Idle Physics

Idle Physics

“Wish fulfillment?” Daniel’s voice squeaks as he leans over the make shift coffee table to turn down the television. “I’m tired of going over this, it had absolutely nothing to do with Naomi.” He was getting worked up now and all the symptoms were showing: high pitched voice, superlatives, curious head-bob and hand gesture combinations like a boxer with a concussion. Marianne stops chopping onions and sighs; “how could you know? It’s your subconscious! I knew you liked that movie for some reason. ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’” she pauses dramatically at the end of each word, “you repressed your guilt about sleeping with her and that movie expressed what you repressed. That’s why you made me watch that movie a million fucking times. Wish fulfillment!”

She squeezes her eyebrows together and fights to keep the corners of her mouth down. She loved to watch him squirm under pressure. Recently it had become her favorite sport. It wasn’t because she was sadistic, that wasn’t Marianne’s style; Daniel had just acted so superior for so long, it was nice to watch him flounder now that she had something on him. It felt like she was accomplishing something in a life that otherwise seemed Sisyphean.

A montage on the television shows French students throwing hunks of ripped-up sidewalk at rows of police marching toward them through smoke and between burning, overturned cars; pictures of striking workers at a manufacturing plant and close-ups of some faces with subtitles beneath them.

Marianne tosses the onions in the frying pan and they sizzle in the butter along with pieces of ham and chunks of bell peppers. She cracks two eggs on the side of the frying pan and drops just the whites on top. The newspaper next to the sink beside her reads “Fiscal Cliffhanger. Congress still unable to come to agreement regarding…” It gets splashed as Marianne washes her hands. “Well,” she says, “We’ll see what Val has to say about this. We’re still having coffee with her.”

Daniel jumps up from the couch,” Aw, Jesus, you’re going to tell Val? What the hell? What happened to the ‘privacy of one’s own home!’”

“Uh, apparently your skanky ex-girlfriends happened,” she says, flipping the omelet and cracking another egg into the pan.

“Aw, Ex-girlfriend! Singular, not plural. I never said plural. It was just Naomi that one time.” He collapses back on the cushions, “And it was before we were serious and you were still all ‘monogamous love is a constructed idea used to keep women submissive and maintain patriarchal social hierarchy.’ Damn you were sexy back then.”

“Back then? And then what happened? Suddenly all these latent thoughts are coming out into the light…” She uses the spatula to flip one omelet onto a plate and slides it across the counter.

“What? Oh god… hey, aren’t these the kind of petty arguments we said we’d never have? What happened to being above all this idle marital bullshit?” Daniel’s arms flail as he moves to take the plate from the counter to their small unfurnished wooden table. Marianne scoops her omelet onto another plate and takes her seat across from Daniel. The documentary on television is showing some other event in 1968. They sit in silence: Daniel watching the television, Marianne reading the paper. “New Egyptian Government orders arrest of Satirist Bassem Youseff. Order consistent with New Government’s widening campaign against opposition groups and activists,” the paper says. Marianne flips through a few pages; “New blockbuster has box office breaking debut!”

When they finish their omelets, Marianne brushes her teeth and Daniel goes to his room to put on a nicer shirt. They put their plates in the sink before they exit; Daniel turns off the T.V. and Marianne makes sure all the lights are off. Marianne makes sure the door is locked before they run down the concrete steps of the terracotta duplex.

An overly enthusiastic voice on the car radio lets them know it’s going to be another beautiful sunny Saturday in Santone, California. The sun is just starting to warm up the asphalt. Steam rises from it and wisps around in small spirals under their tires as they drive through the mostly empty streets.

Marianne pulls into the parking lot of a large strip mall. Their little boxy car putters up to a spot in front of a chain coffee shop that’s nestled between a chain shoe store and a chain sandwich shop. Their doors open and they linger a while, making sure they have their wallets, cellphones, money and keys.

Inside the coffee shop, John Lennon’s nasally voice croons “we’ve been playing those mind games together…”Change collapses on the counter and a spindly haired customer takes his coffee carefully to a table in the back. Daniel goes to save a seat for them while Marianne orders their coffees. He picks a table near the large tinted Plexiglas wall overlooking the more scenic slice of Santone: from the churches and the large houses up on Redwood Road, sloping down to the fast food restaurants and Frank’s Billiard and the businesses on the Boulevard separated by the large cement hook of the freeway from the smaller houses, clustered in circular neighborhoods with the minimarts and the public schools, sprawling out all the way until the Dock and the cranes that loom out of the smoggy haze and preside over the towering stacks of storage containers. The bridge is on the right. The mall, the movie theater, the prison, the strip malls and Daniel’s house on Canfield Avenue are out of sight behind him. At the next table some girls are talking loudly. They apparently haven’t seen each other for a while: one of the girls seems to have just gotten back from college. The other girl, still in High School, is rapidly firing questions at her about classes, professors, friends, clubs, boyfriends and books.

Marianne brings their drinks to the table. “That barista is so cewt!” she exclaims. “Look at this,” she pushes the mug toward him. There is a heart shaped out of white foam, with a coffee colored smiley face in the center. Daniel fabricates a surprised look. Their eyes wander to the window and they gaze out at the city. The sip their coffee quietly for a while until Marianne’s phone vibrates and she whips her head around and throws her arms into the air. “Oh, there’s Val,” she says, already out of her chair and on her way to greet her friend.

At the other table, Ms. College is doing her best to assure her young friend that going away to university is unequivocally the best decision one can make. She tells her friend that her classes are easier than expected—the assignments are too fun to feel like work. The whole experience is awakening in her a feeling that she forgot long ago; that she must do all that she can to make this world a better place. Daniel almost turns around to say something to this precocious transitional adult when he hears his wife and Val coming toward him; “anyway, so don’t even find out about it until last night,” Marianne tells her friend, “how about that?” Daniel gets up to give Val the obligatory awkward hug, and they all sit down.

‘So, what’s the big deal?” Val says to Marianne, “It was college, weird things happen in college. I seem to remember you telling me some…Stories.”

“She did!” Daniel quickly adds, jumping at this possible segue to redemption, “She was wild, Crazy bright red hair and piercings; she did the whole checklist of parental no-no’s”

Marianne rolls her eyes at him. “The big deal,” she says, “is that he lied for so long.” She smiles and puts her hand on Val’s knee, “plus he looks so funny wiggling around the way he does.”

Val laughs hard once and puts her hand on Marianne’s knee, “it does look funny,” she says, “I can see how that could be entertaining.”

Daniel, relieved at the humorous crack in Marianne’s façade, shrugs his shoulders and begins to space out. The young women’s conversation is interrupted by a matronly tenor voice asking them if they’re using one of their chairs. The young girls apparently are not, and there is a slight screech as the older woman moves the chair to another table. She greets a woman whom she calls “Bob.”

“So Lorie called me last night” the woman says, “I wasn’t there to answer it, but she left me a message.”

“Oh really? What did she say?”

“Would you like to hear it? It was very weird. I’m not sure what to make of it exactly. But, Bob, I tell you, if you thought I nearly lost it when she said she was going to travel across Europe working on Organic farms! This time, she says she wants to be a full time activist! What is that? I told her to get a job, that’s not a job. She’s just not realistic. She’s just young, she still thinks the world will change for her. Anyway, here’s the message, and then I’ll tell you what I did…”

Daniel’s concentration is broken by a sharp pain in his shin, “Oh, ow, what the hell?” he says, looking at his assailant.

“We’ve been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. Val wanted to know how the Campaign is going.”

“Oh, I don’t know…I just call people all day. I’m pretty low on the food chain. Some people seem enthusiastic though. I get a lot of people who like what she’s done for the city. Then again we get a lot of people who don’t even know who she is. It’s amazing how little people know about their local governments… It’s hard to get anyone to donate, which I understand because times are tough…”

“I just don’t know how you can work for that woman,” Val says, looking at Daniel in a way that makes him uncomfortable, “I mean you’re not stupid; she’s just another politician. She’s a crook who’d do anything and say anything as long as it got her what she wanted.”

“Well,” Daniel shrugs, “It’s not as bad as the alternative. Have you seen what that wacko says? Could you imagine if he were to win? Anyway, she’s not a bad role model for young girls: she’s always been one of the loudest voices in city hall, even if she’s not always on the ‘right’ side of the issues. The mayor isn’t all powerful anyway, so it wouldn’t matter if we had a mayor who was objectively right, they still have to make compromises with business leaders, city hall, all of them. Not to mention a good part of the population who’re still fighting the cold war… or crusading or something. Sometimes you can’t do what’s right, you have to do what’s practical. What’s popular.”

“You sound like an afterschool special,” Val laughs, “Where’s your spirit? You’re still in your twenties and you’re already settling. You’re supposed to be young and fight for your ideals. Where’s your dignity?”

“What good is dignity on an empty stomach? The world isn’t changing and I’ve got to make money. What would I do anyway? There’s no money in ideals.”

“What happened to seizing the day? Go out and do something, you got a degree Political Science, so science up some way to do some good! You have your whole life to settle. The world is a fucked up place—climate change, overpopulation, increasing wealth division, privatized prison industrial complex, global industrial exploitation—it’s being safe and settling that keeps it that way”

“What about you Val? What are you doing that makes you so special? You both are working at that charter school, what about going to one of our public schools?”

After their coffees, Daniel, Marianne and Val part ways. Marianne and Val peck each other on the cheeks lightly and Marianne promises to tell her how tonight goes. Daniel and Val exchange awkward waves from a distance.

“Why don’t you stick up for me?” Daniel asks Marianne once they’re back in the car, “I don’t even know why you insist I go to these stupid meetings. Val hates me. She’s one of those feminists that hate all men.”

“That’s a stereotype. And Val doesn’t hate you, that’s the way she talks. She actually said she’s starting to like you.”

“Took long enough,” Daniel says as Marianne starts the car, “don’t know what I have to do to get her approval. I was running out of ideas. She’s a tough crowd.”

Marianne laughs and drives them home. They spend the rest of the day watching documentaries in their pajamas. One about social movements in 1968 and the other about a man and his wife who are mauled and consumed by bears while filming them “in their natural habitat.” They decided the one where the couple gets eaten by bears was more hopeful; at least someone wasn’t compromising and being safe, whereas the sixties eventually turned into the eighties.

It is an exceptionally bright day, and even with the curtain closed the light from the window manages to make a glare on the T.V. Around one o’clock, Marianne gets her computer and begins grading some of her student’s work: private school students whose grammar is impeccable and who know how to use (and appreciate the irony of) words like “garrulous,” “pedantic,” and “didactic.” At five o’clock, they turn off the T.V. and begin to get dressed again. They take a shower, exchanging jokes about the recent campaign of a soap manufacturer. Then they take turns grooming themselves in the bathroom mirror.

“Are you happy?” Marianne asks Daniel as he zips up her dress.

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“Maybe we should go out and see the world. You know, I haven’t even been out of the country.”

“Yeah, neither have I. We’ll go eventually,” Daniel says.

“Why not now?”

“We need to work a little more, get established. You have to do things you don’t like before you get to do the stuff you like—you have to work before you play.”

“Yeah,” Marianne says absently.

It is close to seven before they are ready to leave. They hurry out the door and to their car. The sun is beginning to set and the sky above them is a gradation of reds and oranges.

“Do you think we’ll make it on time?” Marianne says, getting into the passenger seat and setting her coat on her lap.

“Sure,” Daniel says, not glancing at his watch, “if there isn’t traffic.”

The streets of the town are clear, and they both take that as a good sign. “Shouldn’t you get gas before we go all the way to the city Danny?” Marianne says. Daniel agrees and pulls into the nearest station a little too abruptly. A water bottle rattles out of the cup holder. “Careful Danny,” Marianne says in a half concerned voice, looking at her make-up in the rear view mirror.

Daniel parks near a pump and gets out of the car. Then he pauses for a moment, pats his coat and his back pockets and returns to the car. “Forgot my wallet. Which means I also forgot the tickets.”

Marianne looks at him, annoyed. “How could you have forgotten the tickets? I asked you before we left, ‘Danny, do you have the tickets?’ and what did you say?”

“Uhgk, you don’t have to make everything into a lesson. I’m not one of your kids Marianne, I’m a grown ass man.” Daniel turns up the radio and pulls back out into the street. A breeze blows a few leaves and a can around in the gutter, and as the car passes they spin around as if chasing one another.

Marianne runs up to the room and gets Daniel’s wallet. It’s in the pants he wore this morning, of course. She also finds his cellphone there and brings that down to him as well. Out of curiosity she decides to flip through some of his texts on the way out the door. She laughs when she sees that his conversations are just as boring as he makes them seem.

The freeway is slightly more congested than they thought. Sedans and trucks dart between large rumbling big-rigs with the painted labels of various department stores on their trailers. Daniel has to fight to get into the lane, speeding up and braking strategically, blinker on and horn blaring. A man with a backwards Raiders cap in a white pickup truck rolls down his window and gives Daniel the finger.

He has to cut off a white sports car, but he eventually gets into the lane he needs for the bridge and a half an hour later they are at the theater. Miraculously they find a spot in a small inexpensive lot only a few blocks away. They pay the attendant and run down the blocks as the street lights pop on. The man taking the tickets at the theater informs them that the play has just started so they can get to their seats still, if they are quiet.

The theater is one of their little treats. Going to see new plays used to be one of their favorite things to do. They frequented the little theaters in the town they went to college in; ones with small theater companies full of young, ambitions, fresh faced men and women. They would even stay after the show and talk to the actors, sorting out the intricacies of the play’s moral and existential implications. They knew every new production and every hip new author, director or actor. Now they barely had time to check the weekly paper for listings. They had also lost track of their old theater connections; many theaters went out of business and many companies split up, choosing to pursue more lucrative endeavors. The small theaters in Santone were long out of business, converted into restaurants or “title companies.” But Daniel and Marianne still went to see plays when they could, only these were larger, more advertised productions. Not as new, not as controversial, not as personal. Also more expensive: they could only afford to go every few months. But still, it made them feel good to go. It made them feel good to watch the actors live on stage, channeling the author’s work. So, although it wasn’t the same, it was enough—like fake meat or a nicotine patch—to satisfy them in the absence of the real thing.

The play was a production of Mother Courage. All the actors were well known and experienced on Broadway. They delivered their lines perfectly and gave off the impression that error was impossible. The title role was played by an actress in her thirties and her rags were cut so that, when she moved a certain way, her legs would be revealed to the audience—muscular, shapely, full dancer’s thighs. They were erotic and confusing. Their confusing eroticism filled the theater, dripped from the walls and glued all eyes to the stage. They were odd anachronisms, creating their own alternate reality: certainly the Thirty Years’ War was not a sexy war, yet here was sexiness transposed upon it. “Discombobulating,” the critics said of their experience. They had been discombobulated. “Not in a bad way,” they were quick to add, “just in a weird way, like watching a supermodel breastfeed for two hours.” Was Mother Courage supposed to be a sexy play? No one seemed to remember, but it was a vaguely positive review. Men spilled coffee on this sentence and bought tickets for their wives. Marianne wanted to see what they were doing to her beloved Brecht.

At intermission no one in the theater made eye contact. Audience members at the concession stand ordered candies and drinks in low mumbled voices and paid with fumbled sweaty bills. Daniel took out his cell phone and pretended to text a coworker about something important. Marianne, relieved at not having to make conversation, made for the restroom, navigating the awkward, overly apologetic mass.

After the play Daniel and Marianne decided to cancel their reservations for dinner. They walked silently to their car, pointing out things in the distance to avoid making eye contact. It was around ten o’clock now and it had gotten colder. When they got to the car, Daniel quickly turned on the engine to get the heater started. While they waited for the car to warm up, Marianne began to look at Daniel. “You were turned on by her,” she said to him.

“What?”

“You were totally turned on in there. I can see it on your face. You get this guilty look.”

“What? Well, she’s an actress. Did you see that costume?”

“You mean ‘did you see her legs?’ And yes, I saw them and I saw you staring at them.”

“This is unfair,” Daniel says, “they did that on purpose to get more people to come see the show. Sexy lead actresses equal more money. Yeah, I was looking at her legs, but that’s what they meant for me to do, I’m not a pig for that.”

“So you like legs? You’re a leg guy?”

“I don’t know, I like legs, sure, I guess…”

“You know who has nice legs,” Marianne says, “Val. Do you like Val’s legs?”

“No, I don’t like Val’s legs.”

“So you’ve seen her legs,” Marianne says, “You’ve been lookin’ at her legs?”

“What? No I didn’t say that,” Daniel says.

“Then you like her legs? You find them sexy? Did Nefartiti have good legs?”

“You’re crazy,” Daniel says, starting the car.

“Oh my god, I was just joking but you’re blushing! You’ve totally checked out her legs. Ew, she’s my best friend, Daniel.” Marianne hides her smile.

“I’m not getting into this conversation, this is a trap” Daniel says, turning up the radio.

“You like the way her ass looks in those yoga pants she wears all the time? Uhg, I knew it. I’m gonna have to tell her this.”

Daniel laughs as he pulls into the street. The remain silent through the city traffic. The bridge is stop and go the entire way, but the traffic lightens up the further out they get. Marianne gets her cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Daniel says. Looking suspiciously at her.

“I’m telling Val what you said,” Marianne replies.

“What? No! I didn’t say anything.” Daniel tries to grab the cellphone from her hands and the car jerks. A sedan speeds past them, honking its horn. They both laugh.

“Marianne, seriously, don’t tell her that. You don’t know what you’re talking about, its not funny.”

Traffic once again begins to slow, and Daniel has to take his attention away from Marianne temporarily to apply the brakes. He sighs.

“Why shouldn’t I tell her? She’s my best friend, she has a right to know that you’re ogling her ass.” Large big-rig trucks pass them slowly, their engines grumble and drone loudly.

“I do not ogle her ass, I’ve barely even seen her ass”

“Barely?” Marianne says. The traffic lightens. A large green sign says “Canfield Ave. 3.”Daniel checks his rearview mirror to make sure the lane is clear and then changes lanes. “That means you have seen the booty,” Marianne continues, “So you’re into her leggy sexy body. My, my.” Imitating a professional manner, she taps the screen more intently, not really typing anything but enjoying her own sense of humor. Daniel, convinced his wife is sabotaging him, attempts to grab the phone again. He pries at her arm. Cars thunder down the road past them. Another sign above them reads “Canfield Ave. 1 ½ .” Marianne curls in a ball to protect her phone. Daniel takes a last look at her, relieved that they will be home soon, and changes lanes.

The green sign before night sky vanishes. Daniel feels a horrible ripping sound shake the wind from his lungs, and he gasps but its covered by the wailing sound of failed Brakes and the screeching of rubber wasting on asphalt. Then the sounds unnaturally soften and the song they were listening to on the radio narrates the slow turn as the earth comes up to meet them. Daniel is thrown forward into the steering wheel, teeth jamming on sunbaked pleather. He feels a dull pulse like a muffled heart beating up from his jaw to his sinuses. He tries to reach for his mouth but he cannot pull his arms in, they flail uselessly. There’s a metallic taste in his mouth now, like when he had braces and he would press another piece of metal against the wires. His head lashes sideways against something shattered and he feels the cool air against something wet and warm dripping down his back. He sees the concrete in his windshield and feels himself pulled towards what used to be up. He looks to the right and sees a woman bouncing between her seat and the dashboard. It takes him a moment to recognize her as his wife. The back seat behind her is above her head now and her school books seem held in mid-air by invisible hands. It is as if he is watching the scene through someone else’s eyes; as if he were another person in some far off place. He closes his eyes.

Next to him he can hear Marianne gasping. She grips her shoulder as she drops out of her seat belt onto the roof of the car. Books also fall, and a water bottle hits her in the face before it is thrown from the car, out of sight. Then the car is stopped by something solid and definite. She feels her bone marrow shaking. She tries to hug herself to stop it but her left arm doesn’t move: it hangs, a painful twitching immobile appendage. Useless. But she is okay, she tells herself, she is alive. What is she doing in an overturned car, she shouldn’t be here, she must get out, this must be some mistake, this isn’t right here. She wants to go home. She kicks at her window trying to escape but a terrible pain travels up from her heel to her pelvis. She turns and looks at Daniel. The left half of his face is covered with blood and patterned with jagged cuts. Blood and spit burst from his mouth as he gasps for air.

“Daniel! Daniel” Marianne shakes him in his seat. He looks at her drowsily at first but slowly he begins to realize the situation. He struggles to unbuckle his seat belt and falls onto the roof. Painfully, he rights himself and knocks out the rest of the broken glass where his window used to be. He feels the jagged shards pierce his palms and his knees as he crawls out of the car. He turns around and stretches his hands out for Marianne. She grabs one. Her other arm hands limp, dragging next to her as she scrambles out.

They look at their car, crumpled and overturned , with a few of their possessions lying around it. Next to their car is a small two door off white coupe with its front end collapsed like an accordion. The driver, a young man, coughs large red globs onto a baby blue t-shirt. Next to him is a long haired figure, lain out on the destroyed hood. She doesn’t move. A bleeding forearm hangs off the side. Electric wires snap against the ground, and oil drips into a puddle under the car.

Daniel and Marianne look at the two people, unsure whether to help them or not—whether they are too far gone or not. Some people have gotten out of their cars. A few are holding up cell phones with small blue lights. A few unseen cars are honking their horns. A police car arrives with two officers. One lights flares and the other walks up to Daniel and Marianne. “Are you folks okay?” he says, offering them a blanket.

“Are they?” Marianne points to the other car.

“We’ll see when the ambulance gets here. Should be here shortly. You’re going to need to go along with them too. Looks like you got something pretty bad there,” the cop says, pointing at Marianne’s arm. She tries to move it. It twitches. A pain like a hot knife sears through her shoulder. She pats the rest of her body with her good hand. Everything else seems to be ok. She begins to feel anxious to get away, to run away, as if the more distance she puts between her and the wreck, the less real it would become and the better her arm would be. She could start a new life. Most of her was intact, her life was still ahead of her.

She looks at their stuff lying about the freeway lanes. Her books, papers, work-out clothes, the contents of her purse. She sees her wallet on the ground and limps over to pick it up. The intricate bead pattern has been completely destroyed. It suddenly seemed so silly: such an intricate design that can so easily be destroyed. What good could it possibly be? Useless, it was all useless. It was silly to make so much out of a destroyed wallet, she knew that, but once the idea crept into her mind, it was there to stay. Like a terrible infection, a terminal thought: “useless.”

Daniel looks at the cop and then back to the coupe. Everything appears as if it were behind a this silvery web: the moon, the stars, the headlights of the other cars and their reflection in the broken glass and shards of metal littering the freeway. Behind the car horns, he can hear a faint siren slowly getting louder. He feels the oozing fleshy mush where his front teeth used to be. There are hard sharp pieces of tooth still dangling from thin tender strings. He feels like playing with them more. As if, through some magic he could put them back together and thereby repair the situation. Like a drugged person trying to fight intoxication, he desperately wishes he were in control of himself once again; to know the whole story, to reach into the past, tear through time like the hand of god, and remake reality—make it okay once again. He starts to feel dizzy. Why had they wasted so much time?

“I’m all right,” he says, unsolicited. “I’m all right,” and then he vomits.