Over the Shoulder

Over the Shoulder

The sun began to lie down, and so did model 000001827. He is one of the first of his kind, and his time has come to be put out of commission. His parts will be harvested and sold to pay for his credit. This is the new cycle of life. 000001827 knew what was to come of him, and he lay silent and calm. The room was covered in blankness, while the only light shone on his torso. The shadows that cover him forced the light to pierce your eyes. I only needed to look at him and he could feel my pain.  I leaned down and told him, “I love you, thank you for your service.”  His old body began to tremble with nerves as the doctor prepared the barbiturate. He began to writhe as if the needle and its poison had been administered.  The tortured cries from a crippled mind soon filled the room. I gave the doctor my permission to continue and soon the only life in the room was that of the nurses flittering around 000001827’s sweat-soaked, lifeless body. They were working quickly to take any vital organ that might still be of use.

         I nearly threw up on my way to the door. There was a day when 000001827 beamed with innocence. He was somebody’s child once, long before the company, that is. We turned him right around and flipped the switch to on. We constantly bombarded him with advertisements and always gave him the opportunity to buy whatever he wanted. It was beautiful, like Pavlov’s dog every time we turned on the T.V. he couldn’t help but feel the need to purchase.  The

                                                                                                                       possibilities were endless, and the outcome meant taking a nation out from under a desolate and poor future. He became a purchasing machine. We had to make deals in order to pay for his purchases. At the time we were so encompassed with the possibility of invigorating a nation’s economy, that it didn’t matter the cost. We received credit from the major credit card companies with the guarantee of paying it back, of course. The more purchases that were made by a unit, the more credit they are able to receive. Organs are always at a premium, and it was the only guarantee we had to pay the debt. This was all figured out before we had the sophisticated machines we can rely on now.  Selling scrap metal may not be as profitable but, it is a lot easier to decommission a model. Many boys were taken from adoption agencies in the mid 1960’s, but this was in order to maintain the level of purchases we needed. If I had known it might turn into this, I would never have gotten so involved in the process. 000001827 was one of these orphans, his brother 000001000 is the last of them. He has become to be known as One. By this point my body could no longer control itself, and I was spewing my own guts on the floor. 

         One was a special boy from the very beginning, a very quick learner and always eager to begin experimentation. We adopted him when he was about five years old. I spent many days with him myself, when the company was younger than him. I would start by connecting jingles with ownership of a product. Eventually he was surrounded by every type of media, all of which completely flooded him with sugar, toys, and games. When he would come and ask me for a product he had seen, I would give him one similar and then find the ad of the product he really wanted and make sure to put that ad in his face over and over again. Finally, I would give him the product so he could feel that satisfaction of getting something he felt he needed in the worst way. I always made sure that One never had the need for money; however I didn’t just give him

                                                                                                                       everything he ever wished for, but to give One the freedom from monetary constraints let him feel that he could purchase whenever he felt. I once wondered what it might be like to have that feeling. There were no torture techniques as some would have you believe. Children are often easily manipulated, especially when it comes to formulating their feelings of wanting. One was no different and today he out-performs the machines. I have grown very close to him and love him as my own. He is my own project, not a life that I have created with my own essence, but a mind that I have formed. Since we picked him at the age we did he already knew what his situation was.  He did feel the need to ask when he was about thirteen years old. He asked me, “Where are my real parents? Will I ever see them again?” I could tell that he already knew the answer to his questions, it still broke my heart. I didn’t think of it at the time, but shortly after that he asked me for some expensive product. He was learning to manipulate me. He knows only of emotional attachment to products not to people. One sits in his room now listening, waiting for his next purchase. One builds his credit and earns his company profit. He is perfectly brilliant and soon his time will come.

         It occurred in only a couple of days after 000001827’s decommission. The moonlight struck the tan car and the edges reflected bright chrome. The car door held itself open and the dome light remained unlit. I told One to get in with me and said, “I’ll make sure your safe.” He didn’t hesitate and his tall, lean frame panned gently into the passenger seat. We drove for a while until I finally said, “Do you ever wonder what it might be like,” my voice started to tremble at the thought, “to live outside the company?”



                                                                                                                       “Now why would I do that?” He replied with a somewhat sarcastic and sinister look on his face. I didn’t know how he would take it, and I knew how much trouble I could be in to even mention it. So I suggested, “You know, you could spend the rest of your life, you know, free.”

“Free from what?” He said. There was a long moment before another word was spoken. I felt the words last said resonating in the air. They were hanging there so thick if I reached up I might have been able to pull them down.  “What would I do?” Finally he forced it out, and then said, “Where would I go? What would I do?”

I really hadn’t thought of it much further. In fact I was just driving with no place in mind. I turned the car around, quickly, this time with a definite direction. He was right; he has no job skills, no knowledge of how the world really works. The boy barely gets to interact with a normal human being. He couldn’t function, he couldn’t survive. I would be killing him myself if I let him out into the world. He has a brighter future living in that hole at the company. I quickly brought him back as if nothing ever happened. I told him, “You’re happy here.” He looked at me with wonder, as if to say why wouldn’t I be. “This is where you belong and the only place you should be.” I patted him on the shoulder and held back the tears that threatened to rush my eyes. He walked into his room to end the night.

         I didn’t leave him right away. I watched him through the window on his door. He wrapped himself in his media, his headphones were on while browsing the internet, and of course the T.V. was on for background noise. Everything was streaming right through him. At that moment I knew what I had to do. In my office I had all the files of the men, or models as they want us to call them. Included were photos of their decommission exercise as well as their

                                                                                                             

credits earned. I had to send these out to the appropriate media outlets, the company had to be exposed. It took a few hours to gather all the useful information, and just a few seconds to send it all out. I made sure to send it to local and national media, as well as government agencies. It didn’t take too long for me to realize what I had done. I picked myself up as fast as I could and raced for my house. The sense of urgency had hit me as if I was a young man who had just had his way with a woman and needed only one thing; to find the door. In the moment I didn’t think to say goodbye to One, or thank him for helping me to see the wrong doings I had made in my years with the agency. At the time I couldn’t think of what might happen to him if the agency were to crumble, but I knew it was for the best. I arrived at my house and the panic had not left me. When I opened the door I should’ve known, they already sent somebody out for me. I was being wrestled to the ground, bound and drug out the door.

         I lie here now in a familiar looking position. I had been on the vertical side so often I never realized how fortunate of a feeling it was. I lie here as not a man, but a model. I lie here with not a name, but a number.