Permanent Solution

Kirk Silva

Thursday, February 10, 2010

Permanent Solution

About a month ago, I almost had a son. He wouldn’t have been my biological son, but he would have been mine.

              It all started around 1923, when I was in high school, and I just couldn’t get a date. I tried everything my friends said, but no girl would even look at my face, let alone talk to it. One time, though, a girl actually talked to me. I thought it was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and then I heard what she had to say…

              She told me that I was a dumbass. She said I would never get a girl, never get a wife, and never have a child, and then she told me that it was a good thing to do to society. That was the first time in my life that I seriously thought about suicide, but I’m over it now, well mostly over it.

              The way I got over it was at first a bar, called The Camel’s Breath Inn. Me and my friends always used to hang out there, even before the girl talked to me, and they still did, but I decided to not join in with them. I decided that the best place for a sulking loser was at the end of the bar, with one hand holding a beer, and the other supporting my head. That was the way I dealt with my problems for a long time, but it was only a temporary fix, and I don’t think anyone likes waking up with a hangover. Eventually I realized I couldn’t live my life at a bar, so I decided to get a good job.

              Now, when I got told off by that girl, I was so hurt that I dropped out of school. So I went back to school, so I could get a good job. Going back to school was tough. I had to relearn everything that I thought I would never need to know, and I had to endure the fact that I had to go to school, every day. I was used to just having my job at the bar. In the morning, I would get up and go to the bar and clean up from the night before. In return, the barkeep gave me a check of about twenty dollars a week.

              That was enough to pay the rent, get some food and pay my tab for the week, but when I went back to school, not much changed, except that instead of spending my mornings at the bar, I would go after school and clean up right before the regulars got there. Some nights, I would go and hang out at the bar, but most nights, I went home and studied. I knew what high school was like, I had a year under my belt before I dropped out, and so it was familiar, different, easy, and hard all at the same time.

              After I got my diploma, I went into town looking for a job. I thought that getting a job would be as easy as just walking into a business and asking for a job. It was just that easy. I walked into a general store, asked for a job, and they said that they were happy to give me a job, and that they had just the position.

              The position that they had wasn’t very good; they let me be a cashier, but what do you expect? The hours were good, and so was the pay, and my boss didn’t work me too hard, it was an over-all great environment to work in. The only thing I missed at first was the camaraderie of my old job. When I was cleaning up, I would talk to the barkeep, and a few other guys who liked to get there before the other regulars.

              Although I couldn’t make raunchy jokes, or talk about women like I used too, my coworkers at the general store weren’t so bad. They were certainly mild mannered, but so was I because if you did anything to upset a customer, then you were likely to get fired.

              I stuck with that job for quite a while. I never really cared about where my life was going next, I just knew where it was then. Those were the days when I felt like I knew the world, but oh god, now I know I don’t.

              Well, now I guess I should say how I got over my depression almost permanently. I had been working at the general store for awhile now, and onetime a customer came in with a child that looked completely different from her. I knew it would be impolite to ask her why this happened, but I knew that one possibility was that she adopted him. Then it hit me, I didn’t need a girl to raise a kid; I could just adopt one.

              I didn’t think adopting a kid would be too hard, but it turned out to be one wild ride. First I had to ask around to find an orphanage, and that was pretty hard, but it wasn’t so hard as to deter me. I had to call around to a lot of places. First, I started with city hall. I had assumed that if anybody would know where an orphanage might be, they could be reached at city hall.

              Getting city hall was easy, but the receptionist must have been having a bad day, and the call went something like this:

              “Hello? Is this City Hall,” I asked politely.

              “Yes this is Miss Doris, secretary at Blig City Hall, how can I help you?” she said in a bored monotone voice.

              “Yes, I was wondering where there would be an orphanage, or an adoption clinic nearby.” I stated respectfully.

              “Pfft. Like I would know?” She sounded as if she thought I was an idiot.

              “Um, can I speak to someone who can help me?” I tried to handle this with calm composure, but she wasn’t making this easy.

              “Well, you could look in the mirror, and tell yourself to look in a phonebook.”

              I didn’t know what to say to that, but I didn’t have to because all I heard next was a chuckle, a click, and a dial tone. I said to myself that that was the last time I called that number, and then took the only useful thing I got from the secretary, and looked in the phonebook.

              I found it under ‘O’, the Orphanage dedicated to Saint Hedwig. I called them, and got an appointment to meet the children. Unlike the secretary, I was talking to a very polite Sister Mary Katherine, and she was happy to explain to me how to get there.

              I hopped in my truck, drove over to where I thought it was, and happened to be right, for once. She took me inside, showed me around, and then announced to the children that there was someone here, so to be on their best behavior. She took me into her office, and began to ask me come questions.

              “Why would you like to adopt a boy?” she began.

              “Well, in high school I had futilely tried to get a date, and none of them would talk to me until one did, and told me that I was nothing, and that no girl would ever love me. At first, I accepted it as truth, but now I realize that while that may not be true, I have yet to find a wife, so I would like to adopt.” I explained.

              “Well then, I’m glad you have gotten over you problems successfully. Do you have a steady income?”

              “Yes, I work at the general store on Fifth Street.”

              “In what kind of, well, house do you live in, or do you even own a house?”

              “I have an apartment, and I always pay my rent on time.”

              “Good, good.” She checked off a few things on a form. “Now what kind of child would you like?”

              “Well I would like to adopt a boy, but I would like to see the children first.”

              “How old?”

              “Like I said before, I would like to see the children first.”

              “I guess that is fair enough. So let us see them, then.”

              She got up, and I followed her out of her office, into a hallway, and then into a room that looked like a sort of small cafeteria, with benches full of children eating lunch.

              “Everyone: we have a visitor. Be nice to him, he might pick you, and bring you into his care.” She motioned me to go and meet with them.

              I looked around the room, and one child stood out to me, probably because he was sitting alone, just staring into his bowl of soup. Sister Mary Katherine noticed me looking at him.

              “Would you like to be introduced,” she asked.

              “Yes, that would be fine.” I had no idea why I was interested in this child, probably because I sensed that he wasn’t very popular. “What is his name?”

              “His name is Donivus, Donny for short. Donny, say hello to Mr. Reed.” The boy grunted in response. “I’m sorry, there must be something wrong. Let me see if I can coax a response out of him.”

              She sat right next to Donny, and said something so quiet that only he and she could hear the details. What I did hear was a series of calm whispers, and they had apparently done their intended job on the boy.

              “Hello Mr. Reed.” He said in a shy manner.

              “Hello. Do you prefer Donivus, or Donny?”

              “Either one is fine, as long as you don’t make fun of it.” He said this as if his name was obvious to make fun of.

              “Well, I don’t know if you can even make something funny out of that, but I would rather not try.”

              “There are ways, but I would probably be boring you if I listed them.”

              “Um, well I don’t know.” I didn’t want to keep on this subject; it made him look sad, and I was feeling uncomfortable talking about it. I quickly changed the subject. “So what are you interested in?”

              “I like math, and puzzles. I’m pretty good at math; I can solve most problems you give me.”

              “Really? Math was never one of my good subjects. Actually, when I think about it now, I didn’t really have any good subjects. I just coasted through school, trying to get by.”

              Somehow I knew that this was the boy. I told Sister Mary Katherine, got the papers finalized, told Donny, and we were off. The terrible thing is, ‘we’ wouldn’t have much time together, or at least he wouldn’t.

              We were driving back to my apartment, and I had an idea.

              “Do you ever get to go out to restaurants?”

              “No, I know what they are but I’ve never been to one.”

              I took in that information, and went on a limb, asking “Do you want to go out for dinner? I’ve never been a good cook, so I think I should get you something special.”

              “That would be fun! But where will we go? And what should I get? I don’t know the manners of a restaurant.”

              “Don’t worry, we’ll find a diner somewhere, nothing fancy, and I’ll help you order.”

              “Good, I don’t like having to use table manners.”

              I was feeling good, and we were in an area that I didn’t know very well. I had been in this part of town, but I didn’t know anyone who lived here, and I didn’t here anyone talking about, and I was about to find out why: it was controlled by a ruthless gang.

              We had been driving for a while, and I spotted a nice little diner. I parked the car, we both got out, went inside, and were greeted by a nice woman at a little desk in front.

              “Table for two?” she asked.

              “Yes that would be fine.”

              I was itching for something to eat, and I just wanted to sit down and order, but I had to help Donny order first.

              We weren’t there long before the front door was shoved open, and we heard the woman that greeted us scream. I looked over, told Donny to get down, and saw that there were three angry looking men, two with guns, shouting at everyone to do what they say or else.

              I didn’t think that anything could be worse than when they demanded all the cash in the building, but it got worse. Donny, knowing that the money wasn’t theirs, stood up and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Don’t give them anything!”

              The gangsters were as shocked as everyone else. In fact, the only one who wasn’t shocked was Donny himself. He stood his ground, and immediately I told him to sit down and shut up. One of the gangsters with a gun came over to me asking, “Is he yours?”

              Fearing his gun, I shakily said yes and then quickly added that he won’t be a problem. The gangster just stood there, and then said, “I’ll make him not be a problem.”

              He aimed his gun, and to the horror of everyone but the gangsters, shot him right in the forehead.

              I couldn’t do anything to stop them. My plans of raising a family died with that boy, and I held him in my hands as he died.

              What happened after that was a blur. The funeral was short in reality, but in my perception, it was as long as eternity. There weren’t many people at the funeral, just Sister Mary Katherine, Me, a few pallbearers, and a preacher. When it was over, I stayed at the grave long after everyone else, and when I was sure that he was gone, I left the graveyard.

              As I drove home, I realized something: I don’t have a life anymore. The moment I met that boy, I was determined that he was my life. Now that he was gone, I couldn’t live. I drove to the nearest weapon shop that I new, because I had found a permanent solution.

Zine