When we first created Michael Pizza back in level 4 at iO, Josh and Kass and I would get together just to talk improv. We would just practice scenes, write sketch ideas or just sit around and talk shop. One of the things that we did was give each other assignments. We'd say "you have to write a sketch based on the suggestion of 'hope' and present it to us in one week". Or "you have to meet someone and find out 5 unique things about their job". Or whatever. These are just examples. Anyway, our first ever Michael Pizza assignment was that we must each write a short story. We gave each other suggestions and we each had a week to write it. It could be funny or not. It didn't have to be well written. It just had to be a story. I remember that Josh's story was about fairies fighting in the woods. Kass' story had something to do with him hiding in a barrel. I got the suggestion of "lantern". I told myself that I would just start typing and see what came out. Well, tonight I was cleaning up my desktop and I came across that story. Here it is for those who are interested.
By the way, if you have a creative assignment for Michael Pizza, send it to me. That'd be really fun for us. We'll draw/write/sing/rap/build whatever you tell us to. Then we'll post it up here for you to judge and criticize! My email is brettelam@gmail.com
Enjoy the story...
PART 1
Suddenly it all came rushing back to hit me like a tidal wave: The forest, the pack, the burning in my stomach that grabbed my guts and squeezed fire. I raised my head and winced at the pain. I thought about Lisa and the baby. I thought about the apartment and the bill collectors. I thought about the 4 hour drive to Hollywood from Fresno and how the trees that lined the street grew gradually more kept, how the homes got larger and fences that surrounded the yards more ornate. I thought about the hour that I sat in that old Cutlass outside of GlobalComm studios, wishing, praying that there were another way.
Then I remembered: they’re still out there. I put one hand underneath me and used the other to grab my stomach, as much to quell the pain as to keep my stitches from busting and spilling my insides across the leaves. If I had had a latern or a flashlight, I could have seen in front of myself, but the trees had grown so dense that their upper branches stretched and grabbed, intertwining to create a canvas thick enough to erase the moon. I couldn’t have used a lantern anyway. No doubt they had infared vision and their cameras and filming equipment were certainly capable of detecting heat. I’m no fool. I had seen this show before.
It had been one of Lisa’s Tuesday night favorites before we lost our television. I would tell her to turn that junk off and quit reveling in other people’s misery. I told her that it wasn’t reality and it was edited to be much more interesting than it really was. But she was fascinated and every Tuesday night like clock work, she “had to catch her program”.
I admit, I myself had seen it once or twice before. When Lisa was at her mothers or when I had stopped my rig at a truck stop on my way home from some big drop in the middle of nowhere. I had sat and watched this show, feeling ashamed that I had rode her so hard and was now, myself, giving in to the guilty pleasure. The violence had been so gruesome, the distress so immediate, the chase so compelling, all of it just seemed so real…
Blindly, I stumbled through the dark. If I could find a place to wait until morning then I could at least see what they saw; even the playing field. Had any contestant ever lasted until morning, I wondered? How long had I lasted? It was daylight when they had put that pack on my back, shoved that blade into my stomach and kicked me out of that ‘copter. How long had I lay there? How long did it take to weave those crude stitches with my trembling hands? Hours? I had passed out, from fear as much as pain, and it had been dark when I awoke.
I ran through the night.
PART 2
It was spring when the bill collectors started coming to visit. At first they were pleasant enough and understanding. I had explained that work was slow and companies just weren’t shipping, what with the gas prices how they were. There were very few rigs even on the street these days, much less working steadily. I explained that I had gotten a job at the power conservatory, but it had required me to work nights when no one was home to watch Aaron. I told them my wife had been working at a diner on State and Chavez but the only shift they were giving her was the late shift. Nobody could stay with the baby and we couldn’t afford help, I explained. I would have the money next month, no problem, I promised. But next month always turned into the month after and soon they got mean.
Once, they chased Lisa into the alley behind the Alpha Beta and only left her alone because the store manager came out with the trash. “They were only trying to scare you,” I assured her, but she was convinced they would have hurt her. One afternoon, they broke into the apartment while Lisa and I were making love and scared Lisa so badly that she screamed and woke Aaron up. They said they were taking everything even though I explained that we had already pawned anything of value. They left with the baby’s crib and similac formula.
The final straw came one summer night when Lisa was at her mothers. It had gotten sweltering hot and I guess the heat and frustration had gotten to us, because we got into it about something and we screamed venomous hate at each other for two hours before she left. Now I don’t even remember what that fight had been about. But thank God she was gone that night, because she probably would have taken Aaron and walked out for good had she been around for what happened next.
I was asleep on the sofa by the window, hoping that the night might cool some. We had sold our window air conditioner and the heat was causing me to have horrible nightmares. When I opened my eyes, there were three men standing above me. I jumped to get up, but two caught me while the other grabbed my legs. It was dark, but I could recognize one of them as the man who had broken into the apartment in the past. He leaned down so close to me that his lips touched my ear when he spoke. “I’m gonna drown your baby,” he whispered. “If you don’t pay what you owe, I will take your son and throw him in the river with his crib. That’s where he’ll sleep from now on,” he promised. Then they beat me. I remember that it hurt, but all I could think about was Aaron’s tiny body being found in the quarry. What he would look like. How scared he would be before he died.
When I told Lisa my plan, she cried. She begged me not to go through with it. She pleaded for hours and threatened to leave me, but in the end she knew that there was no other way. “It’d be exciting,” I told her. “What other wife could say that her husband starred on her favorite television show? We could start another life with the money,” I explained. “We could send Aaron to college. We could be happy.”
When I dropped Lisa at her mother’s, I told her not to worry. Then I kissed Aaron’s forehead and stroked his thin blonde hair, promising I’d see him again.
PART 3
The morning was filled with a thin blue haze when I awoke. Only an occasional creak or chirp interrupted the swaying of leaves. My stomach was swollen and the stitches tugged at the flesh. I looked around and wondered what to do next. Had they forgotten about me? Was the hunt still on or had some miracle overtaken them, causing them to give up the game and let me walk away?
In a second, my question was answered.
The crack of a gun interrupted the silence and something zipped past my head, ripping leaves and spraying tree bark on my back and neck. I rolled, but the pain from my stomach was so severe that I vomited blood into the dirt. I scrambled to my feet and tried to run into the brush, but was met by two men with cameras. Behind me, men started screaming as the gun cracked again and an ATV revved.
I can’t remember much after that. I ran, I know. I remember thinking that the strength of my legs must have drained through that hole in my belly because I could barely support myself. I remember yelling “please don’t” and knowing it was pointless. I remember a third gunshot and I remember that my back screamed and my chest opened up. I remember falling over tree roots and I remember the slivers of sun that peaked through the branches as I lay there. I remember the faces of the men who stood above me and I remember the cameras. I remember that they taunted and laughed, high five-ing and cheering the chase and the job well done. I remember.
I remember that Aaron was there. It was the day he was born and he was beautiful and new. I remember he was in his crib and his tiny hands touched my finger and his eyes were huge and he smiled. I remember that Lisa was with me. She was wearing her yellow dress and her hair was tied with a string, just like the day we met. I remember that she put her face in my neck and she told me she could feel me and that she’d never let me go.
