The Way Things Work Out

The Way Things Work Out









The withered man took another draw of his haggard cigarette and then stubbed it out amongst the ranks of other butts in the pot of a long-dead ficus. It now seemed there was more cigarette remains in there than soil. He spluttered out a deathly cough onto his hands. He had not applied filters to his roll-ups for some time now, and as a result his fingers were a ghastly deep brown, as were his lungs.

In the man’s run-down kitchen, he opened the fridge and gazed at the meagre contents: condiments, mostly, and some off meat that had been in there for some time. He would have thrown it in the bin, but he never emptied that either. He could hardly see the damn thing; rubbish pretty much covered the whole structure, a mountain of wrappers and decaying food. A squirt of ketchup in his mouth, that would do for now. He would get some chips or a burger on his way to work. Jeez did he miss his mum’s home cooked meals. Or was it simply proper food he missed? He never wasted any time thinking about it; he never wasted any time thinking about anything actually.

God, work. He hated work, was repulsed by it. And yet, he had no choice but to go. He hated society and, more so, he hated people. He hated dealing with them on a day-to-day basis. He hated the world’s lack of sympathy, and God’s lack of care. He might have not known about a lot of things, thus leaving him in the position he was in now, but he knew for sure that for some reason God hated him.

The man shook away his thoughts. He left his house through his overgrown and browned garden, and headed for the bus stop.

*

It wasn’t so much as the rides that little Michelle had begged her mother to come to Disneyland for, more the chance to meet Mickey Mouse. For as long as she could remember, there was nothing she loved more to do than to immerse herself in the world of her favourite cartoon character. She revelled in his adventures and took joy whenever each episode ended and everything worked out just fine. This rarely happened in the real world, but when it did it was great. And now that her mother had finally taken her to Disneyland on a well-deserved break after the divorce, her dream of meeting her hero was just around the lip.

Disneyland was enormous, a magical place where everything was like the way it was in her television; there were happy faces and laughing children everywhere. It was as though all sadness and traces of negativity were sapped from the place upon entry, like there was a sort of force field around the place keeping happiness in.

Ever since that run in with the junkie, where the horribly gaunt man had threatened her mother Wendy with a knife and told her to hand over her purse, Michelle had neglected the outside world, especially places where there weren’t many people. Well, that wasn’t a problem here. There must have been a million billion people in this park alone. When it came to any other time though, Michelle kept indoors with her mother, bathing in the warmth of the television. When Wendy finally caught on to just how much her daughter was in love with fictional worlds rather than the real one, she made sure the little girl awoke with her own television set and a videotape player that following birthday.

Wendy had begun to cheer up as of late. Her eye bags were fading, and she had started wearing make-up again. It seemed to the young girl that her father had been a disease of some kind, eroding her mother with every second he spent with her. Their breakup had been the long sought-after cure. Michelle hadn’t missed his drunken roaring, the smashing of furniture and the sobbing of her mother - that was for sure. Even at the tender age of seven, Michelle knew that her father was nothing more than a monster, just like the ones that were always eating people on those late-night films that she wasn’t supposed to watch. After witnessing him being hauled away from the police, the little girl had felt a tinge of happiness and relief even though she knew she had just joined the ranks of girls that were without a father; her mother had been ecstatic.

So, I’ll take it you’ll be wanting to see Mickey first? Wendy had rhetorically asked her daughter from behind huge-framed sunglasses. The little girl had nodded vigorously in response and thrown herself into her mother’s arms. That a yes then?

And so began the hunt. They cut through the crowd hand-in-hand, just like they had done with everything ever since their father had been locked up. They were a team now, and always would be. Their hands intertwined into a knot that only death could undo.

The sunlight spilled across the endless terrain of happy faces. It really was like the world of the television where everything was perfect and everything always ended up the way they were supposed to. But if that was so, then where was Mickey? They had been searching for ten minutes now, past the gigantic rollercoasters and the waterslides that rung with screams of terror. Michelle never realised before, but everyone seemed to be crying out on those rides. It was a little frightening actually. She gripped tighter to her mother’s hand.

Wendy, like her daughter, had also noticed how happy everyone around her seemed to be. Could this be a product of her own new-found mentality? Would everyone appear so warm to her had she still been with her husband? She doubted it very much. She recalled the days before he had been locked up for his countless crimes, and she remembered how dark and morose everything had been then. She was glad that time was gone.

Goofy, Daffy, Pluto, Cinderella, Aladdin, Hercules and Esmeralda were there. She even spotted that scary one from The Little Mermaid, the talking candlestick from Beauty and the Beast, and some of the seven dwarfs. All parading around, signing autographs and cuddling children – but no Mickey. Michelle was mortified at the absence of her hero, but she was a strong girl. Her mother knew this, was proud that her daughter had such a superior mentality than her own. She had to be, growing up in the environment that she did. Michelle looked on determinedly. She would hunt on. Surely Disneyland could not omit their biggest trademark from the ranks of the mascots. That would be preposterous!

But look! There was Minnie! The female mouse twirled and pirouetted for a smiling family up ahead. And if there was Minnie, then Mickey must be nearby. Michelle felt her heart go, felt everything go. She rushed ahead of her mother, dragging her forward with superglue fingers. She marched right up the female mouse. Have you seen Mickey? Michelle asked. Wendy laughed at her daughter’s brazenness. The mouse put her hands to her oversized mouth in a camp gesture that said Hmm, then suddenly Ahh! It pointed to the West, and Michelle was off again with her still-laughing mother in tow.
Right under the great big castle and past countless souvenir shops sped Michelle. Tourists watched her as she flew, their faces enlightened, and it was all very much like the promotional video she had watched where everything was fantastic and happy and wonderful. But still, no Mickey. Michelle stopped for a moment at an intersection, her mother panting behind her. She scoped the area, her eyebrows knitted in determination. Where was he?

Then, all of a sudden, there he was, exactly as Wendy had pictured him: the great big ears, the ever-smiling face. The eyes looked a little crazy, but hey, Michelle never noticed. There he was in his eternal happiness. Everything was right the way it should have been. Wendy smiled and watched as her daughter erupted into disbelief and ecstasy. MICKEY! Michelle cried, throwing herself at him, finally releasing her mother’s fingers. The big mouse turned to her and opened his arms and suddenly she had wrapped herself around him and was laughing and smiling and everything was alright.

It was happening! It was finally happening! She had seen her hero with her very own eyes, and now she was touching him! Here he was, Mickey Mouse! In the flesh! Oh, Michelle could have died. She squeezed tight, and he squeezed back with soft arms.

*

Who’s this little bit of crumpet? he thought. I’m having second thoughts about going for my fag break now, looks like I’m getting some action here. The child was squeezing tight. Must be a real Mickey Mouse fan, he though. He felt his penis growing hard. Luckily for him, the suit was far too thick for anyone to notice. Christ, in this thing there was nothing to do about it. He contemplated going off to take care of his erection.
It had been years since he had last been with a woman, and even then he had only ever slept with three, all of them one night stands. What a pathetic tally; he had never been considered good-looking by anyone in his life, and the girls he had slept with were as drunk as him at the time. Each of them had pulled the same look of disgust when they had awoken with their hangovers, even though none of them were exactly attractive themselves. Pigs, actually. But beggars can’t be choosers.

Mickey Mouse couldn’t take it anymore. The man under his skin was sweating more than usual, and his erection was drawing his attention. He needed to take care of it. The little girl let go of him and he breathed a sigh of relief. She gazed up at him with puppy-dog eyes, holding out an autograph booklet. He met her eyes, met the pristine innocence, so-far untouched by the poisons of society, and was reminded of his own childhood. For a moment, he was swamped with a longing for the past, a longing to be as pure and fresh as the little girl who stood before him, a longing for his own mother.

What am I doing? he asked himself. What the hell is wrong with me? He felt his erection sagging. He gazed through the mask’s mesh into the little girl’s eyes and his heart broke for her. Look at her, he thought. That poor little girl. She’s here to see her hero and she has no idea how inept his mind is. She has no idea what’s going under Mickey’s skin. He reached forward and signed the book. And she has no idea how horrific a world is waiting for her. With a great mitted hand, he rubbed the girl’s head and waved her goodbye. The little girl looked as though she were in heaven. She had no idea how much Mickey Mouse was hurting under his foamed skin. He turned from her once she was out of sight, once she had finished her twenty-odd backward glances to confirm that what just happened was real, and then he made his way to the changing room.

Now out of the public eye, he removed the head from his costume and hurled it at the wall. He fell against a locker and slid down, holding his face with his blackened fingers. He couldn’t help thinking that this wouldn’t have happened had his mother still been alive. A sting of remorse went off in his heart at the thought of her. A desolate wail sounded from his throat as he began to weep.

*

I can’t believe we met Mickey Mouse! Michelle cried as they left the amusement park later that day, Mother and daughter locked at the hand once again. Michelle had made her mother buy that autograph book for a ludicrous eight dollars, and only one signature sprawled across a single page: Mickey’s. Wendy looked at her daughter’s excited face and smiled. Behind her large sunglasses, tears filled up in her eyes and threatened to spill. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so excited, Michelle, she said. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen you. The little girl beamed. Can we come back tomorrow, mummy? She asked. Wendy smiled. Sure, honey. We’ve got two whole weeks. We can come back as many times as you want.

Michelle opened the autograph book, pleased with her bounty. She decided she would hold onto it forever. She flipped to the right page. With a tiny finger, she followed the path of the jagged signature. She came to a stop on the little message underneath.

What does this mean, mommy? She said, holding out the booklet for her to see. It had been the only time all day she had offered a glance at her prize to anyone other than herself. Her mother read over it. Hmm, she said. ‘Good luck?’ I have no idea, honey. What a strange thing to write.

She shrugged and took her daughter’s hand again. Come on sweetie, she said. We’ll find somewhere nice to eat.












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