From: root@buster.michigan.com (Charlie Root)
Subject: Here are your stories from the MORTIMER Server
why the fuck doesnt it snow. so cold....
where is my key? hello - mom - you home? awww shit, i cant take another note.... i know, ill read it, it'll drive me insane and then she'll pay attention to me.
"Dear Mortimer, Went to Mrs. Brisbanes for an EMERGENCY Historical
Society meeting. PLEASE: clean your room.......do your homework and
take a bath.... LOVE mom"
AEEEEEEEEEEEEEERGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHGHHHHHH!! Thats it - I AM FIFTEEN YEARS
wait - somethings wrong. this note is incomplete. she has been writing the same note for over 5 years now, every day that she's not gonna be home. letsee... holy cow!! she forgot the "...and don't you turn your nose up at me, young man" part. whooah - i've graduated.
why does she think that all i need is some note from her. in fact, thats all the communication she ever has with me any more. coming home to this house is like coming home to an empty cave. nope - doesn't matter that there is pop, mom and 14 kids still left here, no one thinks i exist.
what wrong? don't they have time for me? do they think "oh - mortimer doesnt need anything"?? does she write this note every day, day after day after day because she feels guilty? was i the sacrificial lamb in their decision to spend more "quality time" with their brood? why do they think that i dont need some of that time?
DAAAAAAAAAAAAAMIT. where's that butcher knife? how about a little blood splattered around this kitchen. that'll get ma hysterical. she'll be running around the house checking on all her young'uns to see which "poor baby" cut him/her self. hmmmm - when she finds out that its me,. she'll say "oh, it's only you... whats your name.... max, melvin, ahh <<<<<<ITS MORTIMER, DAMMIT>>>>>>> yes, ah mortimer. don't drip that stuff all over the house, one of the babies might slip in it and fall...."
well.... lets put that to the test... left or right hand? left hand - right across the back... a big X ... OUCH THAT hurts. whoah this is crucial - look at it spurt out. swing it around a bit there! - all over the newly painted white cabinets, the refrigerator and the floor... HA! now a puddle on the table (pop will kill me - if i dont die from the blood loss first) - lets get dramatic ... lets see, where is that damn ostrich feather... i'll write a cryptic message on mothers famous note....
there - she wont even read it i'm sure.... need a towel to wrap this hand... ok - maybe it'll stop bleeding without me having to go to the school nurse to get it bandaged up.
up to my room for another night of cold steel lonliness.... gotta lock this door... man this hand hurts bad. if this doesn't get me some sympathy, nothing will.....
whats that? she's home - let the *FUN* begin
<NOTE: For those who are not well versed in literary style - we are
now switching from train-of-though to direct dialog>
Annabel Bunny entered her home through the kitchen door, pushing her children on ahead of her. She was too busy fussing with a stack of papers to see the shop of horrors that her kitchen had become. "Now, Emily you know you shouldn't push your little sister around like that. Say you're sorry." Little Emily blurted out an incincere apology while kicking her sister in the tail.
Little Joseph saw it first, but rather than being horrified, he squealed with delight as little boys are want to do when a horror flick comes to life in their own kitchen. "Excellent - hey mom, Freddie Krueger killed someone in our kitchen." Now finished with the task of getting the 6 smallest children into the house, Mrs. Bunny was finally able to look up and survey the mess. "Ohmygosh - what happened here.... stay away from those puddles, children!" Horrified, she hustled the screaming kids into the living room. "Oh no, I've gotta find out who cut themselves!"
Of her 63 kids, only fourteen still lived at home, and six of those fourteen were with her at the meeting, the remaining eight being old enough to be at home alone. Annabel shouted at the ceiling, ordering any and all of the inhabitants to "come down here, RIGHT NOW!" The frightened shakey tone in her voice told the kids that, no they werent in for a lecture or a beating, but that something was really wrong. In a thunderous roar that shook the house, seven Bunny children came stampeding down the stairs and surrounded her in a semi-circle. Shouts of "whats wrong mama??" and the like rose from the mob. Joseph briefed them on the situation with enthusiasm: "Someone got killed right in OUR kitchen and there's blood all over the place - its NEAT!!" Before he could finish the sentence, the kids were all making a dash for the scene of the crime to investigate. "EWWW - GROSS!!, WHAT HAPPENED!?" was the general remark bandied about. Annabel broke up the noisy melee with a shout. "OK WHAT HAPPENED HERE? DOES ANYBODY KNOW??" Not getting any answer, she began to inspect each of the seven for any signs of injuries. "Now, lets see - thats everybody", she though to herself, becoming more and more perplexed every minute. "Alright, everyone upstairs while mommy cleans up this mess."
With their marching orders in hand, the mob filed upstairs quietly, still whispering amongst themselves. Annabel entered the kicthen slowly, hoping that the mess wasn't any worse than it appeared during her first hurried glance. She tiptoed over to the sink, not wanting to step in any of the crimsom puddles. "Bill is gonna flip! He just painted these cabinets. I hope it comes off.", she thought as she filled the bucket up with water. Slowly, she got used to the mess and was able to clean it without cringing. When she got to the table, she grabbed the piece of paper on it and, seeing that it was just her generic note-of-the day to Mortimer, she tossed it in the trash without a second thought.
Tears streamed down his face as he sat on his bed, back flat up against the headboard, holding his throbbing left hand in a blood stained towel. "She didn't even look for me!" he wimpered as he adjusted the towel so that it wouldn't fall off and slid down into the bed and curled up in a ball. Sleep was always the cure for anything. Just close your eyes and the pain goes away ... well at least for awhile..
"the pain....what?? oh, i forgot... what time is is? 8:06pm and that clocks 5 minutes fast, ok ... 8:01.... dammit this hurts.... arrrgh i need to get some help... where is my jacket, and .. i'll have to wrap this thing a little better.... shit.. oh well, have to use the jethro tull t-shirt for a bandage."
Mortimer knew that the self-inflicted cut on his left hand needed serious attention. There is some instinct which tells all living beings when an injury is serious and Mortimer was hearing that message loud and clear. His wound had stopped bleeing, but it was so painful that tears were rolling down his cheek. His only problem would be to get out of the house past his father and siblings. Once done, he would head to Acme Acres General Hospital where his mother's sister Lucy was an emergency room doctor. She'd take care of him. He had abandoned all hope of getting his mother to pay some attention to him without any direct action on his part. Aunt Lucy would certainly call her on the phone and tell her about this.
Slowly, he opened his bedroom door and and surveyed the hallway for any signs of activity. Just as he was about to open it full width and step out, his father rounded the corner and headed into the bathroom. Mortimer kept the door cracked until he was certain that his father had entered the bathroom and closed the door. Seeing no further activity in the hallway, he slipped out of his room and tip-toed down the stairs. If things were normal tonight, his mother would be in the kitchen and most of the other kids would be in their rooms except for a few who would be watching TV. As he made it to the bottom of the stairs, it was obvious that tonight was normal, well... at least for the rest of the house. He headed, unobserved, across the living room into the kitchen. As he was reaching for the deadbolt lock, he noticed his mother busy at the sink washing dishes. Suddenly, a warm feeling came over him as he remembered a time when he was five years old and had scraped the side of his foot on a rock while playing outdoors. It was a sunny May afternoon and the sun streamed into the kitchen from the open door. His mother washed the wound and wrapped his foot in gauze. The pain was still there, but was overwhelmed by his mothers kind words and gentle touch. With her there, no pain was too great to bear. "She must still love me! What did I do to change her so... PLEASE MAMA - HELP ME...."
The daydream was broken by the frigid night air striking his face through the open door. Quickly, he stumbled out of the house and closed the door gently behind him. It was snowing and had been for a long time, from the looks of it. It was the kind of snow which glitters when light strikes it. There must have been two inches on the ground already and he knew that it would be rough going to the hospital.
"ahhh forgot my shoes. dammit, i'll have pneumonia as well when i get there.... so cold.... she didn't see me standing there at all.. how could she just give up so easily on finding out where that blood came from.. gotta make it to the road... it'll be a half hour before i get there. weak.... lost alot of blood. i should be dead now. ha! that'll make the headlines: _Toon_Rabbit_ACTUALLY_Dies_ i wonder if she'll cry at my funeral...."
Thoughs were racing through his head so quickly they were making him dizzy. He couldn't die: what would happen to Jan? This afternoon, Mortimer had spend several hours holding her in his arms, comforting her. Jan's parents were getting a divorce and were locked in a ruthless revenge war against each other. She came to Mortimer and spilled her guts to him in study hall (fortunatly, no one else was in the room. Isn't it amazing, he thought, how things always seem to work out right at critical moments). Mortimer had known Jan ever since they were toddlers and both were absolutly certain that they were destined to be life-mates forever. She needed him, and God knows, he could certainly use her right about now.
His thoughts turned to other things in his life. "Maybe", he though, "mama thinks I'm responsible enough to run my own life." "But why doesn't she at least take some interest in how I'm doing??" This perplexed him greatly. She wasn't angry with him, nor was she deliberatly ignoring him, NO - it was as if he wasn't even there! Coming home to that house for him was like turning on the TV and seeing a beautiful, loving family with parents who cared and children who were lively and happy, aching to be able to participate in the happiness but not being able to get any response from the TV. No, the script just keeps going on without him regardless of the fact that he was right there with them. Hell, he even had his last TWO report cards from Acme Looniversity up in his room. His mother was the type who would be waiting at the door with hand outstreched on report card day. Nope, no way to avoid her seeing it, until just recently. Still, they sit on his dresser under his RUSH album. She never asked for them...
As he left the bounds of Acme Acres Forest, he could see the city lights up ahead. Just a few more miles to go and he'd be there. The lights began to blur and strobe and he felt as if he was going to pass out. Just a little further and he'd be there. Suddenly, the earth seemed to give out under his feet and he felt himself tumbling in the snow. He had been standing on the edge of a hill above one of the roads into town and had stumbled over the edge. He rolled to a stop in the middle of the road, face down on the asphalt. The strong, bitter taste of road salt invaded his mouth, causing him to wretch and spit. He was now soaking wet as well. Slowly he stumbled to his feet and continued walking on the road towards town.
It was a miracle that he made it to the hospital, but he did. As he entered the emergency area, the entire staff stopped in their tracks. "I must really look like the living dead", he though, "to make this battle hardened group of disaster-relief workers think that I was out of the ordinary." "Dr. Lucy Babeau, .... she's my aunt... where... is she". Quickly the nurse ran to get his aunt while two orderlies helped he stand up from the floor on which he had collapsed.
His aunt screamed out in horror when she saw him. "MORTIMER, HONEY WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!?!" Mortimer, now laying on a gurney attempted to explain. "I cut my hand while making dinner for mama... I came here for help. I think its real bad.... it hurts an awful lot... please help me..." "Of course I'll help you", his aunt replied with a loving sparkle in her eyes. She barked orders to the nurses and orderlies around her and they began wheeling him into the ER. "Mortimer, does your mother know about your hand? MORTIMER - please listen! Does she know that you're here?" Mortimer tried to reply, but was fast loosing conciousness. "No.... and I don't think she'd care.." He expected a shocked "OF COURSE SHE'D CARE" from his aunt, but instead was suprised to see her staring at the ceiling mumbling "...I'm not suprised..." "WHAT DOES SHE KNOW THAT I DONT", was his last thought before he slipped into the mist of unconciousness.
After a brief exam, it was obvious that Mortimer would require surgery. He had severed six major veins in the back of his hand and it was swollen and inflamed. His aunt was concerned that it might have become infected. The orderlies peeled off all of his soaked clothes and bathed him to get the road salt and mud out of his fur. He was taken to an operating room where a specialist was waiting for him. Lucy tried three times to call Annabel on the phone, but the line was busy all three times. "No doubt, she's talking with that clutch of hens at the Historical Society", Lucy fumed as she headed for the operating room to check on the progress. The microsurgery to reattach the veins took three hours, but was successful. Fourty-seven metal stiches were required to close the wound.
He awoke at about 2:30am to find his aunt smiling at him. She told him about the extent of his injuries and that it was all taken care of now. She tried to get him to be more specific about how he had cut himself up so badly and he made up a story about how he had jammed the knife into the wood of the chopping-block table and how it had bounced out of its place and landed on the back of his hand. Lucy didn't press him any further as she knew of the strangness at his house. He fell back into a peacful sleep and awoke again at 7:30am. His aunt had gone home but had left instructions to another doctor to "treat him kinda special". The new doctor told him that he would be discharged at 9:30 and he gave Mortimer a perscription for some antibiodics and pain killer. He was to wash the wound out twice daily with a solution of warm water and epsom salts and was to take his medication twice daily. An appointment was made for him for ten days from the current date. His aunt had ordered his clothes to be washed and dried and she left him a pair of his cousins boots to wear. When it was time for him to leave, the nurse handed him a pile of forms, some for him to sign, some for him to take home to his mother. Along with this paperwork was a note to his mother from his aunt. He wondered if his aunt had called his mother yet. Did she call his mother, and if so, where is she? A sick feeling came over him. "I hope she didn't call", he thought, because his mother's absence would be all the more painful and difficult to understand. "If she doesn't KNOW that I'm here, then why would she be here??" he thought, still clinging to some hope of a happy ending.
Before he left the hospital, he went to the pharmacy and picked up his perscriptions. He didn't need any money as he always carried one of his fathers Blue Cross cards around with him, which entitled him to free perscriptions.
Mortimer decided to go directly to school as he always kept his books and papers in his locker and had no need to go home. Besides, he didn't want to face that problem again, at least not for a little while. The day was uneventful except for the stares and words of sympathy from his fellow classmates and teachers. He looked like the walking wounded with that big gauze bandage around his hand making it 3 times bigger around than normal. During study hall, he was happy to find Jan in a better mood than the day before. She was shocked to find out about his "accident". He decided to tell her the truth and they spent two study hall periods talking about it, and drawing strength from each other. To each one, their own problem seemed less serious than the others and they took joy in comforting one another. This really raised Mortimer's spirits and helped prepare him to face the home front again.
On his way home, he imagined the reaction that he would receive when he walked in the door with that mummified hand of his. Did his mother know? Had Aunt Lucy called her during the day? If so, was she worried sick when she went to the hospital and found that he had been discharged already? Or, would today be just like yesterday and the day before?
He hesitated at the top of the hole, took a deep breath and jumped down into the tunnel leading to the kitchen door, he inserted his key and quickly pushed the door open. He looked immediatly to his left to see if his mother was in the kitchen. Nope. Not in the living room either. As he walked in, several of his oldest siblings turned to see who had come in. Seeing that it was him, they returned to watching the technicolor Ninja Turtles beat up on some bad guy on TV. Little Joey came up to Mortimer and stared at his hand in disbelief. "What happened to your hand, did you chop all of your fingers off or something", he said with a fiendish laugh. "Nope, I just cut myself kinda bad yesterday, didn't you see all of the blood in the kitchen?", Mortimer replied in a playful tone. "THAT WAS YOU? NEATO!!! I thought Freddie Kruger was back again", Joey replied, making a gesture with his hands as if he was wearing Freddies razor gloves. "Nahhh - I can do it better than Freddie any day. Hey, where is Mom?", he asked. Joey shrugged his shoulders indicating his ignorance in this matter, but Maddelin, his oldest sister (still living at home, at least), tore herself away from the cartoons just long enought to tell him that she was out with "Mrs. Brisbane, and she wants you to start the carrot casserole for dinner.."
That answered it then. Business as usual. She uses an interpreter through which to relay her messages. Mortimer smiled as he went into the kitchen to start dinner. Somehow he was beginning to get amused by this entire thing. What WAS his mother's problem? What did Aunt Lucy know that he didn't??
>>>>> TO BE CONTINUED <<<<<< room
"these carrots are all old... wait, oh she's throwing these out..
there... thats better, these are nice ones, not like the ones that
they grow on the corporate farms in ventura county... i need a
knife ... oh shit, i dont know wether i can pick that knife up again. that
was a really stupid trick, mortimer old boy. serves you right that
it didn't draw the attention that you wanted it to. what the hell.."
"OK STOP IT", Mortimer shouted as he rounded the corner into the living room. He had been cutting up a fresh batch of carrots for dinner when he was interrupted by screams from the living room. Before even setting eyes on the situation, he knew who was involved and what the fight was about. "I was watching The Turtles and Maddelin changed the channel", Emily screamed as she was trying to escape Mortimer's grasp in order to resume punching the lights out on her older sister. "Well I'm sorry, you little brat, but I have an assignment for school which requires me to watch the PBS special on the destruction of the ecosystem in the South Pacific and you...." Maggie was interrupted by Mortimer's shout. "ALL RIGHT, THAT WILL BE ENOUGH!", he hollered at the top of his lungs. Both girls immediately shut up. They knew that Mortimer had the authority to punish them if they didn't behave. Back when his mother still remembered that he was one of her children, she had made it clear that Mortimer was the resident babysitter when she was away and that disobedience to him was tantamount to "sticking their noses up at her", something Annabel Bunny just could not tolerate. Mortimer was now fifteen and the oldest on the remaining children in the house. The next oldest member of the family was Maddelin who was nine. Mortimer released Emilly and pointed a stern finger at the chair. Maddelin continued her protest, but her tone was now more of a plead than a protest. "Mortimer, I JUST HAVE TO watch that otherwise I wont be able to do the report". "Let me see the assignment sheet!", Mortimer demanded, holding his hand out to Maddelin. Maddelin handed it to him and tossed a smug glance towards her sister who was sitting, arms folded tightly, at the opposite end of the room. "OK, you know the rule. School work is more important than anything else. You'll have to tape Ninja Turtles if you want to watch it." Emily jumped up and headed for the stairs, obviously angry over the judgement her brother had handed out.
Mortimer returned to the kitchen and resumed the cooking. The events of the past 24 hours were going through his head. He felt a little better now as he realized that someone still recognized him, even though he had to shout at the top of his lungs. But what of his mother? Mortimer was a good kid. He didn't hang around with bad people and he seemed to have wisdom well beyond his years. Indeed, he had taken an IQ test at Acme Looniversity last year and was found to have an IQ of 298. He always got A's and always did what his parents told him to. Maybe, he though, his mother forgot that he existed because he was never any bother to her. But still he wondered why his mother never asked him how he was doing or took an interest in his friends. "I bet", he thought to himself, "she doesn't even know who Jan Katz is". Mortimer began to recall that his mother always took an interest in the love life of her adolescent children. He remembered the big tiff that his sister Babs set off when his mother found out that she and her boyfriend Buster were having sex at the age of 15. His mother had always told Babs that she thought Buster would be the perfect son-in-law. Babs made the mistake of confiding in her mother about their lovemaking. The explosion which ensued rocked the foundation of the house and shattered a couple of mirrors. Babs ran off to her room in tears with her mother chasing after her shouting "Don't you run away from me, young lady". Annabel eventually made up with her daughter and gave her permission to start using the pill. Babs eventually married Buster and they moved to Brentwood while pursuing a very successful comedy career together. "I wonder what she'd think of me and Jan", Mortimer snickered. His musings were interrupted by the kitchen door creaking open. Annabel walked in behind several of her smallest children who were protesting vehemently about their mother not buying them ice cream on the way home from the mall. "Now, you know that ice cream will spoil your dinner, now move along and get cleaned up for dinner".
Annabel surveyed the situation in the living room where several children were doing their homework. Little Joey was trying to play Battleship with his baby sister who just couldn't grasp the concept of the game. "You know the rule about homework. Not in front of the TV. Now get to your rooms and finish it there", she scolded. The offending children picked up their books, mumbling incomprehensibly, and slowly made their way up the stairs. Joey got up and ran up to his mother and hugged her, holding tightly to her dress. "Hi mom, I missed you", he said, looking up into her sparkling eyes. Annabel stooped down and picked the little tyke up and gave him a big hug. "I missed you too, my little tiger. Lets get you upstairs and washed up for dinner", she said softly as she climbed the stairs.
Mortimer stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. The image of what just happened remained burned into his eyeballs as if the scene was still occurring. He remembered back when he was Joey's age and how he would miss his mom if she was gone too long. He remembered pestering his sister Babs, asking her "when will mommy be home"? How, on this green earth, could that caring mother forget one of her own children, he though. Mortimer felt the tears welling up again, but he fought them. No, he wouldn't be reduced to an emotional wreck like yesterday. "It can't be the fact that I'm older", he thought. "Mama still fusses over Babs and Neil and Neil is 32 already!" Fighting hard to keep the gloom from overpowering him, he turned on MTV and much to his delight, they were playing an old Genesis video from 1990 called "Something Happened On The Way To Heaven". Mortimer liked older music like this as today's Rock and Roll had become to artificial. Most of it was generated by musical illiterates using Synthesizers. Now done preparing the casserole, he opened the oven and placed it inside, setting the timer for exactly thirty-five minutes. After cleaning up the mess he'd made, he settled into the chair in front of the TV and allowed Phil Collins to serenade his troubles away.
>>>>> TO BE CONTINUED <<<<<<
[Authors note: The Mortimer Story will now be archived on the cattalk
system under the directory "Prose". The files will be "Prose/Mortimer.x",
where 'x' is the part number (currently 1, 2 and 3). To access this
system, dial 313-343-0800]
Mortimer drifted off into deep though, leaving the living room, the casserole and Phil Collins behind. He didn't want to think anymore about his mother. In fact, he was getting a little sick of trying to get her to pay attention to him without actually stepping in front of her and saying, "HEY - REMEMBER ME??" His thoughts turned to Jan. For the first time in months, his problem of the day was substantially worse than hers.
Jan Katz was intelligent and somewhat quiet, but was assertive when it came to preventing people from stepping on her. Like Mortimer, she could read people quite well and was good at gut-level communication. She liked literature, especially English novels, working for causes like helping oppressed peoples (anyone not a Republican) and fighting racism, sexism and all of those other -ism's that we're all told are so horrible. Her extreme intelligence allowed her to cut through the rhetoric spewed out by the establishment and see things as they really were. She was very emotional and cared about suffering people almost to the point of being an empath. She was intelligent enough not to allow her emotions to overpower and control her life. She was no whimp - she allowed no one to push her around, yet she still had a nice feminine quality about her. Mortimer smiled as he formed a picture of her in his mind. No, not just a physical picture, but a picture of her whole being. Every day he knew that this was the girl that he was going to marry when the time was right. Yes - she was pretty as well as intelligent. Like him, she was a nice hearty American jackrabbit, not one of those whimpy snowshoe hares made only of powder and lace that he often heard the other rabbits speak of at school.
Mortimer felt that the two of them had already bonded together emotionally for life. He could look in her eyes and read her mind, and likewise, Jan could do the same with Mortimer. His pleasant thoughts of Jan were interrupted by the recollection of the unpleasantness that plagued her life. Her parents were in the throes of a vicious divorce and were using Jan as a weapon against each other. This had taxed her ability to prevent her emotions from driving her over the edge into a nervous breakdown. For months now, she and Mortimer had sought out a quiet place at school to spend their study hall time together, often up in the tower of Acme Looniversity in a dusty old study that had long since been forgotten by its former occupant. There, alone together, they would study and talk about life, their dreams and plans for the future. Lately, these periods had been spent with Mortimer holding Jan in his arms as she cried and told him of the latest atrocities in which her mother and father were engaged.
One thing was becoming increasingly clear: Either the abysmal conditions in her life had to change drastically for the better or else she would have to get out of that environment in order to preserve her sanity. She and Mortimer had been discussing her options in the past weeks, but there were really none. If she ran away, where would she go? Her parents would certainly find her wherever she ran to and the law would be on their side. This bothered Mortimer since it all seemed so hopeless. "My problems seem so slight compared to hers", he thought as he got up to turn off the TV and go to his room. On his way to his room, he passed his mother in the hallway. She didn't even utter a word to him as she chased one of her children down the stairs. "Ha - my problems are small compared to Jan's. At least my mother doesn't abuse me, she's only forgotten that I exist", he mused as he entered his room and settled into his bed. Feeling restless, he got up and turned on his computer, deciding to work a little on the book he was writing. This novel was becoming tiresome, but he was making progress. This complex novel, called "Halceyon's Rage", was similar in style to James Joyce's ULYSSES. It presented a surrealistic view of life in America on the cusp of the 21st century. It was not a very pretty picture, but then again, neither was American society with its double standards and cruel and inhumane nature.
Mortimer was trying to sort out several plot lines when several stray thoughts came into the forefront of his mind. A solution, perhaps, to Jan's dilemma, or just another waste of time?? Mortimer recalled an article in one of the tabloids which recounted the story of a teenage star whose home life was unbearable. Her solution: go to Las Vegas and marry her boyfriend. By law in California, married couples, even if under 18, can petition the court for "emancipation", providing that they promise to stay in school and can show that they have a way to provide for themselves. This usually meant getting help from a relative until school could be completed and a job could be procured. "One little obstacle", Mortimer thought, as he slammed his fist down on the computer table in a fit of frustration, not realizing that he was slamming around his injured hand. Too late - the pain was upon him. He held his injured hand with his other hand trying to make the pain go away. "STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!!", he cussed to himself. He was interrupted from his self-flagellation by the computer whose hard drive was making a funny noise. "Shit. I hope I didn't f**k this thing up". Not wanting to take a chance, he pulled it into single user mode and ran fsck on all of the filesystems. Most people would use the fancy word processing software on MS-DOS, but Mortimer preferred the simple elegance that UNIX provided. "Functionality over pretty graphics", was always his motto. Even though he was a right-brainer, Mortimer welcomed the challenge that came with trying to navigate in a user-hostile, poorly documented system. Satisfied with the results of the filesystem checks, he returned to the novel, but his thoughts soon drifted back to Jan's dilemma.
"One little hitch", he though, "or else she'd be out of there." But, it wasn't such a little hitch. Survival was the main preoccupation of the entire adult population. It didn't come easy and Mortimer realized this. "Maybe, if I finish this novel, I can sell it and make enough for us to get by on till we're old enough to get jobs". He realized that this was just a pipe dream and abandoned the idea as soon as it entered into his head. Mortimer always stuck to the practical solutions. This way, he would never waste time and never get depressed if it didn't work out. The novel was fine, and if it worked out, all the better, but it was not to be counted on. All this thinking about life made him hungry for some music on the subject. He grabbed a stack of CD's on the table thumbed through them, stopping at "Thick as a Brick", by Jethro Tull. This ancient album (28 years is ancient to a teenager) had always soothed him when he was in such a deep mood. He slipped it into the CD player and hit the play button. He wasn't going to get any of the novel done tonight. Besides, forcing himself to work on the novel in such an agitated state usually resulted in wild plot twists which he'd toss out when in a more sane frame of mind. Fluffing up his pillow, Mortimer lay down with his hands behind his head, letting the music wash over him.
"...The poet and the painter casting The home fire's burning: the kettle's
shadows on the water - as the sun almost boiling - but the master of
plays on the infantry - returning the house is far away. The horses
from the sea. The do-er and the stamping - their warm breath clouding
thinker: no allowance for the in the sharp and frosty morning of
other as the failing light the day. And the poet lifts his
illuminates the mercenary's creed. pen while the soldier sheaths his
sword..."
The words faded into oblivion as Mortimer drifted off to sleep. Again, as before, sleep was the temporary cure for life's ailments, both physical and emotional - a drug that soothed but did not cure. For when we awake, life continues and the problems are still there - they are just a little easier to take after a pause to catch an emotional breath.
>>>> TO BE CONTINUED <<<<
[Authors note: The Mortimer Story will now be archived on the cattalk
system under the directory "Prose". The files will be "Prose/Mortimer.x",
where 'x' is the part number (currently Parts 1-4). To access this
system, dial 313-343-0800]
"AEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW"
Mortimer was awakened abruptly by the pain welling up in his hand. This was worse than yesterday when he hit it on his computer table. His aunt had told him that his hand might get very painful before it got better and that he was to be sure to take his pain medication every twelve hours, something that he had forgotten to do before dozing off.
Tears were rolling down his cheeks as he tumbled out of bed onto the floor. The pain caused him to curl up in a ball on the floor, unable to move. He wanted to scream but it wouldn't do any good. Stumbling to his feet, He was determined to make it down to the kitchen to soak his hand and take his pills. After struggling for 5 minutes, he was able to open his bedroom door and make his way down the hallway towards the stairs, reeling back and forth like a drunken sailor. Unable to keep his balance, Mortimer fell over and rolled down the stairs, landing at the bottom with a thud. He made his way into the kitchen where he quickly downed two pain pills and one antibiotic and filled the sink with water and epsom salt.
Annabel Bunny sat bolt upright in bed with a look of terror on her face. She had always had a sixth sense when it came to her children which bordered on ESP. She knew when one of them was in trouble or in pain and she was sensing that something was very wrong with one of her children. There she sat for several minutes until the feeling reached critical mass. She let out a scream and jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway. This scared the hell out of her husband who ran out after her only to find her on her knees in the hallway screaming "Oh, my baby! - MAKE THE PAIN STOP". Needless to say, this woke all of the children who rushed out to see what all of the racket was about. Annabel got back onto her feet and inspected each of them. When she had finished, her panic only increased: If it wasn't one of the children at home, then it must be one of her adult children and she had 49 of them! How would she contact all of them quickly?? It would be impossible!! "Honey, come back to bed - see, the children are all right", her husband Bill coaxed. "NO - I've got to find out what's wrong", Annabel insisted. After some more comforting words, he finally convinced her to return to bed. She bit down on the pillow and wept, still feeling the pain of one of her children.
Mortimer was too involved in his misery to hear any of the commotion going on upstairs. He held his hand in the sink filled with warm water and epsom salt. The pain was subsiding ever so slightly but was still intense. The tears were still flowing profusely and he was moaning and crying at the same time. Finally, a feeling of euphoria came over him and the pain dissipated as the medication took effect. He let his hand soak a bit more and then drained the sink and patted the hand dry. After applying a little salve to the wounds, he re-wrapped it in a new strand of gauze.
In the meantime, Annabel had jumped out of bed and was again wandering the hallway, crying. She felt so helpless not knowing which of her children was experiencing this terrible pain. Who should she call? Neil? Babs? Robert? Just as she was about to head downstairs and began the laborious task of making 49 phone calls, she sensed the pain subsiding in its victim. She stood in the middle of the hallway, her eyes closed in thanksgiving that the pain was gone. Mortimer came up behind her on his way back to his room, still in a state of shock from what had to be the worst agony he would ever feel. His eyes were turned downward and thus didn't see his mother directly in his path. As he passed her, he brushed up against her. Annabel opened her eyes, looked at him for about 5 seconds and then started pacing the hallway again, almost as if she didn't see him. Mortimer stood there and stared at her for several minutes until she finally decided to return to bed.
"What the hell is wrong with her? I have to call Aunt Lucy and get this straightened out", he thought as he returned to his room and dozed off.
The next day, Mortimer called his aunt during study hall. He told her about his hand and the pain that he had experienced. She hollered at him for forgetting to take his medicine. "I told you to not to forget to take your pills every 12 hours. You see what happens when you miss your schedule?"
"Yah, I tell you I'll never make that mistake again. Ummm - I wanted to talk to you about mother. There is something strange going on with her", said Mortimer, reluctantly, not wanting to make his aunt think that he was belittling his mother.
"Hmmm - like what?" "Well, I don't know how to describe it, but she seems to have forgotten that I exist - I mean, she never talks to me and seems to look right through me when I'm standing right in front of her".
Lucy's first though was that Mortimer had somehow done something to make his mother angry with him. "OK, what did you do to her to make her mad?"
"Thats just it - nothing. And, its not like she's angry at me. Its like she doesn't see me standing in front of her. You know how mother is - she's always trying to micro-manage her children's lives. She still does it, but not to me. She hasn't asked to see my report cards for two semester's now. She never asks about my friends and doesn't seem to notice or care when I'm out till all hours --- umm - not that I do it that often. She's not angry at me - I'd be able to sense the silent treatment. Its the strangest thing I've ever seen - its like her brain has deleted me from its memory".
"That is strange!", said his aunt. "Now, she's normal in all other respects?" "Yes - the same old mom", Mortimer replied. "What did she say about your hand?" "Nothing - I didn't tell her. I've been scared to talk directly to her not knowing what's wrong. I've been trying to get her to pay some attention to me without having to initiate a conversation".
"I've had a feeling that something's been wrong with your mother. You have to realize that she may not be able to help it. Don't get angry with her", Lucy pleaded with Mortimer.
"I know its not something she's doing on purpose. I love her and want to help her get better". "I know you do", Lucy said in a comforting voice.
His aunt promised him that she'd pay a visit to her sister around 5 o'clock before her night shift began at the hospital. After hanging up, Lucy went to her bookshelf and pulled out a few medical books. She had noticed several times in the past month that her sister had seemed to be missing a child whenever she had a reason to name her kids in conversation. Lucy had found this strange but had not really given it a second thought. She flipped through a book on Toon neurological disorders trying to find information on a condition that she had heard something about and whose symptoms sounded suspiciously like the ones described by Mortimer.
Mortimer survived the rest of the day, albeit restlessly. He didn't even have Jan to comfort him during study hall as she was out of school for a doctor's appointment. Three o'clock finally came and Mortimer made his way home, wondering what the situation would be like when he arrived. He was afraid that whatever his mother had would not only be uncurable, but would get worse. Would she forget all of her children and his father? He tried to keep himself from thinking about it.
Annabel was sitting at the dinette table when Mortimer walked in. She was adjusting Joey's pants which had slipped down while he was playing. "There, thats better, isn't it"? Upon seeing Mortimer, Joey ran up to him and gave him a big hug. Mortimer half-heartedly returned the hug. His eyes were riveted on his mother who, as usual, didn't even know he was there. This was it! He was going to say something to her! "Hi mom - I'm home", he blurted out. Annabel looked at him for a half second but was distracted by one of her daughters who was in the process of making a mess while pasting together pieces of construction paper. "Emily - you're making a mess with that! If you're going to get rowdy when using that paste, I'm going to take it away from you!".
She didn't even see him! She heard a voice and turned toward it, but didn't even respond. Anger boiled up in Mortimer. Now was the time for the ultimate test. He sat down at the table opposite his mother. She didn't turn towards him. He put his injured hand on the table in front of him. Surely she'd respond to seeing that humungous gauze bandage on his hand. She looked his way, but didn't respond. Mortimer methodically unwrapped his hand, making sure that he moved his other hand enough to attract her attention. Still no response. He placed his unwrapped hand, palm down on the table. 47 stainless steel stitches protruded from two ugly-looking wounds. He held his hand up, pretending to look at it. Still no reaction from Annabel, however Joey spotted it and jumped up to have a closer look. "Whooah - thats gross", he shouted, wrinkling up his face. Mortimer decided to engage in a little conversation with his brother in the hope that this might get his mother's attention. "Yah its kinda nasty and it hurts alot. Didn't you hear me screaming last night? I forgot to take my pills. Talk about pain!" Mortimer looked at his mother, longing for a response. If that didn't wake her up, nothing would. Wasn't he talking loud enough? Sure he was! Still, Annabel ignored him. No - not ignored, she didn't seem to hear him.
Disgusted and frightened, Mortimer got up from the table and went into the kitchen to start dinner, hoping that his aunt would arrive soon and at least tell him what was going on.
[Author's Note: I'll try to post one part every other Sunday, maybe
more frequently. These stories can be retrieved from a special
archive server (The Mort-Server) by sending requests to
MORTIMER@buster.ddmi.com. Put your request on the subject line of
your message: "ALL" means all parts currently available (five
right now), "N", where N is a number means part "N", and "M-M"
means parts "M" thru "N" (ie "2-4" means parts 2-4)]
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