ENJOY THIS EXCERPT FROM...
THE MAN IN THE TIN FOIL HAT
(From THE STATION and Other Tails)
© darkglassespublishing (All Rights Reserved)
7:07 PM, Friday
“Mom?” Fourteen-year-old Libby was standing in the doorway to her mother’s bedroom. Adele stopped applying her lipstick and looked at her in the dresser mirror, squinting through the smoke from a cigarette that was smoldering in an ashtray on her dressing table.
“What, hon?” she asked, still not turning around.
The girl seemed hesitant to speak. Adele watched her in the mirror, still not turning, and tried to keep the impatience out of her voice.
“What’s wrong?” her daughter suddenly asked.
“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re smoking.”
Adele looked at the cigarette as if she was just noticing it for the first time, then reached for it and snuffed it out. It lay crookedly, still sending up tendrils of smoke, its filter ringed in the bright red of her lipstick.
“I’m just a little nervous,” she said. “Lib, I have to finish getting ready.” Divorced for almost a year, Adele had a blind date with a man her best friend had set her up with and she was anxious to finish preparing. She wanted to be ready when he rang the doorbell. ‘You only get one chance to make a good first impression,’ her mother would say.
Libby bit her lip, then sighed. “I’m worried about Uncle Harvey.”
Adele’s shoulders slumped. This was something she’d heard before about her brother. Harvey Winston was a good man and a great guy; the only problem with him was he was nuttier than a fruitcake, not to put too fine a point on it. Adele wondered for what seemed like the thousandth time whether she should limit her kids’ contact with him. It’s not that she didn’t trust him with them, but he had some weird ideas about the world at large and he was starting to talk about his theories with both Libby and twelve-year-old Jeff and she wasn’t sure that was such a good idea.
Harvey was the first person Adele had ever heard talk about black helicopters and contrails, but his beliefs and concerns seemed to get weirder every year. For a while all his concerns seemed to focus on the government. Besides the helicopters and contrails, he was convinced that traffic cameras were not there to catch people running red lights, but to record our every move. After that, he thought that ATM keypads were not only recording our fingerprints, but actually monitoring our vital signs in order to detect health problems. The health data base would be linked to the fingerprint data base, all for the purpose of creating a master list of people who would be collected by a death squad at some point in the future, in order to weed out the weak links in our population.
He was constantly talking about conspiracies; Oswald acted alone, then the Mob did it, then the CIA. Or it was Cuba. The twin towers were felled by our own government; it was Greece in an attempt to shift focus from their dire financial straits. He flitted from theory to theory like a hummingbird searching for nectar. Harvey’s overworked brain never stopped; as a result, he suffered from almost-daily migraines and insomnia. Once when they were kids, Adele found him on the roof of their parents’ house at three in the morning, watching for alien invaders. Through the years, he had been medicated by a slew of doctors, but none of them could ever find the magic bullet. He was ever hospitalized several times while in his early twenties but, since he was never deemed a danger to himself or anyone else, he was released each time. Adele loved him fiercely, but couldn’t help but wonder sometimes if he should have unfettered access to her kids.
Although he hadn’t covered his windows with tinfoil –yet- he did keep the shades down and curtains drawn in his room in Adele’s house. And he refused to watch TV –or even be in the same room with one- because he was convinced it was a two-way spying device.
Adele would have much preferred to avoid this conversation, especially now, what with her date and all, but she finally turned to face her daughter.
“Why, Libby?” she asked. “What’s going on now?”
9:17 PM, Friday
Although Adele found her date charming and attractive, she couldn’t help but be distracted the whole night, thinking about what Libby had told her when she was getting ready. Finally, frustrated, he suggested they cut the evening short.
Adele set down her wine glass and tried to keep her composure. She had so been looking forward to this evening. “I’m so sorry, Dennis,” she said. “It’s just…there’s this family thing that I’m worried about.”
He took his napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said with a perfunctory smile. “No problem.” He signaled to the waiter to bring the check and glanced around the room, probably thinking that, for such a disjointed, miserable evening, he could have picked a more pedestrian restaurant.
Adele seemed to read his thoughts. “I really am sorry,” she said. “I’ll pay for my own dinner.”
Dennis waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Some people just aren’t compatible.” Something in his tone made Adele angry. Condescension?
“Fine,” she said, eyes flashing. “You think I’m making up the problem? How about I tell you all about it, then you can decide if I’m just an asshole or not?” She stared at him until he smiled patronizingly and stood up.
“I’ll get you a cab,” he said, dropping two hundred dollar bills on the table. Apparently, he didn’t even want to wait for the bill anymore. “I hope you’re able to work out whatever’s going on. Goodnight.” He walked away, leaving her sitting alone. Finally, she stood up and made her way toward the door, aware that people were watching her. For a moment, she almost turned around and yelled at them to mind their own damn business, but instead clamped her jaws shut and walked out, tears welling up in her eyes. Her cab was waiting at the curb.
THE MAN IN THE TIN FOIL HAT
(From THE STATION and Other Tails)
© darkglassespublishing (All Rights Reserved)
7:07 PM, Friday
“Mom?” Fourteen-year-old Libby was standing in the doorway to her mother’s bedroom. Adele stopped applying her lipstick and looked at her in the dresser mirror, squinting through the smoke from a cigarette that was smoldering in an ashtray on her dressing table.
“What, hon?” she asked, still not turning around.
The girl seemed hesitant to speak. Adele watched her in the mirror, still not turning, and tried to keep the impatience out of her voice.
“What’s wrong?” her daughter suddenly asked.
“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re smoking.”
Adele looked at the cigarette as if she was just noticing it for the first time, then reached for it and snuffed it out. It lay crookedly, still sending up tendrils of smoke, its filter ringed in the bright red of her lipstick.
“I’m just a little nervous,” she said. “Lib, I have to finish getting ready.” Divorced for almost a year, Adele had a blind date with a man her best friend had set her up with and she was anxious to finish preparing. She wanted to be ready when he rang the doorbell. ‘You only get one chance to make a good first impression,’ her mother would say.
Libby bit her lip, then sighed. “I’m worried about Uncle Harvey.”
Adele’s shoulders slumped. This was something she’d heard before about her brother. Harvey Winston was a good man and a great guy; the only problem with him was he was nuttier than a fruitcake, not to put too fine a point on it. Adele wondered for what seemed like the thousandth time whether she should limit her kids’ contact with him. It’s not that she didn’t trust him with them, but he had some weird ideas about the world at large and he was starting to talk about his theories with both Libby and twelve-year-old Jeff and she wasn’t sure that was such a good idea.
Harvey was the first person Adele had ever heard talk about black helicopters and contrails, but his beliefs and concerns seemed to get weirder every year. For a while all his concerns seemed to focus on the government. Besides the helicopters and contrails, he was convinced that traffic cameras were not there to catch people running red lights, but to record our every move. After that, he thought that ATM keypads were not only recording our fingerprints, but actually monitoring our vital signs in order to detect health problems. The health data base would be linked to the fingerprint data base, all for the purpose of creating a master list of people who would be collected by a death squad at some point in the future, in order to weed out the weak links in our population.
He was constantly talking about conspiracies; Oswald acted alone, then the Mob did it, then the CIA. Or it was Cuba. The twin towers were felled by our own government; it was Greece in an attempt to shift focus from their dire financial straits. He flitted from theory to theory like a hummingbird searching for nectar. Harvey’s overworked brain never stopped; as a result, he suffered from almost-daily migraines and insomnia. Once when they were kids, Adele found him on the roof of their parents’ house at three in the morning, watching for alien invaders. Through the years, he had been medicated by a slew of doctors, but none of them could ever find the magic bullet. He was ever hospitalized several times while in his early twenties but, since he was never deemed a danger to himself or anyone else, he was released each time. Adele loved him fiercely, but couldn’t help but wonder sometimes if he should have unfettered access to her kids.
Although he hadn’t covered his windows with tinfoil –yet- he did keep the shades down and curtains drawn in his room in Adele’s house. And he refused to watch TV –or even be in the same room with one- because he was convinced it was a two-way spying device.
Adele would have much preferred to avoid this conversation, especially now, what with her date and all, but she finally turned to face her daughter.
“Why, Libby?” she asked. “What’s going on now?”
9:17 PM, Friday
Although Adele found her date charming and attractive, she couldn’t help but be distracted the whole night, thinking about what Libby had told her when she was getting ready. Finally, frustrated, he suggested they cut the evening short.
Adele set down her wine glass and tried to keep her composure. She had so been looking forward to this evening. “I’m so sorry, Dennis,” she said. “It’s just…there’s this family thing that I’m worried about.”
He took his napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said with a perfunctory smile. “No problem.” He signaled to the waiter to bring the check and glanced around the room, probably thinking that, for such a disjointed, miserable evening, he could have picked a more pedestrian restaurant.
Adele seemed to read his thoughts. “I really am sorry,” she said. “I’ll pay for my own dinner.”
Dennis waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Some people just aren’t compatible.” Something in his tone made Adele angry. Condescension?
“Fine,” she said, eyes flashing. “You think I’m making up the problem? How about I tell you all about it, then you can decide if I’m just an asshole or not?” She stared at him until he smiled patronizingly and stood up.
“I’ll get you a cab,” he said, dropping two hundred dollar bills on the table. Apparently, he didn’t even want to wait for the bill anymore. “I hope you’re able to work out whatever’s going on. Goodnight.” He walked away, leaving her sitting alone. Finally, she stood up and made her way toward the door, aware that people were watching her. For a moment, she almost turned around and yelled at them to mind their own damn business, but instead clamped her jaws shut and walked out, tears welling up in her eyes. Her cab was waiting at the curb.