The second mistake, I suppose, was heating up the Californi-French leftovers so late. I knew about all the MSG, and the toxic effects of microwaves combined with cilantro, but for some reason I hadn’t cared. I suppose I deserved that.
But to wake up with the cat clawing at my face--- I hadn’t even known I had a cat. Fernando used to entertain them, but I never knew one to stay after he moved out. And with the Argon alarm going off full blast-- well, it was more shock than any normal citizen should have to face at seven in the morning.
I scraped myself off the air-futon and heard that awful noise that always used to follow hot days and generous leg proportions upon leaving busses. Back before they made everyone bring their own tush-cushions. It was sanitary, but so obscene. Public transportation had never been my favorite, but this last depersonalization had finally convinced me to buy a bike.
All these thoughts from simply attempting to remove myself from where I had landed the night before. As if I wasn’t in enough trouble as it was. Argon. It had been one of the scariest weeks ever, when they found out. Or it should have been. I don’t remember being too phased, personally, but from what the news stations say, I was terrified.
And why not? For years Argon had been ignored, it just didn’t matter. I think they called them noble gasses, back before the big break. To make a long story short, somehow someone discovered that this gas which makes up most of our atmosphere is incredibly poisonous and was causing a slow painful death for everyone. They couldn’t exactly remove the Argon, so everyone installed alarms. The alarms go off every so often, and the noise still scares me occasionally, but there’s really nothing anyone can do.
I had strongly considered taking the thing apart and building something useful like an ashtray, but then I remembered that I didn’t know anyone who smoked anymore, so it wouldn’t have been that useful. Plus, Fernando was absolutely paranoid about what would happen to his cats if we didn’t have the alarm to warn us about the high Argonicity. So I kept it.
Good thing, I guess, since it was currently going off, and I was glad to be reminded about my slowly approaching demise. I poured a cup of sludge from the coffee pot that had been sitting there, undisturbed, since Tuesday and raised my mug to the alarm. I swear it got louder, but then again, it could have just been the radiation.
The television was still on, presumably since I hadn’t yet turned it off. I prayed that was the case, since a self-controlled TV would be too much to bear. Imagine the channel changing wars. I shudd ered and poured the contents of the mug down the drain without sipping it at all.
Drinking coffee was absolutely unheard of. Someone had finally figured out that there was not a soul on the planet who actually liked the taste. I believe it was some student at Berkeley. They’re just the right sort of revolutionaries. During the Great Coffee Liberation, we were finally freed from the yoke of scalding black liquids and allowed to regain our sensibility. Finally. Now everyone merely talked about and carried the stuff with them wherever they went.
My morning cup of coffee down the drain, I poured myself some water into the same mug and added an ice cube. I felt a little obscene doing it, but I guess I’m probably too old fashioned. I was thankful, for at least the eighth time that week that no one I knew could read thoughts.
The paper cartons from my late night leftovers were degrading in the sunlight. In a few hours there would be nothing more than grease remaining on the counter where that violent meal had bee n. I looked around for the cat, hoping she would make herself useful, if she decided to stick around, and would clean up the grease. Then again, cats are probably too smart for MSG. I shrugged and looked around. I was thinking to myself an awful lot lately, and none of it was interesting. I had to find something to do.
Of course, there weren’t a lot of respectable activities at seven (I glanced at my window-clockpanel) twenty in the morning, ever since the government changed the official hours of business s to between nine p.m. to three a.m. to accommodate the large population of insomniacs and nocturnes. Overall, the change was good, I supposed, since now we kept the same hours as the rest of the world. I had never fully understood time zone conversions. But I still missed the sunrise as a natural cue to start my day. I sighed. I would eventually get accustomed, I was sure.
Everyone did, eventually, and it all became ordinary and accepted. Nothing came as much of a surprise for anyone, and that was something of a relief, since so much was happening every day. Things we had all taken for granted for as long as anyone could remember were either unhealthy, toxic, or illegal. But it didn’t Matter. There was nothing anyone could actively do, and no one complained.
I don’t think I was unhappy, really, just bored. It might have started when Fernando moved out, simply because it’s much easier to forget that you’re bored when you’re not alone, but I think it started before that. Maybe there was no definite beginning to pinpoint, but I was starting to lose hope that there was anything interesting left to do.
All of my friends were living predictable lives, in predictable houses and predictable jobs and predictable relationships. They were living their lives the way they knew they wanted to ever since high school, and that was fine. After all, it had been exactly what they wanted, so what could have been wrong?
It wasn’t like any of us were unsuccessful, not at all, Josh had made a considerable investment in orange juice futu res, right before the “Miracle Orange” came along and changed everyone’s lives forever. He and Amanda got married soon after, and they had lived nicely off their profits ever since.
After Fernando moved out of my place and back into his parents’ old house, he went back to school and decided to become a vet, just like he’s always pictured he would. He received his degree and opened up a free clinic for strays.
Sarah still runs the campaign for whichever Kennedy is currently in office. It doesn’t Matter to her. She was heartbroken when JFK Jr. got married long ago, and she decided to stay as close as she could to their family regardless. She does good enough work, but I don’t think she really cares about it too much. I never understood her obsession, but I suppose that it isn’t my place to have to.
I don’t really know what happened to Halley, but she seems happy. She writes a newsletter now, about things that she cares about, and evidently she has a bit of a following. I can’t really understand how there can be more than one person who thinks of things in the same way she does, but evidently I am in the minority. Halley has achieved somewhat of a cult status among some group somewhere.
We all get together every month or so to talk about coffee and what’s going on in our lives. I like seeing everyone together, like it used to be, but somehow, even these get together have grown monotonous. There are no surprises left in our group. Even Halley’s revelations and sudden outbursts of inspiration have lost their novelty for me. I guess that has to be left for the consumer. She’s sold a lot of those little books filled with her wisdom. Whatever.
I had been sitting still for a long time thinking about this. My left foot had fallen asleep. I reached for the bottle of blue pills on the counter, put a capsule on my tongue and took a swig from the mug. Instantly, the sensation in my foot had disappeared. I sighed and got up to look out the window.
There was a poster outside announcing the arrival of a new coffee shop “coming soon!” to my block. I would have to tell the gang, we could all go out sometime. Then again, we could all go out anytime.
I folded up the air-futon and put my mug in the dish drier. I looked across the room to where the cat was napping on a stack of old books. Another sigh. I walked to the corner of the room, reached out my arm, and shut off the TV. The Argon alarm continued to scream.
