The Bulb People

  My legs still feel a bit weak and the bumps on my head haven’t completely disappeared, but I’m more than ready to get out of Bridgestock. Spider and Carl are just pulling out of the driveway when I get there. The car stops abruptly.

  “Hey Ryan!” Spider calls out the passenger window. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Who told you that?” I says.

  “Well ... Katie. She said you were too sick when I called,” Spider says. “Didn’t she give you my message?”

  “No.”

  Spider shakes his head disgustedly. “I guess that’s about you’d expect from her, huh?”

  “You’ve got that right,” I say.

  “I tried to get through to your cell phone,” Spider said, “but the coverage was down, as usual.”

  So, after generously asking Bob’s permission for me to go, Katie turned around and tried to sabotage my trip. Yeah, that was a real favor, and hadn’t I promised to repay favors?

  “Hop in, Ryan,” Carl says.

  I sprawl myself into the back seat as the car pulls out of the driveway. Spider turns around toward me.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he says. “You don’t look so hot, Ryan.”

  “I am totally up for getting out of Bridgestock,” I say. “But I’m going to pass on doing any jujitsu, if that’s all right.”

  “Okay,” Spider says. “We’ll put on a good demo for you, won’t we Carl?”

  Carl nods.

  “You just kick back and watch us,” Spider says.

  The walk to Spider’s house has tired me more than I thought, and I’m glad to have the whole back seat to spread out in. I drift into a sort of half awake dreamful-ness in which I travel through the recent past like a tourist.

  ***

  I wander back in my mind to the early days of Bob Warwick – a year ago when Mom first brought him home. He seemed almost charming back then, although with an oily undertone that I never trusted.

  You could almost see why Mom went for him. He was several years older than her and, supposedly, steady and mature. A man of the world type guy who’d done it all. And he seemed to appreciate her for what she was, admired her brains and abilities.

  Bob never told Mom, “You’re too damned smart!” the way Dad used to.

  I think Dad was always jealous of Mom because she’s more intelligent than him and makes more money. The fact that she loved him absolutely didn’t seem to matter. He wanted a more air-headed woman who would be in awe of him, and he has one now in Arizona.

  Also, Bob came with “a good track record” as a real estate developer. He’d turned many “lemons into lemonade” during his career and was headed for the big time. He was a risk taker who knew how to play the long odds, but nothing had prepared him for the grim situation in Bridgestock.

  Anyway, soon after they got married, Bob changed drastically. He got that angry, moody cast that is a permanent part of him now. I imagine it was always there underneath the surface, Mom just didn’t see it. But over time, the mask dropped off and the mean scowl underneath became obvious – to me, anyway. The problems in Bridgestock have only speeded things up.

  Then there’s the continuing issue of Katie, the step sister from hell. Even her real mother can’t stand her ...

  ***

  “You okay back there, Ryan?” Spider asks.

  I stir back to full wakefulness. “Uh, yeah.”

  “You sound like you want to kill somebody,” Spider says.

  I straighten myself up. My overnight bag is crumpled and crushed in my hands, as If I’ve been trying to strangle it.

  “I’m fine now,” I say.

  Spider turns away and resumes his conversation with Carl. I go back to my sour ramblings, though I am wide awake now.

  I wonder just how far down the drain Mom is prepared to go with Bob. My great aunt has been stuck with the same abusive, alcoholic bum for thirty-five years. She just can’t bring herself to dump the guy. Everybody says how noble she is. She’s sacrificed herself to take care of him through his many illnesses, and isn’t such loyalty wonderful?

  I think she’s an idiot.

  For all her brains, Mom is acting like an idiot, too. There’s no way I can be expected to go along with this rotten situation. I have to do something ...

  We’re leaving the country road now and pulling onto the freeway. Carl steps on the gas. Bridgestock and all its terrors seem to whisk away from me like an evil magic carpet. If only I never had to go back there!

  “How much longer?” I ask.

  “If this traffic holds, about an hour and a half,” Carl says.

  ***

  We stop at a Coney Island for lunch with two of Carl’s old high school buddies. We are in the southern suburbs now. If you drove north, you’d be at our house in about 45 minutes. I so much want to visit the place, but seeing the For Sale sign on the lawn would break my heart.

  Carl really unwinds with his friends. The tight expression around his mouth melts into an easy grin. They don’t pay much attention to Spider and me, of course, but concentrate on horsing around with each other. They speak of typical high school guy things: girls, cars, sports, back to girls again. I like them all.

  I’m seeing a portrait of myself as I should be in a few years time. But what does my future really hold? I’ve already had much of seventh grade stolen from me.

  Out of sight beneath the table, I rip my napkin into tiny shreds.

  14: An Evil Plan Arises

  The martial arts school is a big, open place with mats all over the floor and mirrors on the walls. Heavy bags hang in one corner where guys are throwing punches and kicks.

  “The bags are fun,” Spider explains, “but this school is mostly about ground work.”

  And there is plenty of that going on. Guys – and some girls, too – are practicing take downs and struggling on the mats trying to snare each other with chokes and other submission holds. I observe the mayhem from a fold up chair on the sidelines, my shoulder bag on my lap so as to keep my towel, inhaler, and stomach medications handy.

  Spider is pretty good. The arm lock he used to defeat Larry Nolan appears to be his specialty, and he is always trying to maneuver into it against his opponents. Carl spends a lot of time with some newcomer girls “showing them the ropes.”

  “Billy Conner’s not coming today,” Spider tells me between match ups. “I was hoping you could meet him.”

  “Some other time, then,” I say.

  Spider gestures toward Carl who is letting one of the girls practice a choke hold on him. “It left an opening for Carl to impress the girls, anyway.”

  “That’s usually Billy’s job?” I say.

  “Yeah,” Spider says. “Carl’s good, but he’s no match for Billy. That guy is great! I could see him turning professional.”

  “Be on that MMA show?” I say.

  “Yeah, but Billy doesn’t like to hit people,” Spider says. “MMA is slanted toward hitting, the fans don’t want to watch two guys struggling on the ground for half an hour.”

  “Most people are dumb enough already without getting their brains scrambled, too,” I say.

  The anger and bitterness in my voice surprises me. Spider gives me a rather peculiar look.

  “Yeah, whatever,” he says.

  He heads back out to the mats and a new opponent.

  Would I have said something like that last year, before Bob Warwick came on the scene? I don’t think so. I’m becoming a much harder person, no doubt about that. Maybe I’ll soon be able to hear the siren song from Melody Acres – like that Greek mythology guy who tied himself to the boat mast to keep himself from swimming to his doom.

  Forget all that! I’m out of Bridgestock, at least for now, and I didn’t want it intruding on me. I turn my attention back to the mats.

  This is open workout Saturday. People are practicing their techniques on each other while two instructors, a Japanese guy and another one from Brazil, circulate around giving pointer
s. Formal classes are held on weeknights, Spider told me.

  It looks interesting. Maybe this is the sport for me – macho and practical without being overly violent. Maybe I could even excel at it, become another Billy Conner.

  Well, fat chance of that. It’s pretty clear I’ll never make it as a football or basketball player, though. And all that spinning, jumping around stuff they do in gymnastics scares the heck out of me.

  I’m tempted to put on one of those judoka suits and get out there on the mats. Not a good idea, though. I’m still too weak from my illness, and the gyro supreme I ate for lunch isn’t sitting too well. I’ll join in next time.

  If there is a next time. If Bridgestock doesn’t swallow me up first, if the Happy Blended Family doesn’t suck the life out of me. If those things lurking out in Melody Acres don’t grab me ...

  Then, from out of the blue, I’m struck by a powerful inspiration: My H. B. F. is a huge problem; the things in Melody Acres are another huge problem. I now see a way where one problem can solve the other.

  Of course, why didn’t I think of it earlier?

  It’s simple, really. All I have to do is get Bob out to Melody Acres and the creatures will take care of the rest. If I am correct in my ‘nasty person’ theory, then Bob is just the sort of guy who will hear the siren song and be lured out to the tentacles.

  But how to get him out there?

  Bob is too busy supervising the mansion construction and running around meeting bankers and other big money types to waste time looking at empty fields. In fact, he seems to be avoiding the place since things have been going south. As far as I know, he hasn’t been out to Melody Acres in weeks. But if some emergency happened to draw him out there ...

  The billboard!

  If something happened to his precious, artistic, custom-made sign, he’d be angry enough to go stomping out there. Somebody has already thrown mud on it, how about something more permanent – like spray paint?

  Maybe Katie would go with him, too. I’d be rid of them both!

  It’s a devilish idea. Of course, I’d never actually do anything like that, but it’s intriguing to think about as I relax back in my chair with my arms folded over my chest, my eyes half closed and the thuds and scuffles of the combatants echoing in my ears.

  After an hour or so, I stand up to stretch.

  “I’m going for a walk,” I tell Spider.

  “Okay,” Spider replies from underneath an opponent he’s been battling for several minutes. “We’ll be here another hour, at least.”

  Another hour? That should be more than enough time. I heft my shoulder bag and clear out.

  ***

  On the street, everything is so wonderfully average. There are rows of ordinary businesses – restaurants, shops, an insurance office. A little strip mall stretches across the way with signs advertising its chain stores. Normal looking people stroll on the sidewalk having normal, ordinary conversations.

  Nobody else would think this area is anything special, but to me it’s beautiful. It has been months since I’ve seen a commercial street that isn’t part of the Bridgestock ugliness.

  Without really meaning to, I slip into a hardware store and buy two cans of spray paint. I bury them out of sight in my shoulder bag. Then I happen into a drug store and purchase some latex gloves.

  15: The Body Snatchers

  The jujitsu session finally ends. By the time Spider and Carl finish cleaning up and socializing with their workout pals, it’s late afternoon.

  “How’d it go, Carl?” Spider asks.

  “Great! I got two phone numbers,” Carl says. “I’m glad Billy wasn’t here to cramp my style.”

  “Doesn’t he already have a steady girlfriend?” Spider says.

  “Yeah,” Carl says, “but when he’s around, the rest of us kind of drop off the radar.”

  We drive to Carl’s friend’s house – one of the guys we’d had lunch with. The parents are real nice and order a pizza / ribs combo with salad for us, after which Carl and his friend head out to do their high school guy activities.

  Spider and I are allowed to use the family room for our overnight quarters. I have my mini sleeping bag, and Spider has brought a bigger one. We roll them out on the floor and get comfortable with Cokes and bowls of popcorn. For the first time in days, I actually feel secure.

  Spider looks through the DVD collection.

  “Invasion of the Body Snatchers!” he says. “Have you seen it, Ryan?”

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  “This one has Donald Sutherland,” Spider says. “They made like four versions of the basic story, you know.”

  “You’ve seen them all?”

  “Yeah. I think this is the best one,” Spider says. “Want to watch it?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  I’m not really in the mood for a horror movie, considering that my life has recently turned into one, but I know there’s no talking Spider out of it. Horror movies are his passion – he must have seen them all, right back to the silent vampire ones.

  “From deep space, the seed is planted!” Spider intones as he shoves the disk into the DVD player.

  “Right,” I say.

  My cell phone rings. It’s Mom.

  “Are you okay, Ryan?” she asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Bob said you stayed home from school for two days.”

  “I’m all right now,” I say. “It was just one of those 48 hour bugs.”

  I feel bad telling such a lie, but in the overall scope of things, what does it matter? If I told the truth she wouldn’t believe it, but she’d still go into panic mode. She’d probably want to have me committed, or at least talk to some over-priced psychologist again.

  “Where are you now?” Mom asks. “Bob said you left for the night.”

  “I’m with Mark and his brother, we’re staying at one of their friends.” I wave Spider over. “Here, Mark can explain.”

  Spider takes the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Warwick.”

  Again, I wince at the sound of Mrs. Warwick.

  I move to the bookshelf and pull down an illustrated book about whales, planning to read it while Spider gets his horror movie fix. Meanwhile, Mom is giving Spider the 3rd degree. He’s telling her what we did, what we ate, when we’re returning to Bridgestock, etc. etc.

  Then the lady of the house talks to Mom for a while. Finally, Mark returns the phone.

  “When are you coming back, Mom?” I ask.

  “Thursday. I’m arriving on the 4:00 pm flight.”

  “Good,” I say.

  I finally manage to end the call. Mom seemed upset, like she didn’t completely buy that the situation on this end is okay. Is it the fabled ‘mother’s intuition’ kicking in? Where was all this concern when I talked to her before she left? Where has it been hiding over the past year?

  I try to read the whale book, but the movie soon takes over my full attention. Invasion of the Body Snatchers is pretty scary. Not because it has gooey-eyed monsters in it, but because the monsters are so ordinary – just recycled human beings.

  First amoeba blob type things drift down to earth from outer space. Then they develop into these gross pods that start taking people over, replacing the person’s body with a soulless, alien replica that has no emotions.

  “I think Mrs. Thromp must be one of those,” Spider comments.

  Some people wise up to the threat but, of course, nobody believes them until it’s too late and the aliens have pretty much taken over San Francisco. The cops and the city government are the first to go alien. Things look pretty grim.

  Still, I expect a hopeful ending of some kind. There are human survivors who manage to blend in with the aliens, and they’ll surely find a way out of the mess. Matthew, the Donald Sutherland character, even manages to destroy the pod production center.

  The ending shows Matthew adapted to his new existence among the invaders. Another surviving human approaches him, at which point he jabs a finger at her and gi
ves the terrifying alien howl. They’ve gotten him, too!

  I’m as shocked as if it had been a true story.

  “That is so cool!” Spider says. “In the first version they tacked on some stupid happy ending.”

  “Yeah, it’s ... better this way.”

  “Of course maybe this is a happy ending,” Spider says. “If you’re an alien, that is.”

  “This couldn’t happen today, could it?” I say. “I mean, with the internet and all, people would know what was going on pretty quick.”

  “Why not?” Spider says. “The pods would make sure to grab the techie type people first. A few mega viruses could take over the whole internet.”

  “You think so?” I say.

  “Yeah,” Spider said. “We’re way too dependent on communications technology, Ryan. Think of all the satellites orbiting the earth. The Chinese have proved how easy it is to knock them out.”

  Somehow, I don’t need to hear about all this. My whole life is already one big trip down Paranoid Lane.

  “The old Ham radio transmitters would be the biggest problem,” Spider says. “But how many of those are still around?”

  I check my watch. It’s going on nine o’clock.

  “Let’s watch another movie,” Spider says.

  “Is it okay if I pick it out this time?” I ask.

  “Sure,” Spider says. “As long as there’s plenty of killing in it.”

  I shuffle through the DVDs: horror movie, thriller, slasher type story – no lack of killing here. There are also some old Disney type movies for the little girl in the house. I hold up Bambi.

  “How about this one?” I say.

  “Oh, please!” Spider says.

  “The mama deer gets blown away by a hunter,” I say. “You should like that part.”

  We hear somebody coming in the front door. Spider ducks into his sleeping bag.

  “Hide! It’s the body snatchers!” he cries.

  I am halfway into by own bag when Carl appears in the family room.

  Spider pokes his head out of his bag. “You’re back early, Carl.”

  “Pack up,” Carl says. “We have to go home.”

  “Why?” Spider asks.

  “I don’t know,” Carl says. “I called Mom to check in. She sounded real upset about something, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Oh, man,” Spider protests, “we were just getting comfortable.”