“Still just one a day?”
“Just one. That’s it.”
“Okay.”
And I took it, again. This was day 101. The man in the suit stood staring at me, as he always did. And as always, it felt impossible to make out the features of his face. Not his eyes. Not his nose. Not his mouth even when it uttered his particular brand of silky smooth persuasive nothingness. But I’d probably be willing to swallow anything The man in the suit gave me. I had been in a bad way…for a long time. Downtrodden, one might say. Demonstrably alone. Achingly broken on the inside. The kind of broken on the inside that renders the outside unrecognizable. That was me.
But after 100 days of taking what he offered once a day and surviving on my last tins of olives and a piece of toasted, previously frozen bread, I had begun to be something different. Don’t get me wrong, I was still empty inside. I had an ice scream scoop sized whole where my emotions and soul once resided. I was still a husk, a shadow, but the outside began to take on a different shape altogether, not quite like the inside. At first, it wasn’t immediately evident what had changed or how I’d changed. I should tell you the full story, in case you run into The man in the suit, so you can tell him the progress. I’m sure he’ll be interested. Of all those he gave it too, he said I had particular potential.
Let me set the scene. I don’t have a mirror, but I’m certain I looked kempt, if that is indeed the opposite of unkempt. I had showered. I had even given myself a shave and a haircut. All without a mirror, but I cut all the hair off my head, so nothing could have gone wrong. Okay, there were a few nicks, but nothing at all worth mentioning. I was also positive I had all the best haberdashery associated with a person of great finery. I may have lacked an iron and long ago run out of laundry detergent, but the jacket and pants smelled fresh to me. Strangely enough, it felt baggy, like it wasn’t mine, and short. My ankles were cold, and for some reason my shoes felt tight. Changes indeed. I stood taller, maybe stooped less, but it mattered not. The important thing to tell The man in the suit is that there were changes. The kind of changes that made me want to correct some ills in society instead of hide away as I had done for the days before. The man in the suit said I would feel different after all the steady doses. He was not wrong. I had changed.
I grabbed my wallet and keys for the first time in months and set out into the world, determined to do the work this world needed with renewed vigor. The renewed vigor of someone with a confidence unbecoming his previous state and previous accomplishments, of which there were not legions. I was ready now to reverse those trends and become what I always hoped I would become. Maybe even what my long estranged father had wanted me to become, but let us not become maudlin. Back to the scene at hand.
I stepped outside. The smell of the overgrown pine bushes next to the front door tickled my nostrils, even though they seemed shorter in my emboldened state. The front driveway was missing the car I parked there so long ago. Heavy tracks lead from the driveway across the lawn, so maybe The man in the suit used it in an abnormal, but perfectly respectable way and had yet to return it. If you run into him, can you please ask him for me?
Without a mode of transport, I would have typically given up, but in my new found vigor, I set out into the world under my own power, free from the shackles of unleaded or leaded gas, kerosene, propane, or diesel. Though it was a plodding pace, I plodded with strength of purpose. I was a new entity. Something different, and even if my shoes hurt and my ankles and wrists were cold, there was nothing that tugged at the self-conscious threads of my past. What I had taken had rearranged my unhelpful questioning thoughts into prideful, nigh boastful, emotions. The man in the suit didn’t say it would have to end, and I certainly don’t want to get off the train, so to speak. Another thing for you to ask him, should you run into him yourself.
In any event, it was but a few miles to my destination and the air was brisk. I even had occasion to pass by a few passers-by. I must have cut an impressive shape, a shape I’ll admit I couldn’t find the edges for, because both passers-by, a young woman pushing a carriage, or maybe a pram, moved to the other side of the wooded lane I was traversing at the time while averting her eyes from me. Had I walked past this woman in the past, she would have walked past without noticing me, much like anyone else would have. The second passer-by was an old man who instead of attempting to cross the street, stopped cold, and sat on a bench. Once again averting his eyes and even wrinkling his nose, in approval, I think. This confirmed for me that I was changed, and I could come to no other conclusion than for the better.
At last, I arrived at my incredibly pedestrian destination, the Piggly Wiggly. I had arrived. I strolled up to the doors, which dutifully opened for me with nary a touch. I promise you that in all my years, I had never had such a welcome. The produce section was filled with people and upon seeing me in my new glory, grew weary of their own emotional encumbrances and made way for me to search for fruit as I saw fit. Avocados, Cherries, and Basil were procured and I made my way further into the bowels of the store, stalking my caloric prey, as it were. As I walked toward the fish counter, I crossed in front of a mirrored column, itself a vestigial reminder of the aging Piggly Wiggly’s need for a remodel, much like the remodeling I just went through. This was the first sight of myself since starting the one-a-day regimen prescribed to me, and the word I’d use is resplendent. Bright plumage, cutting a shape of monstrous size and scope. Some might even say on a mission. On a mission to show the world what was wrong with it. Solidly correct in my thoughts for the first time. Solidly on the right side of history, where once I was wrong.
I found the fish monger looking at me with, at first fear, then worry. Trapped behind the counter as he was, engagement being his only option.
I said “Ho Hey there Fish Monger.”
He gave me a quizzical look, obviously uneasy with such a forceful greeting from such a forceful person of note such as myself.
“That is an…interesting getup you have there. What can I help you with?”
I agreed with the man by slowly spinning around and nodding my head. “Indeed, kind sir. It is definitely in keeping with today’s highest sense of fashion.” Projecting an air of someone to be reckoned with, I could tell, because he gulped causing his Adam’s apple to dance under his collar.
“I’m interested in the whitefish you have there. But I have questions…When was this ice procured? And more importantly, how was the ice procured?”
He stammered about an ice machine and gestured toward the back. Obviously, such a plebeian answer would not do. He didn’t know the provenance of the water that fed that machine, even if there was a machine. He didn’t know what the fish he purveyed rested on with certainty. Where was it manufactured? What chemicals were within its make up? How much energy did it use to make the ice? What was the method by which that energy was produced? These are essential questions. The kind of questions that civilization depends on, neigh is built on.
I pressed further. My passions were building, as they would for you should you have been in my position at the moment.
“Good sir!” I said, this time, quite loudly. I could feel a crowd gathering behind me, interested in how I might deal with this gentleman’s intransigence. “It is not enough to sell the fish. It is not enough to carry the ice in a bucket and dump it here. You must know how the ice was made, if the fish was treated poorly or had the right ideas about life as a fish. What would happen if a poorly thinking fish was ingested into the bloodstream and affected your patrons in ways you were not privy too. Where does the liability lie, then, sir?”
He put up his hands and tried to protest, but, and I’d like you to really emphasize this point with The man in the suit, should you see him, I wouldn’t let these affronts stand. I pushed him aside and reached behind the counter to the whitefish that had started the issues.
“Hey” he protested, but he made way, as he should have.
At this point, I had commanded an audience. I held the fillet and ice cubes aloft.
“How is one to know what to consume if one does not have the right knowledge? This fish could have mistreated its offspring or had a belief that runs afoul of genteel society. This ice could be from the very water this fish lived in and be responsible for its very death and here we are ingesting a murderer. And yet…” I held the point, my pause bringing in the audience further, a lesson I no doubt gained from The man in the suit’s prescription, a skill I hadn’t had before. “..and yet. This fine gentleman.” I gestured with the fillet, but he had departed, having succumbed to my logic already, it seemed. “does not know what he sells to us. But I shall get to the bottom of this, for you.” And I did what was needed and took a bite of the fillet. It was wet and slimy, but I could tell it was not near as perfect as that fish monger would have me think. I placed an ice cube on my tongue next and that proved without a shadow of a doubt that this was a suspect operation. I will admit that it felt odd to drink that icy fish water, and I’d lie if I told you I wasn’t worried about contracting a sickness or regurgitating the bite of fish at that moment, but some things are necessary, and only I’m suited for the task. I heard a woman gasp and cover her mouth, no doubt out of happiness for my willingness to protect her and her family. In any event, this ice was indeed suspect and proved to me that I was doing the right work for the public.
It was at this moment that the fish monger returned, pointing agitatedly at me. He had brought the manager of the store. I know this because I know him. I’ve met him in the past, but, obviously not in my current capable state. He had a barrel chest and a set of hirsute arms coupled with overall shameless demeanor. How could he not carry himself so poorly with ice such as this.
“Steven?” He called out plaintively almost as if my name was small.
“It’s Steven.” I gave it the gravitas it deserved.
“It’s been a while.” He said.
“It has. I’ve got a new outlook on life.” I spun around again. Melt water dripped down my arm as I spun, but it bothered me not.
“I can see that. I think you’re frightening the other customers.”
“They shouldn’t be frightened of me. Frightened of many things, but not me. Only I am suited to help them. Sure my actions are grand, but I am protecting them from the barbarians at the gate. The kind of barbarians that will sap them of their will, drown them in sorrow and ultimately end them in defeat. This Piggly Wiggly…” I added a particularly venomous snarl to the store’s name “…will be held to account and I alone can do so.”
“I understand, Steven. Let’s go back to my office and we can discuss how best to improve the store.”
“Yes. You finally get it.”
“I do.”
When I arrived at the door to his office, fish still in hand, as evidence of course, The man in the suit was waiting for me in all his faceless glory. Obviously there to congratulate me on the work. The manager of the store nodded his head as The man in the suit and he chatted. They shook hands, no doubt agreeing to notable reforms. He garbled some words to me and I followed him outside where a black car with black windows waited for me.
We returned to my domicile and he disappeared once again. He had left another dose on the counter for me and I dug in.
More was needed.
More was desired.
If you are interested in the jumping off point for this little exploration, have a listen to Aggressive Steven (Lyrics are awesome, but contain swear words, so be forewarned). Additionally, the very real and important subject matter of Aggressive Steven is incredibly well done and I can’t recommend enough at least reading the lyrics.
Also pick up a copy of Notes from Underground by Dostoevsky.
Then do yourself a favor and read Invisible Man by Ellison. Not part of the inspiration, but Notes and Invisible Man seem to play off each other in my mind.
Christopher Hazlett 