Fiction 09.07.06
THE SHIP
794 words by Stanley Lieber
I'm watching the waves do weird things, dancing around the stuck pixel in my visor. It's making me a little nauseous. Piotr's abovedecks with the boss, Plinth Mold. I really, really, really didn't want him to come along on this outing, but Captain Plinth insisted. I can't say no to him; literally. In spite of the rumors of impending cutbacks, I need to hold onto this job as long as possible. There are debts to consider. And hey, it's his boat. But truthfully, I hate Piotr. He's my best friend, sure, but things are complicated. He makes me be the bottom. Plus his hair is longer than mine. These are only two of my reasons for hating him. Staring out of my porthole is not working. I'm going to blow groceries, so I'm getting out of here. I don't want cut loose on my sheets. I'm up top again, leaning over the railing. Piotr thinks this is all pretty funny. Plinth, if he notices, ignores the subtle best friend tension between Piotr and myself and yucks it up as well. I'm peering into his face, trying to line up the dead pixel in my visor with his one good eye. It centers me momentarily and I stop vomiting long enough to strike up a conversation. "Plinth, I need a raise." "I just want you to know that my having to fire Piotr isn't going to reflect badly on you." I am transfixed. Somehow I keep from letting go on Plinth's shoes. "You know, because you recommended him to the company." After a period of stasis the sky is vibrating normally again and so I'm going back to leaning over the railing. If you need me, you know where I'm at. Plinth keeps on talking. "Let's not tell him until we cross the Equator, eh?" Wiping my mouth. "He's not really my brother, you know." Going back over several years now, Piotr and I have been telling people we are brothers. Twin brothers, even. Somewhat surprisingly, seeing as how we look nothing alike, no one has ever expressed the slightest incredulity about our claim to blood kinship. I guess I have to admit I would be surprised if anyone at this company had paid that close attention to anything that came out of my mouth. But it goes beyond mere inattention. Never, no matter the ludicrous scenario Piotr and I may have just posited, has anyone, at any time, ever challenged what we were on about. Even when we deliberately craft preposterous stories. Even when it's clear we almost certainly must be lying. I have no explanation for it, though I do admit to taking advantage of the effect from time to time. We are a titanium tagteam of untruth. It's sickening. Anyway, by now I am determined to break the illusion. Piotr, my love. I hate him. "Boss, I have a confession. I've been lying to you, all these years." "In your way. Of course I know you are not a blood relation of Piotr's. Though I doubt anyone else here at the company suspects. You see, he is my son." I lean back over the edge, then straighten myself, then back over the edge, ad nauseam (ha ha). An inverted pendulum. The IV comes out of my arm and then premium grade Green is washing onto the deck. It is beautiful chaos. "No way, boss." "Oh, yes way, Thomas." "That's ridiculous. That's disgusting. How could this happen." It is a great storm that frightens the fish and blows up the skirt of our boat. It causes a great deal of entertaining interference in my visor. I am tracing lines between the raindrops with the messed up pixel and again it is making me quite ill. However, my stomach has almost caught up to the unstable gravity of the ship, and I feel that if only I can keep up with the raindrops, I may stave off vomiting indefinitely. In the meantime, the IV has been replaced to my arm. Plinth stands watch over the bridge. I can feel Piotr enter the room even though he is exercising his professional skill; he is so vain he even has to lie to me with his movements. "He's firing you, idiot." "I love you, Thomas." The ball is in play. I hate Piotr. "Of course you do, we're brothers, right?" "He's giving me the ship." This is just too much for me. I have to send more of my insides overboard. "You know he's my father, then," Piotr says. "Oh, fuck you." I barely get this out before losing it all over my bed. Piotr looks sympathetic but then gets a little testy. "Hey, don't make a mess of my boat." Then I follow my own advice. |
creative.commons.attribution-noncommercial-noderivs.2.5
