Fiction

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Joe sat on the balcony of his understated (sparsely decorated) loft apartment sipping his hand-spun latte’ and contemplating what to do with his Saturday… “Should I,” inquired Joe aloud to the black and white print of Charles Darwin which hung above the fireplace, “Should I go to the park and observe the wonders of evolution, or should I stay home and begin reading my new book?” Just the previous evening, he had picked up a copy of ‘Carbon Dating for Dummies’ while perusing the local bookstore. “It’s been a while since I’ve done dating of any sort.” quipped Joe as he chose the new addition to his ever-expanding library. He had amassed a great sum of titles in his years as a student, and over the previous twenty two and a half years as Professor of Evolutionary Science at the prestigious New England School of Archaeological Studies.

He pondered precisely how he might spend this sunny Saturday afternoon. On the one hand, a walk in the park might do him some good… he may gain some new perspective concerning the mysteries of the universe and creati… I mean the evolution of the species. Or at the very least he may meet some freshly-groomed pooch out walking a hot chick. On the other hand, he may just waste a perfectly good afternoon and have no positive life experience whatsoever this fine April afternoon.

Joe picked up his fedora and peered lovingly at his visage in the mirror as he placed the hat tentatively on his rightly round head. Joe was now in his late 40’s, but even when he was a younger Joe, he always took his perfect pate and full plumage as a sign he had won Evolutions’ DNA lottery. “I’d make a lucky young lass some awfully fine offspring, I would!” Joe remained unmarried all these years for one simple reason (well, two); most of the women who followed in Academia as Evolution’s handmaidens were, how did he say it? “Closer to the beginning of origin than the more present product.” He found young women who believed in God to be quite fetching as a general rule, but he was unable to stomach their employs into, “mental Cre-tardation.” as he so delicately put it. As Joe headed for the door he picked up his first-edition signed copy of ‘Earth in the Balance’ in lieu of his newly acquired volume and slid it into his back pocket. “I’m not sure, Chuck… may I call you Chuck?” He said nodding toward Darwin’s image over the mantle, “Thank you. I’m not sure that the new book will hold my interest, and that Al Gore is always a hoot!” He wanted to have something to fall back on just in case there was nothing else for him to do and nothing remarkable to see once he arrived at the park. Joe squirreled away a small notebook in his breast pocket and a pencil for noting any genius observation he might make upon his journey.

“Good day, sir!” He said as he tipped his hat. Joe reached into the umbrella stand by the door and lifted his jewel-encrusted cane into the air with his right hand, catching it mid-air with his left. Joe carried the cane for show, and maybe a bit for confidence as he had no difficulty or physical ailment that might preclude him from sound stride. Tapping the cane three times on his cap he turned to close and latch the door. “One… two… three… and four strong locks. That should do it! You can’t trust a race that once sported a monkey for a face! That’s what I always say, anyway.” Joe had a proclivity for rhyming and used it for his prime method of communiqué wherever possible. “Man and monkey… monkey and man. The two go together like… like peaches and Spam!” Of course it didn’t always work out so well.

“Good morning, Joe!” the young boy looked up at Joe admiringly. “Well, good morning to you… umm… what was that name again?” “Joseph!” replied the child. “Quite a good name you have there, if I might say so myself.” Joseph Watts was the 8 year old son of a single African-American mother, Elizabeth. Together Elizabeth and Joseph occupied the apartment directly across from Joe. Joseph was an only child and his father, Samuel had a heart condition. Though doctors did all they could, Sam died of a heart attack at age 36 when Joseph was 5 years old. From that moment on, Joe took it upon himself to befriend the child and try to be a fitting role model for him, even helping with the bills from time to time. “How’s your mom?” “She’s good, sir… working hard as ever!” Joseph responded. “Tell her I asked about her?” “Sure will.” Joseph replied. “See you this afternoon?” asked Joseph hopefully. “See you this afternoon.” Joe assured the boy.

Joe descended the stairs spryly. With each step he became ever more excited about the prospect of discovery that lay before him. “This will be my ‘Darwin Day of Discovery’! Today I will find the elusive thing that will plant my name and my legacy on the lips of history forever!” As he spoke these words and almost, some might think as providence might dictate Joe’s cane stuck on a rock that lay about the fourth step from the stairs landing. As wood gave way to wind, Joe tumbled end over end coming to rest at the foot of the stairs in somewhat of a humbled heap. “Confound it!” Joe muttered through clenched teeth. He wished at this point he could utter some profanity, but most of the language one might use in a situation such as this includes the utterance of some form of deity, and Joe refused to utilize such language even if it were defamatory in manner… just to reduce the likelihood anyone might overhear and misunderstand his intention. Given the initial pain in Joe’s gluteus maximus he lay still for a moment and moved only slightly until he was certain nothing was fractured or out of joint. Once he was persuaded his pride was the most wounded part of his throbbing anatomy, and using the stair banister to pull himself up, Joe brushed off his posterior and continued on his merry way. Stopping in the doorway for a moment Joe said to himself, “Self; make a note!” He did, on occasion speak to himself even though he found his replies less amusing when not gauged by the feedback he received when speaking indirectly with Mr. Darwin. His notebook and pencil were fortunately still firmly stationed in his breast pocket, held tightly by the titanium pocket protector he received his last year of graduate school whilst attending the 34th annual Chucky D., “Creation Divided – Darwin United” convention. He removed the pad and took down this thought: “’While rock and wood were made through many eons over time, one must be cautious not to merge the two, for when the stick and stone should intertwine, the consequence might be the end of you!’ So let it be written.” Joe smirked as he penned the verse, pleased with his clever bit of prose. All of his notes ended with, “So let it be written.” He felt the phrase added a much needed finality to his brilliant musings.

Joe continued on his way toying with the exact phraseology of random thoughts and wonderings. He was exceedingly proud of the fact that he possessed an acute awareness of his particular surroundings. He often likened himself to Sherlock Holmes. The trek to Molk Park was one he had taken many times before, so he felt exact attention was not required for proper navigation. As he strolled along, cane tucked beneath his left arm, he scrawled another short note in his little black book. Suddenly and without warning the street opened beneath his feet. After hearing (and feeling) a resounding “thump” in the immediate vicinity of the back of his perfectly rounded head, he saw a bright light soon followed by advanced darkness.

“Wha… where am I?” Joe said as he slowly regained consciousness. There was no answer. “Mr. Darwin?” Still nothing. “Chuck, Joseph… anyone!?!” Still nothing.

In the moments that followed, Joe took note of his surroundings. “Dark? Check. Shaft of light above in roughly the shape of a sphere? Check. Putrid smell of… what is that smell? Oh my! I seem to have fallen through an open manhole into the… into the sewer!!!” “The first key to survival is in knowing your point of origin.” The voice emanated from the darkness, immediately over Joe’s shoulder and into his left ear. Joe whipped his head around to see who was speaking, which made him even more cognizant of the throbbing in his head. There was no one there. As his eyes adjusted, muted light shone on the floor of his surroundings… concrete and pools of water were all about. He could make out just enough to see what appeared to be a cat-sized rat as it scurried across his foot, its faint squeaks fading into the shadow. “Gracious! I’m hearing things. Must’ve banged my head pretty hard, indeed!” Joe said aloud. “Indeed!” replied the phantom. “Who is it! I demand to know who’s there!!!” Joe was now near convulsing with fear. He began to fumble in the darkness for his cane. Things were happening so quickly he’d not noticed his left arm had been without feeling to this point, but upon moving it for the first time since the fall he was now becoming keenly aware of his predicament. The lower part of Joe’s arm was now wracked with pain. Grabbing his wrist with his right hand he felt a hollow precisely where it should not be, “on the Proximal row about the Scaphoid and the Capitate.” He observed through gritted teeth. The pain was enough to be un-reminded of his unseen companion but for a moment. “This is the second time today I’ve been in such a precarious situation.” Joe thought. “What must I have done to deserve this?” His entire body ached from the day’s troubles, so following a brief examination to assure himself there were no undiscovered injuries Joe continued with a grimace, “Pity I’m left-handed. I guess I shan’t be noting the details of my journey this day.” “Ah, so I shall do it for you, my friend!” This time, Joe raced hard as he could toward the light, tripping and splashing all the way. He reached to grasp the third rung of the escape ladder with his good hand only to find himself mired to his shin bones in sludge. Losing sight of his injuries for a moment Joe reached with his bad arm and collapsed at the bottom of the escape hatch. “Show yourself then, will you! Where is my tormentor???” he said thrashing about in the mire. There was a brief silence then, the voice, “Enough with the melodrama, my friend. It does not become one so learned!” Standing right there, in front of Joe’s eyes was what could only be described as a specter, “I can’t believe it! I… i… it… it’s y… you!” Joe stammered. “I thought never to see in his lifetime.” Indeed, before him and seemingly in the flesh was his mentor, Charles Robert Darwin. Darwin’s eyes were as piercing now as in all the photographs Joe had seen, but in reality there was a mischief he could not have quite imagined. “You were expecting maybe Wilberforce? No, no… it is I. And what has brought you here below these days?” Joe stared at the visage in sound disbelief. Wiping his eyes as if to clear some imaginary fog from his view, he replied, “You are an obvious apparition… a hallucination… a product of an overactive imagination!” Joe replied. “What I mean to say is I can scarcely believe you have come to pay me a visit. I mean… my speech belies the fact that I am honored to see you, if only under more fitting circumstances.” “Circumstances are what you make of them. It is, as you know survival of the fittest that draws us toward our destination. And yes; it is I… Charles Darwin. And, yes; if you wish you may call me Chuck.”

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