his first cup, his laptop - resting on the kitchen table - chimed, announcing the arrival of a new e-mail. With cup in hand, he walked over and gazed the waiting message.
Sender: Virgil777
Topic: Urgent!
John nearly cringed. Knowing Virgil - and John knew him better than anyone - the odd ball had contracted yet another terminal illness, or had uncovered yet another governmental plot to subjugate the masses; or something else along such paranoid lines. John did not dislike Virgil, they had actually been friends for nearly thirty years, but he did not necessarily like what Virgil had become. The man had once been a mathematical genius, book smart, with a dire lacking of common sense, but creative and fun to be around. This insane and paranoid manifestation that had come along later in life was not to John’s liking at all. Still, he refused to give up on him. And besides, sometimes Virgil’s rants were so insane, so twisted, that one could only perceive good entertainment from them.
He opened the message. It read:
I know what you must think of me at this point but I really don’t care any more. I am beyond caring, beyond the usual and typical concerns of our current times.
I have a short list of questions for you, my good friend. If you answer yes to any of them, then you must take me seriously, or else you must re-answer the questions. I ask you to be truthful in your answers, and to answer with your heart and mind, not with the ideas to which society wants you to adhere.
1.) Do you believe that Pythagoras was anything more than a kook?
2.) Do you still believe in the Holy Bible?
3.) Do you believe the atom can be split?
4.) Do you believe technology is an ever evolving commodity that will continue to evolve?
5.) Do you believe we are at war in Iraq?
John read the questions once, twice, then a third time, trying to ascertain what on Earth his friend could possibly mean. The questions were simple enough to understand, but what was his motivation for asking them? That was the real question. What on earth was his goal?
He sipped his piping hot coffee, smiled at the taste and reached for his telephone; knowing somehow, even before he dialed, that Virgil would not answer. He didn’t. And so John, not really having any plans for the day, not caring where he went or even how he got there, decided to head out on the forty eight minute trek to Virgil’s house. Across an entire county he would drive, listening to whatever music seemed good at the time, daydreaming, letting his mind wander, and all the while wondering what on Earth his friend Virgil was up to this time.
Genesis, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, disc one, filled his SUV as John drove through the magic of Autumn, past the Wal Mart, the three Star Bucks and sixteen McDonald’s along the way. The blue sky poured golden light from a warm, early October sun. Random, zig-zagging drivers beeped and cursed as the chore of driving seemed to drastically interfere with their cell phone conversations. As he passed a large mall, cars sped to claim the victory of a good parking spot, a new McDonald’s was being built and somewhere, from some location near-by, black smoke rose, filling the fresh air with the smell of burnt leaves. The experts had been saying that the foliage would don its colored coat earlier than usual this fall, thanks to the sweltering heat of the dearly departed summer. The experts, for once, had been right.
After forty eight minutes of driving, John turned onto a narrow, dirty and rocky back road, overhung by massive oaks and sycamores. He eyed the orange and yellow leaves clinging desperately to their last moments of life and once again smelled the pungent aroma of burning leaves.
Virgil’s small, dilapidated mobile home appeared down over a grassy knoll, resting at the foot of one of the many rolling hills of the area.
John pulled his SUV into the driveway, clutched, turned the key and allowed his momentum to die away. Yanking firmly on the E-break, he turned his head to see Virgil running out of the house, looking as frantic as the e-mail had made him seem.
Virgil Xavier Cota was once one of the most highly touted non-linear mathematicians in all the state. He had studied at CMU, graduated from Pennsylvania University and... and then his parents both died, only a year and half apart from one another. John could still hear his life long friend telling him that he had just gotten over his Father’s death, when his Mother had passed. Those words had broken John’s heart; he could only imagine the pain that Virgil was enduring. And the pain lingered still, though it did not openly appear as pain. It manifested as insanity.
Virgil stood by the SUV, wearing a gray T-shirt that appeared to have once had writing of some sort on it. His blue jeans were tattered, worn out at the knees and the crotch.
“Good. You got my message. Get out. Come in, you have to see this.” Virgil said in a shaky voice.
John climbed out of the vehicle and sighed, knowing that this could have been a costly mistake. There was now the very real possibility that he would end up in a very uncomfortable situation. Sure, he always felt inclined - and even obligated - to lend support to his friend, but there were those times when all he wanted was to relax, read a good book, and stay as far away from Virgil as possible.
“Good to see you too, Virg.”
