Three Servings of Dreams

… Serving 1: The School …

“This is California, the Land of the Freeway! One would think with all the mileage driven around here, they would know what to do in the rain! But nooOOOooo! One drop of water, and they’re blinded. Actual rain, and they’re running into each other. A full storm shows up, and it’s the end of the damn world!” My daughter is laughing at me as I continue my verbal beratement of my fellow driver.

The storm is unusually heavy. It’s early morning, the sun had risen an hour ago. The cloud cover and heavy precipitation has given the day the appearance of late evening. I knew better than to have her wait for the bus. I would just drop her off at school, on my way to work. An arrangement that would work well for the two of us, if I didn’t have to deal with bright red Porsches spinning out in front of me after hydroplaning.

Anxiously watching the clock, I pull up to her school with five minutes left before the tardy bell. She notes that none of the buses have arrived. “Okay, Mom! I’ll see you this afternoon!” She gives me a quick kiss and a quick hug, then hops out into the torrential rain. I wait until she is inside the building before pulling away. I’m not always happy to be driving the SUV for city runs, but with the streets flooded, today I’m grateful. I pull off, and head for work.

The storm has let up by the time my daughter is home from school. The sun is playing peekaboo with the clouds and the air has that comforting scent that swirls after a rain. She’s playing around with makeup, coming up with a new character for a skit for a friend when the phone rings.

We are having lots of fun. Let the call go to voicemail, if it is important I can always call them back. “Hi, um… This is Dter’s teacher, and I wanted to leave a message about her behavior today…” Dter freezes while I glare at her intently. She shakes her head sharply, to indicate she hasn’t been in any trouble lately. “Dter really helped me out in class today. She finished her assignment early, and instead of just sitting in the back, she took it on herself to help one of her classmates understand the assignment. I had not picked up on the classmate having a learning disability, but Dter did, and was able to translate the assignment into one the classmate could understand. She turned what would normally have been a difficult encounter into a pleasant one. I would suggest Dter consider a career as an educator. Very well, then. Wanted to tell you. Good bye.”

The teacher hung up, while I looked at Dter in astonishment. “You? Being helpful? How the hell did you manage that?” She laughed at my teasing. “Well, you know how you translate difficult lessons to what I understand?” I nod. “I just thought how would you explain it to her, and tried that.”

“Oh, that’s nice. But why did you do it?”

“Because everyone deserves a second chance.” She adjusted her blond wig. I remained silent for a while. As many second chances as I’ve had, and third and fourth… I couldn’t argue with her reasoning. But I could tease her about other things.

“Hey, use this lipstick.”

She looked at the dull color and wrinkled her face. “Um. Why?”

“Because it’s Department of Education approved.”

“I’m not becoming a teacher! I don’t have the bloody patience for other people’s spawn!” I lean against the wall in laughter as she throws the wig at me. The scene ends in mirth and joy.

… Serving 2: The Commute …

Oh bloody hell, that gas price! And I’m down to less than a quarter tank of gas! Why can’t I telecommute to the office? I mean, seriously, all I do there is remote into other people’s systems anyway. Might as well make it complete. I didn’t spend all that time getting the VPN working with a secure connection just for the fuck of it. I was saving money. The company was saving money! But noooOOOooo…

The new manager wants to see us there in person every morning. Micromanaging, ass-tarded, privacy invasive, can suck my old dildos because I’m throwing them away once any body part of hers has touched them, self-important, ignorant, bitch! She has the nerve to complain about the logs for my vehicle. “You only live 8 miles away, why does it take you 80 minutes to come in? Are you making any ‘unnecessary’ stops along the way? Can’t you rideshare with other techs?” No, bitch, I can’t rideshare because we’re all assigned different territories. And if she would look at the damn map, she’d see that’s 8 miles as the crow flies, 25 miles by mileage, and I have to drive through that backwards, entitled, theocracy of a hamlet, both fucking ways!

~punches steering wheel~ Argh! How is this Fortress of American Sharia allowed to stand? There must be some serious money in some dank ass back rooms. And I know where the money is coming from. Only 4 miles of the freeway passes through the city. (The only reason they can be called a city, is because they paid to have the state recognize them as a city, and not as a town. Population rules be damned… er… suspended.) But the city sits in the middle of the pass of a dense range of mountains. While it is possible to drive around the mountain range, for me to do so, would add another 100 miles on my odometer, one way.

I’m seriously considering doing just that and to H.R. with her if she complains!

Oh, fun. There is the entrance to hell. “Welcome to the City of Purity! No magic, esoterica, or improper religious displays allowed. Departing the freeway within city limits are allowed only under emergency circumstances. No non-residents may remain longer than three hours without a permit. Permits may be purchased in advance from the website…” And traffic has come to a halt. Surprise, surprise. What is it this time? An accident? A police standoff? Some gents allowing the breeze to blow their kilts up?

Just 4 lanes of freeway traffic being funneled into one lane so we can pass through the esoterica detector. A magic detector. If any magic is detected on the outside of the vehicle, the vehicle is impounded, the driver and all occupants are fined, and banished.

Yea. Banished.

I get to move forward by three inches. Both directions of the freeway has to suffer this indignity. Several lawsuits were raised against the city, but all were dismissed. Apparently, the City of Purity is so dominated by one particular expression of religion, they’ve been allowed to force their obsessive orthopraxy on all visitors. Never mind we’re on the damn freeway, a common area! It runs through their city, and so we drivers are subject to their rules. They’ve even been known to impound vehicles because of the COEXIST bumper sticker. Their way is the Right Way, and they are going to protect their pure city from us minions of evil.

I’m now in line for the detector. I’ve only traveled a mile. It’s been twenty minutes.

The “emergency circumstances” exit has gas, food, water, an emergency clinic (serious problems are deported from the city), and routes that lead to the rest of the city. It is possible to navigate through the City of Purity and make one’s way back onto the freeway as the freeway exits the city. But these routes are reserved only for city residents. A non-resident caught on the city streets without prior authorization, or being accompanied by a resident, results in the vehicle being impounded and a $12,000 fine issued to the non-residents. Yes, this has been upheld in court. Yes, it’s bullshit.

Another 8 inches of movement forward.

And people still try to sneak their way through. They get caught. They forfeit a lot of money to the city. The city pays the back room deals that allows them to continue this harassment. It’s profitable to everyone involved. Why do anything else?

Oh, I’m next for the detector. I don’t bother to withdraw any of my shields. If anything, I make sure it is quite apparent I have esoteric abilities, and that I have no compunction in displaying those esoteric abilities. I think about fucking with the detector, but realize if I’m caught, it will be quiet expensive, and the risk of fucking things over for the people behind me are high. If the detector breaks, they shutdown the freeway.

Pack of tarot cards on the dash. Sparkly pentacle hanging from the rear-view mirror. (It’s the only time you’ll see me with one. Can’t stand them, actually.) Pair of small quartz balls floating above my free hand. The focus required to keep them hovering is successful in keeping me from fireslapping the detector attendants.

They see the tarot and demand I put the deck out of sight. They see the spiraling quartz and demand I pull out of the line. “No. I’m going through the detector, then I’m going to work.” They claim I am abusing their religious rights by having such evil contraband in plain sight. I point out the law only allows them to impound my vehicle if any magic is detected outside the vehicle. “You do realize, by telling me to break the rules, you are acting in opposition to the Law of Order.”

Gods, I love fucking with them like that. They toe their own line, and have to let me go. Or they break their law to punish me, and be considered a worse evil.

I’m waved into the detector and the testing begins.

I had a co-worker busted for “unlawful esoterica”. He had a filthy car, and had scribbled a quick sigil into the dust. Just a little something to hold the failing car together long enough to get home and get it to the mechanic. The detector picked up the sigil. He was forcibly removed from the car, thrown to the ground, and handcuffed. In the mean time, his vehicle was impounded and sent off to be “cleansed”. And by cleansed, I mean “destroyed”. He was thrown in the city jail overnight, where the teachings of the city’s main (read: only) religion was read to him over and over and over. The next day, he was taken to some church like place, and had dirt and water thrown on him in a ritual action. He was driven to the city limits and kicked out the vehicle. He has been formally banished by the city. If he is caught in the city again, it’s a felony trespassing charge.

He is now much more expressive about flaunting his esoterica inside the vehicle, than I am. Much more. They not only fined him $12,000 for being on city property without authorization, they charged him for the vehicle’s destruction, the cost of internment, and a few other bullshit fees that managed to stick when he appealed them.

Fuck this city. Fuck everything about them.

The test is over. All three of them. I know how long it takes. They ran it three times in an attempt to find something on the exterior of the car. They found nothing. They are forced to allow me to continue my drive. It’s been 55 minutes since I first entered the city limits.

I pull forward, leaving the detector. There is still one last hurdle before I’ll be allowed to continue on my way. An exit survey. (Did I mention this city can go to hell? Sodom and Gomorrah get nuked for being inhospitable, but this concentration of fucktitude is allowed to remain? What?) I roll down my window to speak to the surveyor. She’s covered in thrown ash, drinks, and various other… liquid projectiles. I almost feel bad for her. She braces herself for another assault and asks me if I enjoyed my time in the city, and would I like to know more about the way the City of Purity is a beacon of light to the masses of darkness that surround us.

“Well, I really didn’t enjoy myself, but I have a full gas tank now, so I can’t complain too much, I suppose.” I smile at her. She relaxes when she realizes I won’t be throwing anything at her. She writes down my answer, and realizes the impossible conclusion I’m hinting at. “A full gas tank? Did you stop at the authorized refueling point?” I shake my head. “Did you receive a fuel transfer while on the freeway? That’s dangerous and unauthorized!” I shake my head again, smiling even more.

“Then, how did you refuel your gas tank?”

“Your people’s esoterica detector.” She looks at me quizzically. “Ever heard of the phrase, ‘It takes one, to know one.’?” She shakes her head. “The esoterica detector, uses esoterica. I just used the magic the detector was giving off in such wonderful amounts and converted that to gas!” Her face blanches as she realizes what I’m saying.

“That’s not… possible… ” She stood and looked at the detector. “We are pure, we don’t… ” She looked back at me. “I’m not recording this blatant lie! Get out of my city! Your darkness taints the purity!”

I laugh as I pull forward, leaving the city limits. Indeed, my gas tank was reading full. The spell I had placed on the exterior of the vehicle worked as intended. It absorbed all magic fields it would be subjected to, sending the power to a special trinket that permanently resided in the gas tank. The trinket converted the magic to plain 87 octane gasoline. Took a lot of trial and error (lots of error!) to make and implement. I keep a ruptured gas tank mounted on my garage as a warning against being too aggressive with transformative magics. The detector relies on magic fields reflecting and/or distorting the detector’s emanations. On normal, mundane objects, the detector’s fields have no effect. Nothing reflected, nothing distorted. (The bumper sticker incident was just pure idiocy.) So, to the detector, my SUV is just another SUV. With a self-filling gas tank.

But I’m still making that manager bitch pay my full gas allowance. I hate her more than I hate the City of Purity. I wonder if she is a resident there. Would explain the obsession with rules.

Accelerating to normal freeway speeds, the wind swirled around my face. The sensation, along with making the detector work in my favor again, cause me to erupt into laughter. The freeway faded as the scene ended.

… Serving 3: The Election …

It’s election season again! Only one office to elect a warm body to fill. An unnamed office, that had been instituted some time in the medieval past, and held over into modern day more from tradition than anything else. No one really knew what the officer did. All that was known about the office, was that it was for the best interest of the town. If the office became vacant, the town would befall various calamities. Some time ago, such a thing was allowed to happen. The term was ended, no new elections held, and the office was to be dissolved at once. That night, a great (yet localized) earthquake ripped the town neatly in half. It raised one half of the town 3 feet neatly upward. The main street, now broken in two, had to be rerouted. The office was quickly filled by a volunteer before sunrise.

While it was not codified anywhere, there were two rules about the office. The same person could not serve as an officer for two consecutive terms. He had to be replaced for the five year term, then he could be elected for the term after that. The second rule, was no one that served as officer could tell anyone what the position entails. It was complete secrecy. They could only discuss it with former officers, but couldn’t tell anyone, not even the person trying to get elected, what the duties are. There were many jokes, innuendo, and speculation about the nature of the office. But the officers never told. Not even the mayor knew what the officer did. Only that it was tradition to have the position filled, and it was time to choose someone new.

I had been living in the town for only a few years, so I missed the previous election. In keeping with tradition, the town is throwing a great party to celebrate the election of a new officer. Gifts are given, picnics are held, everybody is in a bubbling, jovial mood. But it isn’t until the day of the election, that it is discovered no one is running for office. The current officer is almost frantic, running from bar to bar, from house party to house party. Surely someone wants 5 years of steady income with the luxury of sleeping in late? Right? Anyone? You?

He is devastated to find no one wants the position. The modern youth of today consider it an anchor holding back the development of the town. “It’s an archaic anachronism.” “A throwback to a time of superstition and ignorance.” “An office that does jack shit, but if no one occupies it, the town will be destroyed? What the hell is this shit?” Only a handful of people remember the earthquake. All of the younger generations think it to be nothing but drunkards’ tales.

“I can’t take it! I have a business to run! The office pays less than my business makes. I’ll lose too much money.” “What? Do I look like the town fool? Why are you laughing at me like that?” “I’ll be moving away soon. I can’t be tied down for five years in a little cottage with no television!” Various excuses get thrown about. But it’s clear, none of the town’s men want the office and can’t be talked into it.

The current officer is glum. He retreats to his cottage for a while. As the party in the town square dies down in the late afternoon, he returns with an announcement. “The office CAN be held by a woman. But it must be a woman with a stern nature. And a woman, that can keep a secret.” Most of the townsfolk collapse into laughter. I have to admit, I chuckle too.

He goes to the adult women of the town, one by one, and ask them if they would be officer. Holding formal elections is out of the question now, he has to find a replacement by sunset, and he has less than an hour to do so. One by one, the women decline. Some politely, some negatively, some throw their beers at him, some offer to help him forget instead. After asking all the residents, both men and women, he stands alone in the town square without a successor.

“Hey, you forgot one woman!” A man near me is yelling and pointing at me. “She moved here a few years ago! Does she count? Is she worth anything?” The known troublemaker had been trying to drive me out of town from the day I moved in. He doesn’t like me, but I’ve never found out why. I can’t tell what he is angling at in putting a spotlight on me.

The officer comes to me. “Ma’am, do you live in this town?” I nod. “Will you be committed to living here for five years?” I nod. “I can tell you nothing about the office I’m going to offer you. Only that you’re the last person I can ask. Will you take this office, commit to it for five years, and choose a successor afterwards?” I look at his plaintive face and see a shimmer. I shift my vision and look at the shimmer behind him. There is an otherworldly being standing over him, its hand on the man’s shoulder. The being is just as desperate as the man he holds, but much more sorrowful.

I obey my instinct.

“I will take the office.” The teasing laughter around me comes to a sudden halt as my words are repeated by those around me. The being stares at me in humor as the officer stutters and ask me again.

“I will take the office and I will commit to it for five years.” The being starts to smile and nod as the officer recomposes himself and asks me for the third and confirming time.

“I will take the office, I will commit to it for five years, and I will choose a successor afterwards.” The being still has a hand on the officer, but it reaches with its free hand and covers mine. It has accepted my words as binding. Whatever I’ve agreed to, I can’t back out now.

In the distance, the sun surrenders to the horizon’s embrace. Twilight steps through the city.

The officer asks that I accompany him, and together we walk to the officer’s cottage, located on the outskirts of town. We are followed by nearly the entire town. “Remember, Ma’am. What happens in there, you are not to speak of. Not now, not while you are in office, nor afterwards once you are released.”

He opens the door, and allows me to enter first. He stares at the crowd for a moment in a mix of anger and annoyance, then enters the cottage after me.

As I formally take the office, I understand why it’s not to be spoken of.

In the morning, I help the former officer move out of the cottage. He had only a few things in there, as the officers are allowed to keep their personal residence. When I go to market to get supplies for making dinner, I’m surrounded by the local gossipmongers. They flatter me about my face, and my hair, and the cut of my blouse. They say many sweet words then cut straight to the chase. They ask about the office, the interior of the cottage, and other personal and not so personal questions.

I just smile and ask for a pound of bacon and a bag of apples. My refusal to even acknowledge the questions infuriates them. The merchant reaches for a bag of apples that I can tell are spoiled. He means to make my five years of servitude to the town a horrible experience. But when he hands them over, the bag is full of ripe shiny apples. He looks at it oddly. He reaches for the end of bacon that is more holes than meat. He stares at it intently, to make sure I’m getting low quality rashers. Without dropping any, he places the bacon on the scale. When he withdraws his hand, the aroma of the premium quality bacon attracts everyone’s attention.

“That’s not what I put there…” The merchant is confused, but he doesn’t see what I see. The market is full of otherworldly beings. They are everywhere. They wave to me but I can’t wave back, I only smile to no one in particular.

The act of taking the office meant confronting a serious and deep-seated fear. In the process of doing so, I learned about myself and other things. Keeping the office means stretching and challenging myself in different areas. Some will be new territory. Some will be territory I have actively avoided, until now.

I think it’s going to be a fun and interesting five years.