The Futility Experts by Margaret Broucek

Author:Margaret Broucek
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Schaffner Press, Inc.
Published: 2018-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

TIM

When Tim’s phone chimed on the nightstand, at five forty-five a.m., and he had to jostle his bulk over to grab it, he realized he had not transformed into Rusty overnight. It was a return text from Phyllis:

The tinaco is full and life is good. Evry Friday, they pump it full of water frm their truck all the way up to my rooftop. I take a shower during the pumping to squeeze as much as I can from thm. Not as easy to know when they’re coming as it is for gas truck, which plays Pop Goes the Weasel while drving down the rd. Anyhow, full of joy now having just left the verdant terrace of Hotel Posada. All around the table--poets, artists, adventurers! Our Friday salon. Then, like dropped into a movie, we hrd first horns of a mariachi band taking to the streets. All the best groups in the country will now descend for the fstival. And for you, Tim, Banda music! Tuba the essential instrument! Come and be impassioned by the alchemy betwn horns & vocals. 20-piece bands! There we sat looking over the jardin with the great aural bounty rising to match the visual (the umber of the casa walls and the impossible sky). Cheap, cheap, cheap lots with views of the infinite high desert. Am now selling real estate. You would be a king here with your horn!

I cannot sign the P&S. I must insist on gettng full amount, all of it for myself, but Mr. Softy may nt agree. In order fr me to sign any P&S, that stipulation must be in it (PHYLLIS GETS ALL MONIES BECAUSE OF WHAT SHE HAS ENDURED). The funds will help me heal frm my “multiple falls,” as I’m sure Dr. Concerned describd to you. Do you recall the wrds I screamed when you opened your window onto my horror? I cannot remember. Wld like to know.

Warmly,

Phyllis

She’d screamed no words, he could tell her that, just a howling cry. Thinking of his inaction that night, years ago, pushed Tim out of bed, and he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the closet door. For Christ’s sake, he thought, why was he still fat Tim? Now he had to talk with Vinnie about how this whole becoming-your-ideal-self thing worked.

# # #

The two smoking Asian workers leaning against the bay door of the just-closed Lube Express were grinning away with their brown teeth as Tim rested, huffing, hands on his knees.

Vinnie looked at his watch and too quickly barked again, “Run!”

Tim made a hateful face and launched forward as hard as he could while Vinnie jogged ahead of him, studying his watch. “Now walk,” he said after thirty seconds.

They turned a corner, and the setting sun blinded Tim. He had to shade his eyes to see Vinnie’s shape up ahead. Again the man yelled, “Run!”

Tim imagined himself running away from a catastrophe, a lava flow or a great wave gaining on him.

“You can do it! Come on! Move it, move it!” Vinnie shouted over his shoulder.

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