My clone wasn’t all right.
He couldn’t be. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. Things were going bad somehow. Crap. He seemed okay, but what the hell did I know? I was just his father, not an impartial observer. I was way too emotionally and genetically attached to—
“Stop,” Anya warned.
“What?” I glanced sideways at her, frowning.
“You lips are moving,” she rolled her fingers on her purse. “It just parent-teacher conference. Relax. Keep you eyes on the road.” She used her two forefingers to point at her eyes and then through the windshield ahead.
“Just a parent-teacher conference,” I grunted. “Why do you think they call parent-teacher conferences Anya? They don’t call them because everything’s hunky-dory. Something’s wrong with Alpheus. Something’s horribly, terribly, woefully, macabrely-“
“Stop!” Anya barked, stabbing her forefinger at me. “We learn this in psycho-ology classes. You obsessioning over Alfie. You worrying so much for him that you making youself crazy. You making me crazy also.”
I rolled my eyes. I should never have let her get that damn bachelor’s degree. A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing, as they say.
“Anya—“ I began, but she interrupted.
“No!” she barked. “No! No! No! You not take that voice with me! You not—not—not lecturing me! I learn this in class, so I know it right. You respect what I am saying and not talk down to me like I am child!” She folded her arms over her chest and slumped into the passenger-side seat, staring out the window at the moving scenery and pouting.
‘Lecturing me,’ I rolled my eyes and huffed. Anya’s English was improving, and that worried me. It was expected that she would get better at English after all these years of living in the States. It couldn’t be helped, and what choice did I have besides? Alpheus needed to be able to communicate with his mother, and I didn’t want him speaking Russian, but the better her English, the more independence she might--
“Waitaminute,” I said. We had just pulled into the school parking lot and Anya was about to get out of the car. I grabbed the sleeve of her blouse, which I had picked out for her. “I know what this is about. Alpheus’ English. It’s got to be. He’s been spending all his time with you and your broken English. The teacher probably wants to talk to me about my clone’s piss-poor grammar skills!”
“Our son’s grammar,” Anya snatched her arm away with a furiously glare. “He’s my son and you son, not you ‘clone.’”
I blinked as she got out of the Mercedes and slammed the door. I got out of the car and followed her, jogging a little to catch up, and was glad when she did not fight me away from holding her hand. I would hate for Alpheus’ teacher to witness any marital strife in my clone’s parents.
The English was an easy thing to fix. I would simply send Alpheus to a tutor. If that was putting too much stress on him time-wise, then I could simply cut back a little on his therapy sessions. Alpheus’ shrink didn’t seem to be much help anyway.
“What’s with all the cars?” I wondered aloud as we strode into the school. I could see all the lights were on in the single-story, sprawling public monument to inefficiency.
“Is open to other parents,” Anya explained, craning her neck through the throngs of smiling parents crowding the hallway to find Alpheus’ classroom.
I wasn’t asking you, I thought to myself.
“Numbers counting up… Odd on right,” Anya pulled my hand to lead me, unnecessarily, down the hall.
We navigated crowds of parents milled about various classroom doors until Anya identified the right one. The inside looked just like any other school room, cartoon posters with inspirational quotes like “Reading is fun,” propaganda to sucker the kids into being contributing members of society. I approved. A few token computers gathered dust at the room’s back end. I disapproved.
“Here,” Anya put a paper cup of juice in my one hand and a no-bake oatmeal cookie in the other. “You mingling with other parents. I go find Miss Zinn.”
“Who?”
“Alfie teacher.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Anya wandered away. I took a sip from the paper cup and winced at the acrid flavor, grapefruit juice. I looked around at the crowd and nibbled at the no-bake. So these were the parents who were interacting with their children who were interacting with my clone. These people were one step removed from shaping my clone’s environment.
I observed them as such. The mix was good. There were African-Americans, Asian-Americans, and assorted Euro-Mutts. The modern principles of diversity and multiculturalism were well at work here. So far so good.
The individuals weren’t so good. More than half were under-dressed for the event. That bothered me, especially since I had moved Anya and Alpheus here because the public schools were a little more upper-class. These people could at least have enough decency to act their status.
I wandered through the crowd, taking in samples of conversation. They seemed decent enough despite their overly casual dress. At least they were polite, but then everyone was polite in these situations. It was how people acted when they thought no one was looking that revealed their true character, and the character they were pushing onto their children.
“How’s life in Pelican Point?” The snippet of conversation caught my attention and I froze in my tracks.
“It’s fine, except for the bathrooms…”
“What’s wrong with the bathrooms?” I blurted out.
The woman rounded on me in surprise. She was squat and obese and I feared for a moment the fight or flight reflex might cause this water buffalo of a human being to charge.
“Well they’re awfully small,” she said uncertainly, composing herself.
“They’re larger than average,” I said. Maybe it’s the occupant who’s too large.
“Larger in square footage,” she nodded, making peace, but then insulted me by adding. “It’s the use of the space that makes them seem small.”
I frowned at her.
“What’s your interest in the properties Mister…?”
“Alfred,” I said, “and I designed every home in that neighborhood.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman offered her hand. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Emma Greason, and this is my husband, Olen.” I took her hand as she nodded to the short, squinty-eyed fellow remaining a respectful one-step behind her. I reached over to take his hand next. It was clammy.
Putz, I thought, plastering on my fakest smile to nod cordially at him.
“And what do you do for a living Alfred?” Emma asked politely.
“I’m an architect.”
“An architect? You know my daughter’s been playing with AutoCAD,”
“AutoCAD makes architects stupid,” I waved off her boastful statement with one hand.
“I’m sorry?” Mrs. Greasy frowned, offended.
I contemplated whether I should play nice or be honest. Screw her, I decided. This idiot woman was raising idiot offspring who were making idiot social interactions with my clone and bringing down his intelligence during these crucial, formative years.
“AutoCAD is an architectural video game,” I lectured. “You just draw a sketch of your building’s layout and it figures out all the framing for you. It’s making architects miss important points. The program isn’t perfect; it makes mistakes. A true architect can catch those mistakes before they go to production.”
Mrs. Greasy’s look was odd, skeptical, “But that’s still impressive. Don’t you think? For a child that age to be working with such an advanced engineering program?”
“I’d be more impressed if she were working with a drafting table and a t-square—Oww!” I spilt grapefruit juice down my sleeve as Anya pinched my underarm painfully.
I glared at her, but she was smiling pleasantly at Mrs. Greasy, “Hello. My name is Anya.” She held out her hand to the woman, who took it graciously. “I am very pleased to be meeting you.”
“Hello Any
a,” Mrs. Greasy said warmly and nodded to the putz. “I’m Emma and this is my husband, Olen.”
Olen squinted and nodded politely from behind his wife.
“Did I hear you say you daughter using AutoCAD?” Anya asked. “That very impressive.”
Emma beamed proudly, “She’s our little architect.”
I huffed disapprovingly and looked to Anya, “You and Mrs. Greasy—“
“Greason,” Emma corrected.
“—have something in common. She thinks the bathrooms at Pelican Point are too small also, even though they’re larger than average and—“
“It’s a neighborhood house, not the Sistine Chapel!” Mrs. Greasy sniffed, did an about-face, and walked away. Her lovable doofus of a husband beamed at us through those squinty eyes and nodded.
“Pleasure meeting you,” he said with all sincerity and shuffled away to follow his wife’s enormous butt shambling into the crowd.
“You so rude,” Anya quipped with narrowed eyes, shaking her head in disapproval.
I just looked at her, disapproving of her disapproval.
“Come,” Anya ordered, gesturing for me to follow her. “I find Miss Zinn.”
Miss Zinn was talking with another pair of parents, gay apparently, as they were two women. I thought I might have a sore neck tomorrow from all the disapproving head-shaking I was administering to this crowd.
The pause did afford me the opportunity to scrutinize my clone’s teacher. Miss Zinn was another collusion of bad examples for my clone to emulate. She was squat, overweight, and much too young, much much too young. This round little woman looked like she was fresh out of high school. Alpheus needed adult supervision, with the wisdom and emotional maturity that accompanied that, not babysitting.
“Hello Anya!” Miss Zinn turned to us exuding bubbly enthusiasm. Too much enthusiasm wasn’t good for a growing boy. It led to unrealistic expectations, hopefulness for the future, and belief in a world where everything happens for a reason. Everything doesn’t happen for a reason. You have to change the world to fit your needs.
“And you must be Mr. Schmuckler,” Miss Zinn enveloped my hand with both of her meaty mitts and jangled my arm up to the shoulder socket. “It’s such a pleasure to meet Alfie’s father!”
“Lady, you need to curb your—“ I began but Anya ran interference.
“Please you call him Alf,” Anya stepped closer to the woman. “Alfie is loving school very much.”
“He’s a darling child,” Miss Zinn started flipping through a stack of blue brochures in her hands, continuing to speak as she did so. “I’m so glad you could come out tonight… So important for parents to see where their children are spending so much time… and offer input… ask questions… Let’s see… Here we go!”
She handed us each a blue slip. I took one and looked at it. “Progress Report for Alpheus Schmuckler.”
I knew Anya would need much more time to fumble her way through reading the thing, so I seized the opportunity to quickly consume the data on my clone’s school performance and go on the conversational offensive.
“’Does not play well with others?’” I read aloud from the report.
Judging from Miss Zinn’s little jump, I had spoken too harshly, “Oh, well, yes. You see Alfie has a bit of a problem in his social interactions with the other children. He doesn’t like to share, seems to demand approval from everyone, and when he doesn’t get it, he ostracizes those classmates. It’s quite unusual in a child his age actually—“
“Well--!” I was flabbergasted, and Miss Zinn did another little jump to my satisfaction. “Well, maybe ‘others’ are the problem! You ever think about that? Maybe Junior doesn’t suffer fools very well.”
Miss Zinn’s eyes were frozen wide.
“Alfie not have many playmates,” Anya interjected pleasantly.
Miss Zinn’s look of fear turned pleasant as she turned to Anya, focusing on my wife like a life saver in a storm, “That’s probably it. You might want to try exposing him to more opportunities for social interactions. Setting up play dates are a great way to provide him a variety of environments.”
“Play dates,” Anya repeated the term as if she were taking mental note.
“What about—“ I frowned as Miss Zinn seemed to shrink from my conversational advance. “What about his English, math, and sciences? This ‘Progress Report’ only talks about his behavior. What kind of school are you running here?”
“Well…” Miss Zinn began, “we really don’t try to emphasize those aspects of schooling at this point. This is more of a time for acclimating children to the public school structure.”
My frown deepened and my eyes narrowed to slits, darkening my vision as I stepped toward the fat little woman, “I’m sorry, but wouldn’t acclimating children to academia involve teaching them something? What are these kids doing all day?”
Miss Zinn had taken another involuntary step away from me, unconsciously placing her hand over her heart, “I assure you Alf—“
“Mr. Schmuckler.”
“—that we engage your child in a wide variety of activities. The children have physical education, arts and crafts, we sing our ABC’s—“
“ABC’s,” I nodded. “That’s good. How’s Alpheus doing with those?”
“Fine.” Miss Zinn’s eyebrows perked curiously. “Absolutely fine.”
“His English is okay?” I prompted.
“His…” Miss Zinn glanced sideways at Anya, who had let out a tiny disparaging peep, “His English is fine Mr. Schmuckler.”
“Good,” I nodded, pretending to ignore what I could have sworn was her emphasizing the ‘Schmuck” part of my last name. “I’ve been worried that Anya’s—“
Miss Zinn turned to Anya, “What nationality are you Anya?”
“I am from St. Petersburg,” Anya’s smile was as pleasant as it was plastic. “Alf worry much about my bad English infecting Alfie.”
“How did you meet Alf?” Miss Zinn prompted. Something had changed in this woman’s demeanor and it was making me very wary of where she was going with this line of questioning.
“Online,” I interjected, trying to resume control of the dialogue, but Miss Zinn paid me no mind.
“I am mail order bride,” Anya stated matter of factly. Her lips pursed to restrain the grin of delight she experienced at revealing this. She knew I didn’t like us advertising the fact that my family was engineered.
Miss Zinn shot me a look that I interpreted as disapproval, “Alfie’s English is perfectly fine Anya.” She put her hand on my wife’s arm comfortingly. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“Thank you,” Anya squeezed the woman’s arm in return. “I am sorry for Alf being…” she struggled for the right word and looked to me for help.
“For demanding a little accountability,” I stated.
“You’re husband is just a little overprotective,” Miss Zinn assured her, still ignoring me. “It’s perfectly natural. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
“And same for meeting you,” Anya smiled warmly.
Miss Zinn scrunched her face at Anya with that sort of affectionate camaraderie two women united against a common enemy share.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Alf,” she stressed my name and the first-name basis of our social hierarchy. “Cloned children are becoming much more commonplace in our classrooms, and I assure you, Alfie’s performance has no bearing on you personally.”
Obviously, I was the common enemy. As I had no idea what this woman’s first name was, I refused to use any name at all, “There’s always private school.”
“There certainly is,” Miss Zinn said so cheerfully it was now painfully obvious she was trying to kill me with kindness. “You two please help yourselves to more juice and cookies and make yourselves at home.”
Anya made for the refreshments table, but I caught her arm, “Let’s go.”
“Why does everyone always compare things to the Sistine Chapel?” I grumbled
on the car ride home. “Wouldn’t something residential be more appropriate? Like the Heurtly House?”
“Because no one knows Hurty House is.”
“’Heurtly House,’” I corrected, “by Wright.”
“Yes Dear.”
“Besides, the Sistine Chapel isn’t famous for its architecture so much as the great big painting Michelangelo put on its ceiling.” I continued. “Big whoop, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Uh huh.”
“Are you not listening to me?”
Anya smiled at me, “Yes dear. I am not listening to you very much.”
“I should’ve gone with the Jordanian model,” I muttered under my breath.
“Now you just being bastard,” Anya snapped. I should’ve kept it a little more under my breath.
I said nothing more, but it was true. Jordanian women were more respectful. They came from a much more patriarchal culture. I should have gone with a Jordanian woman.
Anya didn’t understand. That bitch, Miss Zinn, didn’t understand. I could see the accusations in their eyes. They both thought less of me for having a clone, but Zinn had the double-whammy of also thinking me slime for the mail-order bride. They thought I was just being selfish, shallow, narcissistic, but my every concern was for my clone. How did that make me self-absorbed? I was giving everything to Alpheus.
When I design a building, I pull from the entire history of architecture preceding me. I look at the works of the past masters… Michaelangelo… Brunelleschi… Leonardo… Chris Jones… Christopher Alexander… Frank Lloyd Wright… Louis Sullivan… Buckminster Fuller… but I hold only appreciation for their accomplishments. I do not consider them sacred. I work to top their innovations, improve on them.
Wasn’t the whole point of raising children to improve upon our present designs? With Alpheus I had my entire history, all my experience, my wisdom to pour into him and make him a better person. This wasn’t a “cult of me” thing. I wasn’t living intrinsically through him. I just wanted the variables controlled. I wanted him to improve upon my--.
“Stop,” Anya barked and I blinked at her. “You lips moving again! You speak to me! Not being in you head all time!”
I said nothing, but narrowed my eyes through the windshield and pressed my lips into a white line. They would not betray me again.
A few moments later, I pulled into our driveway. I could still feel Anya’s gaze. It burned the side of my face; although, I knew that was only my imagination. I made a point of not making eye contact as I got out of the car.
“You giving me silence treatment?” Anya demanded as we walked up to the front door.
I said nothing, which I realized was the same thing as saying, Yes I am giving you the silent treatment. So I pulled out my keys and pretended to fiddle with finding the right one.
“You neurotic,” Anya’s tone was accusatory, “and you pushing neurosis on you child.”
Psychology, I thought and rolled my eyes. Why did I have to let her major in psychology?
“He’s five years old,” Anya folder her arms over her chest and scrunched her mouth. “He’s too young to have any neurosis.”
I unlocked the door, taking a deep breath as I did so.
“We must speak of this Alf!” Anya urged from behind me.
I lifted my countenance and opened the door.
“Hello Mr. And Mrs. Schmuckler,” Becky greeted us in the foyer her voice hushed. “Alfie’s sleeping upstairs.”
I beamed at the girl, approving of the high school physics book she carried in one hand, obviously having studied it all night. “Thanks Becky,” I said. “You’re the best sitter we’ve ever had.” She was also our fifth one. The others weren’t so great.
“We hope Alfie wasn’t too much problem,” Anya said at my side, and I realized she had slipped her arm under mine as we came through the door.
“Oh no,” Becky waved the thought away. “He cried for his daddy awhile, but I just kept promising him you’d be back when he woke up. Did you have fun?”
I squeezed Anya’s hand and smiled at Becky, “You know, open house at the school. Got to scope out the quality of Alpheus’ education, nothing all that important.”
“Met many very nice people,” Anya leaned into me affectionately.
“That’s nice,” Becky said sincerely.
I flipped open my wallet and counted out the bills, adding another five to the mix, “Here you go, Becky. Thanks for being so dependable.”
“You’re welcome Mr. Schmuckler,” she replied, and I stepped aside to let her out the door. “Call me again when you need me.”
“I certainly will,” I closed the door behind her.
Anya’s arm dropped out of mine and she walked into the living room, her high-heels clicking on the white tiles. I took my jacket off and slipped my shoes off beside the door. Anya had taken her shoes off in the living room, where she was massaging her feet on the sofa. I picked her shoes off the floor and placed them beside the front door where they belonged.
“Maybe private school’s the answer.” I said, coming back into the living room to drop onto the sofa beside her. “There’s no accountability with the public school systems. It’s not like I can have disciplinary actions taken against that Miss Zinn for being obese and setting lax standards for Alpheus.” I loosened my tie and made to put my hand on Anya’s knee.
Anya moved her leg to dodge my advancing affections with a hiss. She stood up, arms folder over her chest, and paced back and forth across the room. “Is like when you try and lawsuit hospital…” she muttered.
“We’ve been over that one a million times,” I leveled my finger at her. “Natural birth is too stressful on a child. The doctor should have cut you open way earlier on that delivery. It was negligent.”
Anya paused in her pacing long enough to narrow her eyes at me and sniff derisively, “The judge not think so.”
I folded my arms over my chest and sank into the sofa, “That judge was a putz.”
“You not putting Alfie in military school,” Anya snapped.
“I’m the man of this house,” I said, “he’s my clone, and I’ll make the ultimate decisions as to what’s best for him.”
“Alfie happy at public school. That best for him.”
“Alpheus is too young to know what’s best for him.”
“I divorce you…” Anya’s uncertain tone assured me it was an empty threat.
“You won’t get custody,” I scoffed. “He’s my clone.”
Her tone became dangerously assertive, “You use that in court to get custody of our child?”
“My child,” I countered. “He’s all my genes.”
“I carry him for nine months,” Anya said. “He my environment.”
I never should have let Anya take those psychology courses.
“Childrens should be with their mommas,” Anya continued. “Not with neurotic adult-child like you.”
“Alpheus should be with himself,” I argued. “I know him better than anyone.”
Anya’s mouth dropped open in disgust, “You not know youself Alf.”
I dismissed that nonsense with a loud huff, “Of course I know myself. What don’t I know about myself?”
“You enormous asshole.”
“Get out.”
“Get out?”
“You heard me. I own this house and I’m telling you to leave.”
“Is my home too. I no have to leave,” Anya stomped her foot for emphasis. “You have problem then you leave. I going to bed and you take couch.” She made for the stairs.
I shook my head, but started unbuttoning my shirt just the same. I would just need to make sure I was up before Alpheus.
Anya turned to look at me once more from the staircase, “You know what? I hope you use that. To tell the judge he you clone. That would be a first and get in news.”
“I’m sure you think it’ll make you a big star,” I said.
&
nbsp; She nodded and made her way upstairs, “Maybe I write best-selling book.”
The Malaysian model wouldn’t have been so fiery.
I lay on my side, pulling a sofa cushion under my head and tossing my jacket over my shoulder. I looked up and watched the light go dark as Anya closed the bedroom door. I didn’t feel like turning off the living room light just yet.
Of course I was the better choice for Alpheus’ custody. Our bodies and brains were architecturally identical. I knew exactly what worked and what didn’t for my parent’s raising me, and I would apply that to raising Alpheus.
He’s my clone dammit! I punched the pillow and grimaced into it.
“Daddy?” Alpheus’ voice drifted down the stairs.
The concern in his voice got me right up off the sofa. He was standing at the top of the stairs. His stuffed platypus snuggled under one arm.
“What is it Alfie?” I asked, scooping him up into my arms to bring him eyelevel with myself.
“There’s a lion under my bed daddy,” he whispered into my ear.
I drew him close, tucking his head under my chin and wrapping my arms around him. A crack of light in the hallway drew my attention to Anya standing in the bedroom doorway. We held eye contact for several long moments. There was something warm in the way she was regarding me and I was somehow reluctant to let that go, despite our recent spat. Finally she closed the door, smiling, and I carried Alpheus into his room, where I set him down on the bed.
“Lions?” I prompted gently.
He nodded.
I got down on all fours and looked under the bed, “I don’t see anything.”
“There was a lion,” he asserted.
Here he was, this toddler-version of myself, just like in my parent’s photo album. Screw Miss Zinn and screw Anya. How could anyone deny this child anything?
I nodded and sat down on the floor beside his bed, “How about I sleep on the floor here and make sure they don’t come back?”
He nodded and settled down on the bed, where I tucked him in with his platypus before settling down myself on the floor beside him. I lay there for some time, unable to sleep, until I finally reached out and grabbed a nearby stuffed bunny. Cradling it to my chest, I drifted away.
tailee’s clones