It Was Fine, I Guess: Chapter 2

Over and over, the poem repeats in the back of Thomas's head. Its subtle whispers are too quiet for Thomas to pin them down, but they echo on regardless.

I march on together;
Lightly do I pace ahead;
Race ahead do neither I nor he nor another;
I and he remain — maintain — the same pace, step by step,
Forever;
I say to you, I say to him — the subtle solemn fellow — Following from not far behind — I whisper Hello;
Hello, I say to him;
Hello, I say to you;
And through speaking saying so I cross one million oceans;
And ever does the subtle solemn fellow —
Following from not far behind — loom ahead,
Forever;
One million and one oceans;
One million and two oceans;
One million and two oceans and one half of one ocean;
And then I stand straight
And whisper
In the freezing rain;
To the subtle solemn fellow following from not far behind
I whisper Hello;
And in the freezing rain he whispers back.

The phone rings.
Thomas’s brain oozes fatigue. He takes a few seconds — momentarily unable to comprehend the chime coming from his bedside table — to turn his eyes away from the glowing light on the smoke detector. It flickers. Thomas knocks the shade off of a lamp which lands on the ground and rolls away. Finally, he gets his hand around his phone, presses talk, and holds it up against his ear.
“Hello?”
“Thomas? It’s your mother,” the high-pitched voice squealing out of the phone answers.
“Mom? What’s going on? What time is it?” Thomas grumbles.
“It’s noon, hon. Are you just getting up?” His mother asks with surprise.
“No, I’m up. I’m up,” Thomas says, lifting his feet out of bed and slapping them down on the floor. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just thought it would be nice to hear from my son for the first time in forever. What’re you, too famous to call once in a while?” She replies.
Thomas stands and shuffles into the bathroom, trying to decipher how serious his mother was being.
“I’m not famous, mom. I can assure you of that.”
“Of course you are!” She argues. “Why, I saw your movie on channel three just last night.”
“Believe it or not, that movie is on all the time on every channel. Either way, it’s not my movie. It’s Vincent’s,” Thomas explains as he splashes cold water onto his face. Those bags under his eyes are enormous. Thomas tells himself that he needs more sleep.
“Well, potato tomato! You’re the one who wrote the movie. You know your father and I are proud of you,” His mother continues. “Who got that Kid’s Choice Award nomination, you, or Vincent?”
“Vincent did. I won the Bellwether Prize. Completely different. Books can’t win Kid’s Choice Awards,” Thomas explains as he walks down the stairs to the kitchen. He looks through the cabinets for cereal, but doesn’t find any. “Besides, mom, I think the political commentary would’ve gone over the kids’ heads anyway.”
“But what about the part where the werewolves learn the power of friendship? Kids today just don’t get that.”
“That was something Vincent added. The book didn’t have any werewolves. Did you even read it?” Thomas asks defensively.
“Of course I did, honey. I guess my memory’s just not what it used to be,” his mother laughs. “How is Vincent, by the way? What’s he been up to?”
Thomas bites his lip in frustration.
“He’s been good,” Thomas lies, pretending someone consistently informed him of his childhood friend’s whereabouts and actions. “Busy, though. I guess, when you’re the God-King of your own country, you don’t get much spare time to see your friends.”
“No, I suppose not,” Thomas’s mother replies. “He must be extra busy, with the Oscars coming up next week. Do you know how many categories It Was Okay, I Guess got nominated for this year?”
“It Was Fine, I Guess.”
“What did you say, honey? I missed that.”
“All of them. Unopposed. Just like every year,” Thomas grunts in reply as he sits down in a bulging brown armchair.
“Well, I sure hope he wins. He works real hard,” Thomas’s mother says. “That reminds me — Earl from down the road says he has an opening at the store if you want it. He says all the other boys in town got drafted to the secret police, so he needs someone to work the register.”
“Well, you can tell Earl that that’s okay. I’m a writer. Not a cashier,” Thomas grumbles.
“Are you sure? Earl says he can cover health benefits and all that,” his mother adds.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Alright, whatever you say,” she replies. There’s a pause as the sound of footsteps and muffled dialogue murmur through the receiver. “Hon, I’m gonna have to let you go. Your father and I are going to go look at paint colors. We’re repainting the upstairs bathroom.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later.”
“Love you.”
“Bye.”
Thomas’s phone releases a click and displays a ‘call ended’ message. Thomas stands up and puts his phone down on the kitchen table. Walking back into the other room, he opens the cabinet under the television, removes the remote, and closes the cabinet. The door slowly swings back open. Thomas tries to close the cabinet again. The door swings back open again. Thomas grumbles to himself and walks away, sitting back down on the bloated armchair. He presses a button and the screen flickers to life.
“What do I do? I love him, but he doesn’t even know I exist!” an attractive girl on the screen cries.
“There’s no time for that now!” A fur covered man exclaims in a gruff, monotonous voice. “The core processor’s CBQ function has been translated into a level four quantum file!”
“Umm, in English, please?” The girl requests, giving the audience a quirky smile.
Thomas frowns and grits his teeth.