3 Cloves of Garlic

George Welts sat in a refurbished Laz-E-Boy recliner that had seen better days. He sat smoking the last cigarette out of a now crumpled package laying on the worn end table next to him. The antichrist was visiting again in the form of his wife. It was more often than not these days. George couldn’t remember a day when she wasn’t screaming at him for something.

He was either too skinny, too dirty, too lazy, unmanly, slimy, useless or any other string of hateful adjectives that she used on an almost hourly basis to describe how he failed her as a husband. Today was no different than any other day in that respect, only the subject had changed. Today, it was about garlic.

“Why can’t you just do what you’re told George?” he looked at her when he handed her the powdered garlic in the plastic shaker bottle no more than twenty minutes ago. “I can’t use this!” her mouth formed more words, but George tuned her out. It was something about his stupidity, his lack of attention to detail, stemming from his lack of manhood. That was her favorite, to insult his manhood in both spirit and body. She made it clear in no uncertain words that he was one of the smallest men she had ever been with and how that she had made a mistake in marrying him. You see, her mother had told her so.

“Fresh garlic, dumbass!” she continued her tirade, “I needed three cloves of fresh garlic!” Alice’s eyes rolled for the countless time in his direction. George stood there for a moment and listened like the dutiful husband that he was supposed to be. “How can I make my Bruschetta Pomodoro with powdered garlic? Now Richard and I will have to stop of at the market before cooking class?” At this, George went into the living room to escape her mouth through watching television.

“Yeah, walk on out like you always do George.” He could hear her voice resonating off of the chipping, yellowed paint. “You are a total and complete waste of flesh George Welts. It’s amazing that you remember to hold you cock when you pee.” George switched on the TV with the remote and started flipping channels. He didn’t care where he ended up; it was the motions that were important. This was something that George knew that he was in control of. The TV didn’t berate him, or chide him or even cheat on him with Richard Hammet from work. ‘Cooking class’ was code for their dates. It started off maybe once or twice a month, but now it was once or twice in a week. Adjusting his glasses with his middle finger, he brought the cigarette and took a long pull on it, feeling the smoke burn through his throat and into his lungs.

“Yes, George Welts, sit there and smoke. I hope you get cancer!” Alice bent over him, trying to get a reaction. When he didn’t move or even look in her direction, she stood in front of the television. George sighed and made eye contact with her. “Did you hear me, George Welts? Why don’t you just die of cancer and do us all a favor, won’t you?” George looked into her eyes and found the extreme hatred burning there. He wondered briefly if she had ever truly loved him. “Good God, why did I marry you?” her breath already stunk of gin. Her makeup was already caked on her face, her hair up getting ready for more applications from the Tammy Faye Techniques of Fashion. Richard liked her looking like an over-painted porcelain doll.

“Because you told your mother you were pregnant.” George mumbled, casting his eyes down.

“What?” here was the antichrist again, painted and awaiting her ministrations from her man of choosing, “What did you say to me, George Welts?”

“Nothing dear.”

“That’s right.” She grabbed the remote from his hand and threw it against the yellowing wall. “That’s exactly right. ‘Nothing dear,’ that’s what you are, my little ‘nothing dear.’ The man who is ‘nothing dear’ to anyone.” The television flared to life, volume now uncontrollable.

“A little bit of E-V-O-O and three cloves of garlic,” Rachel Ray instructed before the TV switched again, slamming into George Welts’ soul.

“And my favorite, some gah-lick, to take it up a notch and BAM!” Emeril Lagasee followed through, his audience clapping in the background, before the TV switched again, slamming into George Welts like a hammer blow.

“Just put the garlic on a sheet pan, peel and all and roast them until their nice and brown. They’ll get that nice sweet and nutty flavor that will add a depth to…” Rick Bayless was describing before the TV switched again. Another slam into George Welts’ heart and soul.

“I love garlic!” Martin Yan announced with his own brand of passion, “You don’t need to slice it, just place it on the board, like this, and like this, and like this and take the side of your knife and bam. See, it’s easy. Just like that. I love it!” The TV died, sending one more shunt into George Welts.

“Now, why don’t you just sit there and think about what you’ve done now, George Welts!” Alice snarled at him with her gin-soaked breath. “I have to get ready now and Richard is going to be here any minute. And now we’ve got no TV to watch until you get a new one. Like that will happen any time soon!” Alice left George in the dilapidated Laz-E-Boy and slammed the door to their bedroom.

George Welts sat there for a moment and tried to grasp what had just happened. A knock on the door came, bringing him out of his daze. He knew it was Richard Hatten coming to pick up Alice for ‘cooking class.’ George knew his place. Stiffly, he got up and answered the door.

“George!” Richard greeted him. He always was overdoing the greeting. George guessed that he was overcompensating for the fact that he wasn’t supposed to know that Alice and Richard were having an affair instead of truly learning to cook. George grasped his outstretched hand and shook it limply, as he always did. “Is Alice ready, or is she running late again, as usual?”

“You know Alice as well as I do.” George said flatly.

“Yeah,” Richard laughed that fake laugh that he always brought to bear when he was trying to be smug. “I guess I do, huh?” Richard nudged him in the ribs with an elbow.

“Richard, is that you?” the antichrist yelled from the bedroom. She had on the sweet voice now, “come on in here, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” George knew that this was the pre-game. They got some sort of thrill by playing grab-ass while he was in the other room. Another joke, he guessed.

“Sorry George,” Richard brushed him out of the way, “duty calls, you know.” Richard gave him another smug laugh accompanied with a wink. George played dumb, he always did. Richard walked through the living room as he had done countless times before and entered into George and Alice’s bedroom without hesitation – as he had done countless times before. George watched him stroll through the doorway and close the door behind him. Alice giggled. It was the only time he heard her laughter and knew that it was genuine.

George walked into the kitchen. The foodstuffs were all there for the ‘cooking class.’ Tomatoes, basil, Italian bread, just no garlic. The brown container of powdered garlic he had brought to her was lying sideways on the floor from when she threw it. George bent down to pick it up and was temporarily blinded from the glare coming off of the hanging knives on the wall.

“And just a rough cut,” Rachel Ray informed him.

“Power down through it with a downward stroke, bringing the knife towards you,” Emeril Lagasse instructed.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, it will add character to your dish,” Rick Bayless tried to give confidence in his small, weak voice.

“And you cut it like this, and like this, and like this,” Martin Yan echoed in his particular way.

Without another thought, George stood up and grabbed the 11-inch chef’s blade hanging from a magnetic strip installed on the wall. It felt good in his hands, like a natural extension. It wasn’t the first time he held a knife, but this time was – different. He turned and walked into the bedroom, glistening steel in his hand. Rachel, Emeril, Rick and Martin guided him through the wet work that needed to take place. Crimson rain exploded in the room.

After the work was done, George slipped on his worn leather coat, grabbed up his Zippo and walked out of the door of his shabby apartment. A light tune came to his mind as he bounced down the stairs. He needed cigarettes anyway.

Chrome Lethargy

I remember taste. Hot roasted peanuts at the baseball games coupled with a cold Japanese beer. Good times. The salty tang refreshed by the cool effervescence of hops was one of my favorite tastes. The other was the soft warmth of her lip gloss. It didn’t have an exact taste; it just triggers memories of her. The shock of dyed red hair, the quirky smile and the way that she knew exactly what to say made me love her. That was before the Others made sure that there was no more Japanese beer, or anything else out of Japan. The entire island had been obliterated early on. She was in Tokyo at the time. The death toll was in the millions – and that was jus the first strike. It didn’t count the tsunamis that wiped out parts of China and washed out the big island of Hawaii.

During the course of the next few weeks, the campaign continued. Los Angeles was hit as well as Colorado Springs. Seattle, Cairo, the entire Gaza Strip, Baghdad, Tehran, Hong Kong, Berlin and Moscow were all wiped out. For some reason, the Others left Washington D.C. intact. Their reasons were their own.

They were called Others because they had seceded from all the countries of the Earth. Liberty Litany Lunar Inc. had established the moon base near the Sea of Tranquility. The rich ores and the strategic placement of solar panels that they had established made the base a profitable one. It was such a rich time for the Earth before the Incident. The changes that President Obama had ushered in were downright miraculous. It was another golden time for humankind. It was too bad that Biden didn’t have the charisma or tenacity that his predecessor did. After the assassination, the world was never the same. The one thing that stayed constant was the capitalization of the moon.

It was during the onset of the ‘New War on Terror’ that the employees and citizens of the Triple L Base to become incorporated into their own country. New leadership planet side coupled with new laws being beamed in from corporate headquarters in Detroit began the dissention. The new country was named Luna. Not quite as original as one might think, but they were mostly engineers and miners. Sometimes simplicity is best in those kinds of situations. Those on Earth called them the ‘Others.’ They called themselves ‘Lunatics.’ Ironic if you think about it.

The world was going to hell. There were too many checkpoints and too many suspicions going on (publicly, privately, and professionally) between the people of the Earth. It was when the Koreans released the news of their ‘World Cracker’ that the Japanese rattled their own sabers and launched an offensive of their own of intimidation on the Seoul Men to the south. When the Korean electric grid crashed, the Japanese Console Cowboys that were inserted cracked their military-grade networks and infiltrated virtual Korea. The dedicated military networks came down without so much as a whimper and to add insult to injury, as the Japanese are infamous for, they detonated the ‘World Cracker’ in its launch tube.

The outrage from the world was incredible. There were sanctions, threats of war, legal proceedings put forth in front of the United Nations. The entire ball of wax was coming apart. There were too many news bites scrolling across the Times Square marquees at any given time. Fax and email bombs were assaulting the virtual society that was established across the world. Ham radio operators were filling up the airwaves with their chatter as well. There was an electric buzz during the days before the Incident.

She used to bake when she was stressed. Lemon bars, tiny chocolate brownies with walnuts, banana bread, carrot cake with a special amaretto cream cheese icing – oh that carrot cake was to die for. I’d stay up with her. I know she didn’t always want the company, but she did need it. Sometimes when she looked at the batter in the Kitchen Aid, she would cry. And then I would hold her until she stopped shaking. I remember the taste of her lips. Salty and sweet with the strange unnamable, unidentifiable taste of her lip gloss. She used to complain when her hair stuck to it. I thought it made her look so endearing and sexy. It just made her annoyed.

Her trip to Tokyo was spur of the moment. She was part of a specially designed task force developed to help to negotiate Japan’s involvement in the utter annihilation of Seoul. That incident knocked them back to the Stone Age. Their power was out, their people were still dying; disease was rampant in the streets as the dead drew upon the scavengers that found their crispy irradiated bodies tasty. She was good at her job.

The various impacts from the modified rail gun that the Others had built created so much dust and cloud cover that various environmentalists urged the rest of the civilized nations to come together to find a solution towards the immanent Global Winter Event that was soon coming. As usual, they couldn’t agree. They didn’t have enough time to get to an agreement. The onslaught continued from Luna. When New York fell, along with the United Nations, it was when China, Russia and the United States formed an alliance.

It was odd at first. No one complained about differences in views regarding the socio-economic beliefs that were at the table. No one complained or distrusted the difference in politics. It was the three most powerful nations left in the world coming together to fight an enemy that they couldn’t quite reach individually. If it weren’t for the billions dead and the threat of impending doom, I might have been happy.

I remember volunteering for the experiment. The short hairs looked at me through their mirrored sunglasses with their medals and ribbons on their lapels and scoffed. I whipped out my laptop and showed them a thing or three. Even before the Incident, I could outhack just about any net junkie in existence. It was after they picked up their jaws in disbelief that I outlined my plan.

Going on without her was not an option for me. The dull ache anytime I saw an image of her or smelled her perfume was too much. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t have the energy to do anything else. I would never taste her lip gloss again. Move her incorrigible bangs out from her vivid blue eyes again. I would never feel her soft lips, her warm body next to mine. I miss the sight of her manicured toes. It’s odd how those things come up at the most inopportune times.

The upload of my consciousness into the surviving Milnet and Arpanet gateways was almost science fiction for them. Through my outline, I showed the military brass how it was possible. I showed them. How many people get to really say those words and mean it? They didn’t believe me at first, but as the brain and most of its personality is merely electrochemical reactions, the theory was sound – and they had nothing better. They needed a mind that could multitask and outthink their computers. Sure the Cray’s could have done it too, but most of them were wiped out. It wasn’t the fact that their hardened defenses couldn’t handle a massive electronic surge, but instead it was the fact that an 80 ton rock had hit them square at 16,000 kilometers per second and collapsed entire buildings (cities, really) around them.

Honestly, I don’t have the energy to fight anymore. I just want it to be over. I just want to sleep. When I sleep, I don’t have to remember that she’s dead. I can dream of making love to her in the kitchen while the Kitchen Aid stirred the newest batter creation. I can remember her pretty little toes and how they fit nicely onto her feet and ankles. I can remember it all, when I sleep.

When the upload is completed, I can sleep.