A Fine Day on Church Street by zaji
A Fine Day on Church Street Copyright 2011-2016 by zaji Printed on Earth. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without at the very least speaking with the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information contact: Zaji Publishing at zaji2012@thezaji.com
First Printing
T
he giant yellow sphere sat upon the soft light blue canvas. It flickered bright white at times, with opaque rays shooting from all around its large circular body. Brigs looked up, holding his hand above his brow and just below his receding hairline to shield his eyes from the bright sphere that slowly made its way to the top of the sky. It was a hot summer day; 95 degrees. Like any other Saturday morning, he rolled down the street in his giant green garbage truck, ready to take on the several blocks he’d need to cover before the sun began to descend into the west. He’d estimated that if he pushed it, he could be done before the clock struck four, post meridiem. Church Street was always quick and easy to do. There were very few houses and even fewer dogs to contend with. As Brigs made the right turn into the block he could see, even before stopping to jump out, a long row of black boxes strung along the sidewalk in front of everyone’s home. He was unsure what they were at first. At the first house, he grabbed a few bags, a trash can packed to the brim and heavy, as though filled with cinder blocks. The last items were a medium sized and small television. They seemed practically brand new. Why would they throw away perfectly good televisions? he thought. He set them inside the truck on the seat. He was sure he knew someone who could use them. The next house was equally piled high with trash. He looked down the street and noticed that everyone had a load of trash and black boxes. It was as though they were spring cleaning, even though spring was long
gone. He lifted the heavy tin can and emptied it inside the truck. Next to it, was yet another television. The next house revealed the same thing. Lots of trash and a television. Was there a power surge that knocked out everyone’s televisions? he imagined. Did the neighborhood win a prize that offered everyone a brand new television? Standing on a porch was one woman who watched Brigs as he went about his duties. She could sense his curiosity. As he moved closer to her, she could see his eyes darting up and down the street. She waved to him with a bright and friendly smile. “Hello there Mr. Trash Man! Toodles! How are you?” Brigs looked at the woman as though she were crazy. “Yoohoo! Toodles!” “Good day ma’am.” “Well hello! Hot day today, isn’t it?” “Yes ma’am, it is.” “Would you like some water? I’m sure you are just about to turn to dust.” “Ma’am, I actually need to...” “I won’t hear of it. Don’t you dare move. I’ll be right back.” Brigs was astounded. He watched as the strange woman shuffled off in haste. “Did she tell me not to move?” He needed to press on, but he didn’t want to upset her. If she got upset with him, she could tell any lie and cost him his job. He decided to stay put. “I’m coming!” she shouted from inside. All her windows were open, so her voice echoed out into the street. Brigs was certain the entire neighborhood heard her. “Mr. Trash Maaaaan!! I’m on my way!” She came running down the steps of her home and spilled out onto the sidewalk where Brigs stood waiting. Sweat poured from his face. The woman handed him a tall glass of ice water. “Now you drink that down before you blow away into the wind. Poor dear. You’re just slaving away out here. And to make matters worse, you have to contend with all these televisions.” “Speaking of televisions ma’am, why has everyone put out their tvs? 7
Was there some sort of power surge in the area?” She laughed. “Oh you dear young man. Nothing like that at all.” Brigs drank and waited for her to respond. But she stood watching him as he drank. “Well, what is it then ma’am?” She smiled and realized she hadn’t answered his question. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Well, most of us woke up yesterday morning and felt different.” “Different?” “Yes, different,” she chuckled. “All of you?” “Isn’t it just the oddest thing?” she smiled. “We were all a bit disoriented at first. I was the first one to come outside to see if I could remember what happened. Or remember what I had forgotten. Then Ms. Millie came out. Then Mr. Jordan, and so on. We looked at each other strangely. We remembered each other’s names, but not much else for the better part of five hours. Slowly but surely, things started to come back to us.” “So everyone lost their memory?” “Yes. But it was only temporary.” “Then what happened?” “Well, it was the oddest thing.” Brigs sat inside his truck with the door opened facing the woman. He looked at her, his eyes fixed on her and fully engaged in the story. Then he realized he’d forgotten something very critical. “I’m sorry ma’am, but what is your name?” She smiled broadly. “You can just call me Ms. May.” “Ms. May. Don’t tell me that’s your birth month?” She laughed. “No dear. I was born in December. On Christmas Day.” “A Christmas baby. Very interesting. Please, go on. I’d like to know what happened.” “Well, after our memories started to return, we began to talk about what had happened. No one knew how we lost our memory. All of a sudden, we all had the urge to put our televisions out with the trash. But not before 8
some very strange things began to unfold. Myself and Ms. Minnie sat down to watch our regular programs, and the damnedest thing happened. We both started to throw up. We vomited all over the rug. When we each went to the bathroom, we realized the nausea went away rather quickly. We felt better. But the minute we returned to watch tv, we felt sick again.” “Was something wrong with the television?” “We don’t know. We speculated that maybe something radioactive had gotten into it. But we figured if that were the case, the government would’ve known about it already and come knocking.” “So then what happened?” “Next thing we know, Mr. Jordan comes knocking on the door. He said he got sick while trying to watch the television too. We knew then that there was some connection, but we couldn’t put our finger on it. Then, another strange thing happened.” Brigs watched her closely, so as not to miss a word. “The sickness was bad enough each time we watched. But the most amazing thing was what we experienced when we weren’t feeling nauseous. We could sense every single deception that occurred in the programs. Didn’t matter if it was a sitcom or news, or a movie. We could spot it all.” “What do you mean?” “Just what I said young man.” “Brigs.” “What?” “That’s my name. Brigs.” “Oh dear, yes. I was so caught up in the story I forgot to ask your name. Needless to say, you can imagine the kinds of things we started to notice. Everything was one big game. It was a circus. The television is made to keep us from experiencing real life. It is made to keep us forever in a fantasy world, never exploring our planet, and learning about each other through social interaction. We realized that we were being alienated from our families, friends and neighbors. No one talked to each other anymore. We all just sat in front of the television and let it tell us how to live, what to believe and how to feel. All this happened overnight. It was 4am when I put my television out. One by one I began to hear my neighbors shuffling 9
around outside. By 7am, all televisions on this block were put out. Like worn out rags, they were discarded. No one looked back. Next thing you know, everyone began to talk to each other.” “Do you know what caused this phenomenon?” “No clue, son. All we know is that when the first television hit the sidewalk, we began to learn more about each other than in all the twenty years most of us have lived here.” “That is amazing.” “Samuel, a teenaged boy who lives down the road, he is depressed. His father was killed in a mountain climbing accident five years ago, shortly before his mother moved here. The reason he acts out on the block and gets angry with the other kids is because he misses his dad. I had no idea. But now that I know, I see him differently. He doesn’t look like some bad teenager anymore. He now looks like a sad and scared boy who needs comforting.” “And you learned all that overnight?” “Yes indeed. I’ve learned so many things.” Brigs looked down the street at all the remaining televisions. Strung along the sidewalk, they now didn’t seem like tvs. They looked like what he first saw when he turned onto Church Street. Black boxes. They were not people. They were not that little sad boy. They were not the plants and flowers they projected on the screen or the places they took people to in their imagination. They were not the books to be read, nor the neighbors to be met. They were made of plastic and metal and glass, all manner of metal parts. They could not love, hate, nor give an answer to a lonely heart. And while they seemed to give, they only took. They took away time. They took the lives of those who watched aimlessly. They took away everything social in the world, everything that connected people to each other. They took everything and gave nothing. Brigs reached into his truck, took out the TVs he’d planned to save and tossed them in the back of the truck with the rest of the garbage. “Son, things have changed in this neighborhood. I know everyone now. Most folks are asleep because of how long we stayed up talking. They’re tired,” she chuckled. 10
“Wow. What an amazing experience. Do you think you’ll go out and buy another television soon?” “Brigs, I’ll never buy another television again. There is nothing like talking to people. That is the real adventure...learning about their lives. Who needs a soap opera? We got it all right here. And when we talk to each other, we get something a soap opera can’t give; unity, understanding, friendship, camaraderie. We exchange our personal human energy. You gain an understanding of the world around you in a way that is dynamic and ever changing, rather than the rigidity of a bunch of characters who are not fluid and diverse. Characters who don’t respond to you and don’t allow you to ask questions.” “I suppose you’re right to some degree.” “To some degree? Son, those TV folks are caricatures out of Huxley’s Brave New World. Everything is about being the same. Sex sex and more sex, the feelies. Violence is not in short order, it is the main course. And did I mention sex?” Brigs laughed. “Yes ma’am, you did.” “What I’m trying to say is this, life is rich and filled with adventure. I’ve finally realized there is nothing to gain from television in the grand scheme of it all. This is not to say that I haven’t gotten a few nuggets throughout my years of TV and movie watching. But it is nothing compared to the goldmine I get from communicating with flesh and blood people, or from reading about the lives of those from the distant past.” “Is it really that different for you now?” “You have no idea. Albert and Sandra who live about five houses down decided they’d renew their vows. Just like that, overnight. They started talking to each other and learning all kinds of things they didn’t know about each other. And they’ve been married over 20 years. It was like meeting a brand new person and falling in love all over again. Francis and Olivia, they found out things about their childhood they’d never previously discussed, fun things they’ve decided to try together, after 42 years of marriage.” “Now that is amazing.” “It sure is. I can’t wait for folks to wake up. There is so much to talk 11
about and learn from.” “You seem pretty excited.” “You have no idea.” “Clearly I don’t. I now wish I didn’t need to get back to picking up all this trash. Chatting with you is far more interesting.” “See, Brigs...it’s infectious. Once you start talking to people and truly sharing, it’s like a virus. It begins to spread.” “I really hate to go. But sadly, I must.” “Well stop by again soon so I can share more stories with you. Mrs. Regal down the road said she has something to tell me about her ten year stint in Bangkok. I didn’t even know she lived in Bangkok. Isn’t that fascinating?” “Can’t wait to hear her story. Do you promise to tell me the next time I come through?” “Absolutely!” “Ma’am, have a fantastic day. And thank you for sharing this amazing experience you and everyone else on this block is having.” “More to come, Brigs.” Brigs waved as he hopped back into his truck and continued down the street. It was one post meridiem. The street slowly began to fill with children. Dogs barked and voices filled the hot air. For a moment, Brigs imagined their stories were like butterflies flitting about, each allowing the wind to carry them wherever they may someday land. One landed on Brigs. It was a fine day on Church Street.
12