This entry has nothing whatsoever to do with Finding Nemo. I just like that movie line. A lot. (My apologies to my Russian readers if I've already lost you. That usually doesn't happen until much later in the blog. Do you guys have Nemo over there?) It does have to do with winning, though. It's all about that. I have won very few things in my life. I placed 9th in a spelling bee once, and one time I won a case of Dr. Pepper from a local radio station in my itty bitty home town. I won an xBox once from a random drawing at work, but that doesn't really count because I didn't do anything other than work there and have a name. I have a whole photo album of "participant" ribbons for everything from elementary school field days to art contests and science fairs. I have no idea why my mom wanted to keep all that, much less immortalize it in a photo album, but it's like some weird testament to my chronic loseryness. (Yes, y'all, that is a word. I just said it.) My son, however, seems to have chosen a more charmed lot in life. It's almost as if John Hughes is directing his life. He will get all angsty as a teenager, but still come out on top with a random musical number just because. He is in the gifted program at his school, and last year he won first place in a chess tournament while his friends stood around him and cheered him on during his final Bobby Fischer moves. A couple of months ago, he entered a writing competition through his gifted program and an organization called Future Problem Solvers (you can click on it if you want to know more). The students could choose from a variety of topics and then write a short story based upon a fictional, but possible, story set in the future.
They say it better: What is Scenario Writing? Scenario writing is an individual competition in which students develop short stories related to one of the five FPS topics for the year. The story is set at least 20 years in the future and is an imagined, but logical, outgrowth of actions or events taking place in the world today. The story should focus on one main character and develop that character through the plot of the story.
The topic he chose was Megacities, and wouldn't you know it? He placed high in the district in the junior division (4th-6th grade) and got to go on to the state competition. He spent 3 days at the Lake Buena Vista Resort in Orlando, along with over 600 other students in the Future Problem Solvers program, ranging from 4th graders to high school seniors, participating in competitions and activities geared toward (drum roll, please) solving the world's problems. His writing was then being judged at the state level to determine if he would go on to the international competition in Indiana in June. He had an amazing time with his friends, and their team did very well.
So he calls me on the last day, right after the award ceremony where he learns how he placed in the state.
Him: Hi, mom. We just got out of the award ceremony.
Me: Well, how'd you do?
Him: I got 8th place.
Me: In the whole state?! Honey, that's great! I'm SO proud of you!
Him: Nah, just kidding. I placed 1st.
Me: No you didn't!
Him: Yeah, really, I did. Looks like we're going to Indiana.
Me: *tons of tears* ungh...
Him: Mom? Are you ok? Mom?
He came home yesterday with a big trophy and an even bigger grin. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how proud of him I am, or how lucky I am. I must have done something right to deserve this kid. So if I haven't lost you by now, good job! Way to hang in there, you trooper! I'm posting his story below in case anyone wants to read it.
The Merge
Aaron awoke to the irritating sound of the bedstand box, an ugly brown box that perched on every night table in the Peace Time Regime. "It is Six.Forty.Five, November 19, 2072. It is time for your weekly Dose. Please approve with an eye scan." The dreaded box - it told the time, woke you up, kept your schedule, and above all, administered the Dose. Aaron waved his hand through the sensor and sat up sleepily while the crimson light washed his eyes. The bed stand box's lid slowly hovered up and it stopped when the pill was visible. Aaron reluctantly took hold of the Dose. He knew it was an emotion control Dose. Ugh, the Dose! All mega cities, such as New York and Omaha, used the Dose to control crime, keep the swelling population in order, and ensure continuity of leadership. The Dose had originated in New York and spread. With every peaceful control, every quelling of the masses, its distribution grew. Now the whole country utilized the Dose. The government introduced it to the public, touting it as a savior, reducing crime, moving civilization forward. And it worked. The crime rate dropped 89% in a matter of twelve years. A convenient side effect is that the current government hasn't met opposition since 2060. When the United Public Order took power, the democracy gave way with no resistance. The leader, Commandez Clark, has used the Dose to retain his power, uncontested, for nine years.
Aaron drew the Dose tablet to his mouth to do his Citizen's duty, to swallow the tablet. At the last minute, he swiped his hand down and pocketed the hated medication in his sleep clothes. He quickly changed out of his plain red standard issue night clothes and tossed them in the hamper. Its bottom dropped out every twelve hours, and the transport train hauled them to the public wash. Clockwork. Easy. He assumed that the Dose would dissolve while being washed. He got dressed for work and walked out the door, knowing that his first day of Year Three at the machinery would be just as dull as the first day of Year One.
****
The lights in the control room flickered on and off, like a digital thunderstorm in a dark bedroom. The door burst open as the patrol scout stormed in. Startled by the sudden intrusion, Commandez Clark jumped up in his chair seething, staring at the patrol scout.
"I have something for you, Sir Clark," the patrol scout announced.
Angry with the sudden intrusion, and impatient over any interruption, Commandez Clark demanded, "What?! WHAT?!! Get on with it!"
"We have found Dose particles on a citizen's clothes," reported the scout with a robot's dispassion. "Citizen Penland. Penland, Aaron. Should I assign an additional Dose?"
"No, not yet. Let me talk to him," replied Commandez Clark, suddenly patient, suddenly collected. "Let me have a little chat with him first."
****
Home. Finally! Utter exhaustion overtook Aaron as he collapsed onto his bed. Slowly, he became aware of a light in his peripheral vision. Blinking. Blinking. Blinking. Sighing with frustration, he pressed the "receive" button on the hated bedstand box. "You," the box announced, sounding more nasally and oddly snobby,"have a conference with Commandez Clark. Please report on November 20, 2072 at Six.O.Clock. A.M." Ugh. Really? 45 minutes early? Aaron had already used his limited teleports for the month, so he would have to get up early to walk. Now he was starting to wish he had taken his Doses. At least then he wouldn't care about his cruddy job at the machinery, his mediocre lot in life, the drab existence that didn't seem to bother anyone else. The gray fog of his life descended on him as he drifted off to uneventful sleep.
****
6:05 a.m. Oh, man! Late! Aaron, heart pounding, ran into the reception lobby. Commandez Clark had specifically ordered a meeting, and now he was late. The office, an ugly steel bunker, was not what he expected. The pipes were dripping, the vent was blowing dust. Aaron had really expected more from the Supreme Leader's office.
"Take a seat. Now," commanded the cold, demanding voice issuing from a dark corner. Lights blinked nonsensically from a unit on a cluttered desk, and a set of dark eyes peered over an impossibly balanced stack of infraction papers. Aaron couldn't identify the voice's owner, but he obeyed immediately. The icy voice, trying too hard to be casual, slowly said, "I heard you were skipping your Dose. Is this true?"
"No," lied Aaron, as smoothly as he could. Why in the world would I admit that now? Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a patrol scout, a lurking shadowy robot of a presence.
Suddenly, the owner of that coldly punctual voice spoke again. "My information came from him." A shadowed head nodded toward the patrol scout standing sentinel off to the side. "He said they found Dose particles on your clothes.
"They didn't. It must have belonged to someone else," Aaron replied flatly.
The irritating voice from the paper stacks opined, "You're not convincing me."
"I don't care." And he didn't. What did Aaron care if some droid paper pusher believed him or not? Hopefully, though, Commandez Clark didn't share the mindless paper-pusher's reservations. Suddenly, the double doors to the office exploded open. Aaron jumped back, startled. He hadn't even realized those doors were there. Clouds of dust and random infraction papers slowly drifted to the floor. Unbothered, almost bored, the voice behind the cluttered desk said, "Well, I guess you can go in now." Aaron stood slowly, uncertainly, and headed toward the open door. As he passed through the threshold, he was suddenly greeted by a giant hand. Startled, Aaron stepped backwards. A jolly red face appeared above the outstretched hand. Both the hand and the face seemed impossibly large and impossibly friendly.
"Aaron!" boomed a cheerfully maniacal voice. "Penland, is it? Aaron Penland! Good to meet you, my boy. GREAT to meet you! I'm Charles. Oh! Clark! Commandez Clark. Please, call me Chuck!"
Whatever Aaron had expected, this wasn't it. The jolly giant led Aaron through another set of double doors that smacked shut as they passed. Commandez Clark moved around a massive desk and made himself comfortable, indicating a chair across the vast table to Aaron. "Please, my boy! Please sit down! Make yaself at home. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water....?"
"N-n-nooo," Aaron stammered, finding his seat, completely uncertain of himself for the first time. "Thank you, sir."
Commandez Clark, seeming to sense a weakness, dived right in, cheerful like a shark at a birthday party. "Now, Aaron, some crazy things have been brought to my attention. Disturbing things!" Aaron drew a breath to protest, but before he could speak, the Supreme Leader jumped in again. "I know these things aren't true, of course! Of course they aren't! I mean, why would a good boy like you go on skipping the Dose? Just makes no sense, does it?" With that, he spread his hands complacently. Then he grinned a devil's grin. A knowing grin, loaded with evil happiness and empty charity.
Completely off balance, reeling from this display of false good will, Aaron knew the gig was up. It was done. But he couldn't go on. The Dose was an emotional flat line, and he just couldn't live that way. Nothing but a gray fog under this regime. "Do you take the Dose, sir?" Aaron knew this was the wrong question but he had to ask.
Clark's eyes flashed with a controlled fire. "Why, certainly I do," he lied. "Now, I know you know what's best for you. For the Republic. When you get home, your Dose will be there. It'll be waiting for you. And we'll make sure," his voice dropping, "that you are taking it." His eyes clouded, and his fists clenched. "Am I clear?" he asked slowly.
"Yes, sir," Aaron replied. "Very clear."
Clark leaned back in his chair, and suddenly the broad smile appeared again. "Good! Real good! Now my scout will show you out. You make sure you have a real good day!"
Aaron shuffled out of the strange office with the patrol scout and out into the sunlight.
****
Commandez Clark watched Aaron disappear through the double doors. Trouble maker! He picked up the phone and pressed a blue button. "Yes," he said, "make sure Penland, Aaron receives his Dose in the morning, as scheduled. And go ahead and make that Dose 3207."
****
The bedstand box droned, "It is Six.Forty.Five, November 21, 2072. It is time for your Dose. Please approve with an eye scan."
"Already?" he wondered aloud. "I thought it was weekly." Not wanting a repeat of yesterday, afraid of Commandez Clark, Aaron quickly swallowed the pill. He was dead before his head hit the pillow.
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