Novels by C. Leigh Purtill Love, Meg All About Vee I Brake for Whales By C. Leigh Purtill Copyright © 2009 C. Leigh Purtill www.LeighPurtill.com C. Leigh Purtill The kid who showed up to buy the Corolla couldn’t have been more than a toddler when the car rolled off the assembly line twelve years ago, Mark realized. He had been the tenth person to call about the Craigslist ad, the one in which Mark requested an ecologicallyresponsible buyer. Every one of the first nine asked about the color of the interior or the state of the stereo system but this kid wanted to know about mileage. Bingo! We have a winner! Mark felt so good about selling it to the boy that he offered to throw in a free tire pressure gauge. But then the kid showed up and Mark started to get cold feet. The Corolla was still a terrific car, easy to parallel park in downtown LA, cheap to fill up and repair. Heck, Mark could probably get another hundred thousand miles out of it if he continued to take care of it like he had been. He almost turned the kid away. Almost. Until he remembered the email he had gotten from Terrence three weeks ago, the one in which Terrence admonished all of the club’s members to purchase hybrid cars. world would never change if they didn’t. He was leading by example, he reminded them, and they needed to do the same. This 1 I Brake for Whales And in a separate email, he had gotten a virtual thrashing from Terrence personally. Mark was the club’s Vice President, for god’s sake! He had to reduce his carbon footprint or else no one would take him - and the club - seriously! There had been lots of exclamation points in Terrence’s email. Mark knew Terrence was right. The time had come. He ordered a Prius. “Thanks, dude, this is awesome,” the kid told Mark as they exchanged keys for cash. “I am like, totally psyched.” “Your first car?” The kid nodded. Mark sighed, smiling. “My first car was a 1973 Chevy station wagon.” “What’s a station wagon? Ah, youth. Mark waved as the kid very cautiously backed the Corolla out of Mark’s driveway. The end of an era, he thought, and while Mark was sad to see the car go, at least it had a happy new owner. Onward and upward. Mark glanced at his watch: his Prius should be ready in about forty-five minutes, which gave him just enough time to hop on the bus and catch a ride out to the Toyota dealership. Yes, he was taking the bus. How much less of a carbon imprint could he be making with that maneuver? Eh, Terrence? 2 C. Leigh Purtill Mark made a mental note to include that in his next email to the club’s president. Terrence would have to be impressed with that. “Mr. Reynolds, welcome,” the Toyota salesman named Carl greeted Mark. “Your Prius will be out soon. Can I get you some coffee? A doughnut? They’re Krispy Kremes!” Ooh, doughnuts! Mark loved Krispy Kremes - and it showed. The extra weight he was carrying around his middle was pretty much all attributable to his love of fried dough. Grace claimed not to mind and in fact, she was often his enabler, bringing him homemade pies and cakes whenever she came for a visit. He could never turn her down. But Terrence claimed obesity was another notch in the belt of global warming. Gluttons, he said, consumed more of earth’s resources than they needed, thus contributing to the depletion of the ozone. Or something like that. Mark wasn’t exactly sure what Terrence had been trying to say in that missive. He had mostly been concerned with the terms “obesity” and “glutton” and worried that his sugar habit was damaging the environment. The phone on Carl’s desk buzzed. He swept the receiver up in one deft move. “Yello, you got Carl…” Carl was one of those airbrushed salesmen, Mark thought, the sort who shopped at Whole Foods because he thought it chic and didn’t care if his coffee beans were grown on organic farms by fair trade roasters. 3 I Brake for Whales In a former life, Mark had been a Carl, although he had to admit he had never had Carl’s magnificent head of hair. But that was before Mark discovered the internet and Eco-Wagon. His whole life turned around then - he had finally found purpose in it. “Great, Sammy, great. Bring it around to the front.” Carl dropped the phone back down onto the cradle and grinned at Mark. “Your Prius is ready, Mr. Reynolds.” He pronounced the name of the car like it was a visiting dignitary. The Prius has arrived, Mister President… Mark expected a blare of trumpets and a ticker tape parade. Instead, a four door Champagne-colored sedan rolled up to the plate glass window. Silent, stealthy, saving energy. Mark slipped behind the steering wheel and immediately felt more at one with the environment than he ever had. Carl bowed to him as he handed over the extra set of keys. “Welcome to the world of hybrid ownership,” he said, like Mark had just joined an elite club. Mark was already a member of an elite club, he reminded 4 C. Leigh Purtill himself. The Prius was merely a car. “Thanks, Carl,” he said and waved as he rolled the new car off the lot. Mark felt like he was sixteen again with his first car. He wondered if he would get lucky in it as he had with the Chevy. He laughed, remembering that glorious night. What would Terrence think about that? The owner’s manual for the new Toyota came in a leatherette carrying case. There had been a real leather option but Mark was afraid the animal products used would offset the value of the car’s carbon reduction. How could he, as Vice President of Eco-Wagon, advocate the use of real leather in an environmentally friendly automobile? Mark thumbed through the pages of the manual, acquainting himself with his car’s finer points. The car’s dashboard was set up like nothing he’d ever seen before. Rather than analog dials for the engine’s speed and RPM, there were digital readouts. The oil and temperature gauges were not visual images but little green dots. The whole thing was fascinating to Mark, whose computer skills were limited to email and Google. By the time he had to leave to pick up Grace at her condo in Sherman Oaks, Mark had, like a sponge, soaked up all the important information he needed to know about his new car. He 5 I Brake for Whales was eager to show it off. “Oh, it’s so pretty!” Grace exclaimed. She traced a hand along the car’s roof and Mark had to restrain an instinct to follow behind with a chamois. “I love the color,” she said. “Look how it shines.” That was just like a woman, Mark thought with a chuckle, focusing on the looks and not the mechanics. “It gets fifty miles to the gallon,” he said. “Fifty!” Grace’s blue eyes widened; she appraised the car anew. “Gosh, Mark, really?” “Well, Terrence gets fifty. He says.” “Will you?” “Sure hope so,” he groused. “I didn’t spend all that money to get less than my Corolla.” “I think it was a good choice. I like it.” Grace tucked her arm under his elbow; her full bosom and soft belly against his side felt warm and comforting. She was wearing a flowery skirt and blouse, one Mark remembered complimenting a few weeks ago, and her hair was swept up into a loose bun at the back of her neck. Mark grinned. “Ready for a ride?” Their favorite restaurant was an Italian place called Gianni’s on Ventura Boulevard that split entrees without charging a fee and allowed them to take home the leftover breadsticks. As they quietly cruised down Tujunga, Mark pointed out the lights on the dashboard. 6 C. Leigh Purtill “See that? That’s how much energy I’m consuming.” “Is that your miles per gallon?” Grace asked. “That number there?” Mark squinted at the dash and frowned. “Yes.” Thirty-six? That couldn’t be right. Terrence got fifty. “Maybe it needs to be broken in,” Grace suggested. “You know how new cars are.” “I suppose,” Mark said absently. He was trying to recall the page in the manual that covered mileage. So many factors affected it, he remembered: lights, air conditioning, outside temperature, stereo, GPS, weight, speed, and so on. He wondered what Terrence was doing to get such great numbers. He would have to email him. “Mr. Reynolds! Twice in one week!” Gianni’s owner greeted Mark and Grace with a hug and a kiss. Mark exchanged a secret smile with Grace. It was true they had been spending more time with each other these days and Mark had been seriously considering popping the question. Grace, he believed, was the perfect woman: she was a wonderful cook, kept a clean house, and had a knack for saying just the right thing when Mark needed a pick-me-up. Very soon, he thought, he would ask Grace to share his resources. “Spaghetti alla carbonara tonight?” Grace asked. She didn’t even open the menu; she knew exactly what they liked. “Okay, but let’s get an appetizer too.” 7 I Brake for Whales “Oh!” Now Grace opened her menu and began scanning the list. “I can’t remember the last time we got an appetizer.” “We’re celebrating, right?” Mark said. Grace’s smile quivered. “We are?” “Well, sure. My new car.” “Oh yes, yes, of course.” Grace’s hand fluttered in front of her face. “Should we get some wine then? A couple of glasses of the house red?” Mark didn’t like the idea of driving after drinking but one glass certainly couldn’t hurt. They were celebrating. He smiled. “Perfect.” Their eyes turned out to be bigger than their stomachs. In addition to the breadsticks, they had leftover calamari and spaghetti. Mark let Grace take it home with her; she knew how to prepare it properly, whereas he would probably eat it cold and straight from the Styrofoam carton while standing in front of the sink. Eco-Wagon frowned on Styrofoam containers but Mark had little choice sometimes. He tried to remember to bring his own Tupperware to restaurants but he usually forgot. It was so He cumbersome! He liked to think the imprint was offset by his use of cloth sacks at Trader Joe’s and the Santa Monica co-op. wondered if Terrence would agree. Mark and Grace spent about twenty minutes quietly making out in the Prius outside Grace’s condo complex. Sunday nights 8 C. Leigh Purtill were tough ones to get lucky with Grace. She had a pre-Monday routine which involved ironing her nurse’s uniforms for the week and preparing her lunches. A few kisses and some light petting were about as far as Grace would let him go on Sundays. Mark patted the steering wheel of the Prius after Grace said her final good night and took her leftovers. “Another night, my new friend.” As he drove Sepulveda on his way to the 405 freeway, Mark noticed the mileage on the Prius jump to forty miles per gallon. “Well, what do you know about that?” he asked the car, pleasantly surprised. But then, after only a mile or two on the freeway, the mileage dropped again - to thirty-four. Mark scowled and tapped the LED lights on the dash. “What the hell...that’s not fair. You were just at forty.” He knew hybrids conserved energy during short hops but this was crazy. And where were little gold diamonds were in his energy consumption field? There seemed to be more of them as the mileage rose. Mark ran to his computer as soon as he got in the door and dashed off an email to Terrence: Eco Friend, the new Prius is here! Mileage has varied from 34 (freeway) to 40 (city). What say you about the gold diamonds? Mark settled into his bed with a hot cup of Chai tea and a bag of dark chocolate Milanos and opened the Prius manual. He found his answer on page 45: the bright yellow diamonds signified the amount of energy the car was saving. They were sort of like gold 9 I Brake for Whales stars for the driver, little rewards for good behavior: the more gold diamonds in the field, the better the driver was doing. Aha! Mark thought. He popped an entire Milano into his mouth and enjoyed the satisfying crunch of cookie and sweet cream against his tongue. He would allow himself two of the Pepperidge Farm delights tonight, safe in the knowledge that Terrence could not observe him. Mark had often speculated about Terrence’s location and now he thought he had an inkling: surely Terrence lived in a town where he would not need to drive on a freeway, where it would be possible for him to get fifty miles to the gallon. Mark smiled and felt a trill of gooseflesh on his arms. Terrence lived in the suburbs. If nothing else, he had that figured out. As sure as the sun rose in the eastern window of Mark’s two bedroom apartment, the next morning’s email brought a response from Eco-Wagon’s president. But Mark thought he detected a disdainful tone in Terrence’s brief letter: Mark, my Eco Friend, you should have gotten this information within minutes of receiving your new car. Didn’t you read past page 45 of the manual? The old Mark, the Mark who hadn’t yet discovered EcoWagon and his new purpose in life, would have immediately clicked reply and sent back an equally snotty email (Yeah, I did, dickweed, 10 C. Leigh Purtill thanks for your shitty input) but not this Mark, not Eco-Wagon’s vice president of eight months. He no longer had any desire to attack anyone in a self-righteous manner, least of all Terrence. Why would he? Terrence and Eco-Wagon had brought him to a new level in his life, a level where he wanted only to make the world a better place. And as Terrence often noted, the best way to do that was to set an example. Instead, Mark constructed a thoughtful reply: Thanks, Eco Friend. I’m endeavoring to increase my mileage and look forward to benefiting from your vast experience. He even signed it, FOE, for Friend of the Environment, a term Terrence reserved for people who sacrificed for Mother Earth. He wanted Terrence to know he was sacrificing. Mark took his thermal coffee mug to the Prius and stared at the dashboard. When he turned the key in the ignition, it sparkled like a Christmas tree, the LED lights green and gold and twinkling. He was fascinated by the gold diamonds which appeared when the car was conserving energy. How could he get more? How many did Terrence have? He remembered the manual’s advice to stick to the surface streets rather than freeways and so he bypassed the 10 and wound his way through Culver City to get to downtown. It took him an extra forty-five minutes but he was rewarded with one and a half gold diamonds. Mark smiled to himself. He liked being rewarded. 11 I Brake for Whales On Monday mornings, the office was empty as employees slowly straggled in. Here more than anywhere else, Mark tried to set an example: reduce, reuse, recycle. Terrence wanted EcoWagon to be proactive in its approach to environmental relations. This meant, for example, suggesting to the office manager, Linda, that the overhead fluorescent tubes be replaced with non-Mercury CFL’s. Linda had not been as receptive to the suggestion as Mark had hoped. “You want us to what?” “Replace the lights,” Mark replied patiently. “With nonMercury C--” “Are they broken?” she asked. “No, but--” “Can you still see to do your work?” “Yes, but--” “Then do your work.” On his way back to his cube, he would have sworn he heard Linda whisper into her phone, “Friggin’ hippie.” The old Mark, the pre-Eco-Wagon Mark, would have marched back to Linda’s office and ripped her a new one (admittedly the old Mark never would have gone in there in the first place) and then quit after unleashing a furious onslaught of profanities but not this Mark. He simply returned to his desk and considered new opportunities to save the planet. At mid-day, Mark took a green Tupperware rectangle filled 12 C. Leigh Purtill with a turkey sandwich and a non-CFC refillable bottle of water to a small concrete office park. He scoured his Prius manual for earthconserving clues, determined to get as many of those gold diamonds as he could. He knew that the more he got, the better his mileage would be and the more Terrence would respect him. Weight and speed were considerable drags on the car, he read. But every little thing helped. Turning off the A/C and stereo, for instance, could result in an uptick in energy savings. On the ride home that evening, Mark shut off the fans and CD player and took the long way home. He pulled into his driveway an hour later than usual and was rewarded with two and a half extra gold diamonds. Better. But not enough. Mark knew he could do more. Before bedtime, he received this note from Terrence: Hello Eco Friends! My Prius and I notched 52 MPG today! Let’s all strive to improve our numbers and save the planet! Your FOE and president, T. Fifty-two!? Mark’s own MPG had barely risen above forty today and he suffered in the stifling heat for that number. How on God’s green could he get higher than that? Grace phoned as he was busy constructing an email to Terrence and the rest of the Eco-Wagon members. “How’s the new car?” she asked. “Still shiny?” “Grace, it’s not about looks,” Mark said crossly. “It’s the mechanics of the thing. Mileage and energy savings. I’m trying to save the planet!” 13 I Brake for Whales There was dead silence on the other end of the phone and Mark was immediately remorseful for his outburst. “Grace? Sweetheart?” Her voice was small but steady. “I’m here.” “I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry, dearest. It’s just that I’m… well…frustrated.” He pushed the keyboard away and folded his arms over his chest. “I only got 41 miles to the gallon today.” “But 41 is outstanding!” Grace cheered. “Why, I only get twenty-something with my Saturn.” “Gracie, that’s appalling,” Mark said. think about a new car.” Grace sighed. “Mine is all paid for, Mark. I’d rather spend my money on other things.” His girlfriend had more than once hinted at the trousseau she was preparing for her wedding day and he liked to humor her when he could but her gas mileage was inexcusable. Her carbon footprint was huge! “Grace--” “Mark, please let’s not talk about this. I only called about Friday night.” “Friday…” Mark’s mind was a blank. “Father’s 80th! Bill and I have been planning this for a year.” Mark hadn’t yet met Grace’s brother Bill, nor her father or stepmother. If they were to take the next step as a couple, he supposed he would have to get to know the family. He hoped they “You really should 14 C. Leigh Purtill recycled. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll be there with bells on.” “You needn’t wear anything fancy,” Grace said, obviously happier with this response than with his previous one. “Just your good blue blazer and maybe the red tie we got you at Macy’s.” “Blazer and tie. Got it.” “Will you pick me up at 6?” “Six o’clock. Blue blazer, red tie. I will be there.” “And maybe bring a bottle of wine?” “Six. Blazer. Tie. Wine. Got it.” Grace sighed happily. “Thank you, dearest. This will make a big impression on the family.” “That’s all that matters,” Mark said and meant it. He hung up the phone and went back to his email. Eco Friends, I’d like to propose we pool our hybrid driving tips. Anyone with hints on earning gold diamonds and improving mileage, please pass them along to all of us! Thanks! Mark settled back and waited for the responses. EcoWagon’s members were quick on the electronic draw, eager to offer up suggestions and opinions at all hours of the day and night. Sally and Sandra, two friends from Las Vegas, were often the first to reply. And just like that, ping! There they were. Sally wrote: Eco Friends, I like to crack the back window open and shut off the fans. That’s earned me an extra half diamond and one or 2 mpg! 15 I Brake for Whales Cheers! Mark shrugged at the lame advice. He had already gotten a full diamond for keeping the fans off and the windows rolled up. He clicked on Sandra’s reply: I’ve replaced my rims with flat hubcaps which reduce the wind speed on the tires. I think it’s given me 2 more mpg! Try it! Love, S. In rapid succession over the next thirty minutes, other club members weighed in: Ralphy in Bangor shut off his GPS. Betty in Minneapolis removed her antenna. Peter in Miami Beach covered his front grille with plastic to lower wind resistance but club members from Kansas City, Austin and Memphis immediately wrote back to contradict him, insisting the grille was crucial for air circulation and that energy savings would be sacrificed for mileage. Mark watched the emails flying back and forth. It was a lively discussion, full of intelligent discourse, and he was proud to have been the one to initiate it. Finally, after an hour, Terrence wrote in: All wonderful insights, Friends! Good topic, Mr. VP! That was it? Mark had expected a little something more from the self-proclaimed Prius expert. And then he got his own personal letter: Mark, please refrain from starting controversial discussions with the club without my prior permission. This sort of thing can fracture a heretofore close-knit group and cause 16 C. Leigh Purtill members to lose heart. Remember, this is all about saving the planet. Terrence. Mark’s mouth dropped open as he read the email. He really felt Terrence had misunderstood his intention. He quickly jotted a note in reply: T, I only meant to encourage a free exchange of ideas. It wasn’t for my own personal gain but for all of us to work toward environmental responsibility. Hope that clears things up. - M Mark wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and hoped to God Terrence accepted his explanation. A few minutes later, he had his answer: A hint from me to you: it’s all about weight. The Prius responds to fewer pounds. I’ve completely removed my stereo system and CD player, my GPS, and my glovebox. By doing this, I’ve increased my mileage by 15% diamonds. Good luck, my Eco Friend. An exclusive tip for Mark’s eyes only! He read it through a second and third time. Weight. Of course. and earned 3 extra Our individual achievements mean nothing. FOE, 17 I Brake for Whales Mark grabbed his toolbox and strode out to the apartment’s parking garage where the Prius sat nestled between a VW and an Explorer. First to go were the items Terrence mentioned in his email: GPS, stereo system and glovebox. They all unsnapped fairly simply, sort of like LEGO blocks for grown-ups. Mark tossed the plastic and metal into the recycle bin. It felt exhilarating - cleansing - to remove the pieces, knowing what the result would be on the morning drive to work. Increased gas mileage and more gold diamonds! Mark sat in the driver’s seat and stared at the gaping holes in his dashboard. A part of his brain couldn’t believe he had just vandalized a brand new car while another part - the larger part that was more interested in helping the world - applauded the scaleddown version of the Toyota. He glanced around: what else might he remove to lower the weight of the car? Well, he didn’t need those floor mats. Mark pulled the rugs up and tossed them out the door. They still had that new car smell, he thought wistfully, wondering if he might find a use for them in his house or at the office. Reuse - a key component of the triple R mantra. And what of the headrests? He had no need of those either. Did he ever truly rest his head while he was driving? He removed those and threw them to the ground. 18 C. Leigh Purtill What else, what else…the visors! He so rarely flipped the visors down. Those could go too. And the cover for the horn. He really shouldn’t be honking at other drivers, anyway. That was noise pollution and damaged the collective conscience of the environment. Or so Terrence claimed. Mark hopped into the backseat: what was here that could be removed? The cupholders? Goodbye! The arm rest? Sayonara! The seatbelts? Ciao! Mark felt a frenzy overtake him as he wielded his screwdriver. All he could think about was tomorrow’s drive and what he would find on his car’s dash. After an hour and a half, Mark was finished. He had removed all that he could from his brand spanking new Prius. A pile of plastic and metal and Scotchguarded fabric sat in his driveway, the remains of car surgery gone awry. That which Mark could not reuse in home or office he left for the disenfranchised urban dwellers who scoured the Dumpsters every night. Mark collapsed onto his bed, sweaty, greasy, and spent. It was three in the morning. In a mere four hours, he would know how much effect his renovation efforts had. He would have new numbers. And by god, they would be better than Terrence’s. 19 I Brake for Whales Weary, yet filled with hope for the new day, Mark skipped breakfast, opting instead for a double dose of black coffee, no sugar. He practically ran to the Prius. The evidence of the previous evening’s cannibalization were strewn around the driveway but Mark paid no mind. He had to drive. He had to see his numbers. He turned the key in the ignition and drove to his office with his eyes glued to the dashboard lights. registered a mere thirty-five mpg. “Shit!” Mark flicked the screen with the tips of his fingers as if that could somehow effect change. “Shit,” he said again when only two gold diamonds appeared. But then, something miraculous occurred: his mileage began to inch upward. First it rose to 38, then 40, 42, 43, 46 and each time, Mark’s heart lifted a bit more. By the time he reached his office two hours later, it was up to 52! And his diamond count: 10! He had done it! He had matched Terrence! Elated, he swung the Prius into his parking spot and ran up the stairs to his office. He couldn’t wait to send an email out to Terrence to tell him of his success! At the top of the steps, he met Linda who was just returning from her cigarette break. Mark nearly kissed her. “Fifty-two! I 20 At first the mileage C. Leigh Purtill made 52 miles to the gallon this morning!” “You’re an hour and a half late.” Linda was not impressed. She stubbed out her cigarette and put her hands on her hips. Her gaze bore into him. “I’ll have to write you up for this.” Mark sobered up long enough to realize his job was at stake. “I’m so sorry, Linda. I was just…I have a new car, you see. It’s a hybrid.” Linda tapped her foot on the top step. The hard leather against the concrete rang metallically in Mark’s ears. Stop it, bitch! Stop doing that! He heard a voice yell in his head. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “It won’t happen again,” he told his manager. At his desk, Mark found a pile of messages on little pink slips of paper. That really irked him. He had told the receptionist over and over again that she should use email and not waste paper on silly little notes but the damn woman ignored him every time. How hard was it to send a quick email that So-and-So called? Mark snatched up the papers and marched to the front desk. He slapped them down in front of the grey-haired woman. “You’re killing trees, Harriet!” The old woman slowly lifted her head to him and slipped off her headset. “Mr. Reynolds, I beg your pardon.” “The While-You-Were-Outs, Harriet,” Mark said, stabbing a finger at the pink pages. instead.” “Please stop using them. Use email 21 I Brake for Whales “Mr. Reynolds, this is the way we’ve always done things,” Harriet insisted. “How else would I let you know you had a message?” “With email, Harriet, with email.” Mark shook his head; it was like talking to a brick wall. An old, faded brick wall that limped to the ladies room every ten minutes. Harriet looked up at him with a peculiar smile. She would never understand, Mark realized then. She would never be able to save the planet as he and Terrence were doing. He should feel sorry for her. He gave up and returned to his cubicle where he brushed aside the papers on his desk, the envelopes and packages that needed to be opened, the folders that someone obviously wanted him to file and dashed off an email to Terrence. T - thanks to your helpful hints, I increased my mpg to 52 and matched your gold diamonds! - M And then, because he wanted to be sure Terrence knew how appreciative he was, he added an extra exclamation point and a smiley face. A minute later, he got this in return: My Eco Friends! The Prius and I hit a record high of 54 mpg this morning on the drive in! Let’s get those numbers going! - Terrence, your FOE Good lord! 54! Mark thought with multiple exclamation points. He asked Terrence: How goes the hunt for the gold? Terrence replied: Twelve diamonds. 22 C. Leigh Purtill Son of a fucking bitch! Mark thought, sinking back in his chair. “It’s not possible,” he mumbled under his breath. “It’s just not possible.” “What did you say, Reynolds?” Benett, his cube-mate, called over the fabric-covered wall. “Nothing, Benett.” “Well, stop mumbling, for god’s sake. moron.” The old Mark, the Mark who thought nothing of taking a swing at a man in a bar after a few pints, would have roared back at Benett, would have at the very least tossed a stapler over the wall at Benett’s head, but Eco Mark did nothing of the kind. He had a planet to save. You sound like a Weight. The Prius responded to weight, Mark thought, remembering Terrence’s email. He stared into the vast expanse of his car. It was hollowed-out, carved out, like a modern art sculpture 23 I Brake for Whales or a remnant of the latest LA riots. There was nothing left to remove. Each knob, each trim was gone, every window shaved to its bare minimum. He had taken off the windshield wipers, drained unnecessary fluids, ripped out the rubber matting in the trunk, ditched the spare tire and jack. It was all gone. Reduce, reuse, recycle. Save energy. Save gasoline. Save the world. Mark trudged back up to his kitchen and stared out the window at his car. What more could he do? How could he match Terrence? How could he beat him? Mark quickly pushed that thought out of his head. It wasn’t for personal gain that he was pursuing an increased mileage; it was for the environment, for our devastated ecology. It was for them, the children, the ones that would follow in our carbon footprint. This wasn’t a competition. He wondered again about Terrence. They had only ever communicated via email, ever since Mark found Terrence in a chat room devoted to environmental topics when he was looking for information on a filter for his kitchen tap. Terrence,, it turned out, held very strong opinions about water. He told Mark that buying a water filter was buying into the consumerist propaganda that we needed to be sheltered from the real world, from the natural world. Filters eliminated healthy 24 C. Leigh Purtill bacteria one’s body needed to survive. Without those bacteria, we wouldn’t have the wherewithal to fight colds and viruses and would have to resort to antibiotics to fend off the most benign of viruses. And Mark knew what the proliferation of antibiotics meant, didn’t he? Well… It meant the development of superviruses, Terrence told Mark, strains that were resistant to even the strongest drugs. And that would signal the end of mankind. Whoa…. For the next few weeks, Mark found himself returning again and again to the chat room, drawn like a magnet to Terrence. From his new virtual friend, Mark learned about global warming and carbon footprinting, about polar ice caps and equatorial heating. He vowed to do whatever he could to help the world. And so when Terrence asked Mark if he’d like to start a club dedicated to serving Mother Earth, what could he say but yes? Within a month, Eco-Wagon had over a hundred members. Terrence predicted it would one day be as powerful as Greenpeace. The next morning, again, Mark had no appetite for breakfast. He poured himself a coffee and drank it before getting into the Prius. If he left the thermal mug behind, he reasoned, he would 25 I Brake for Whales have that much less weight in the car. drove. Besides, now that the cupholders were gone, it was difficult to balance the cup while he It took Mark three and a half hours to get to the office. But it was worth it: his MPG reached 55! And he earned 13 diamonds! He was nearly faint from exhilaration. He couldn’t wait to email Terrence: We hit 55 today and 13 little goldies. How about you? “Take that, T,” Mark told his computer. “What did you say?” Benett asked over the wall. “Mind your own business, Benett,” Mark said. “You are my business.” “Oh shut up,” Mark mumbled. He stared at the screen and waited for Terrence to respond. “Come on, come on,” he urged Outlook. He pressed the refresh button over and over again. “Did you tell me to shut up?” Benett asked. His voice was hard and deep and unmuffled by the fabric-covered wall. sounded to Mark like the man had stood up. “Yeah, asshole, I said shut up and mind your own beeswax.” “I don’t think that’s what you want to tell me.” sounded closer. Much closer. remembered Benett liked salty snacks. Every afternoon of his first month on the job, Mark had heard the crinkle and crackle of Benett opening individual snack bags, the kind that satisfied the need for convenience, landfills be damned. When he had kindly suggested to Benett that he purchase Benett He Mark smelled Doritos. It 26 C. Leigh Purtill a larger bag and fill a reusable container each morning, Benett ignored him. Boy, did that piss off Mark. The Dorito scent grew stronger. Cheese-y and nacho-y and fried-y. Mark turned toward the smell: Benett’s refrigerator-size body filled the width of Mark’s cube entrance. His face was soft and pulpy, his cheeks brushed with a dusting of orange. His stomach strained the fabric of his Oxford cloth shirt; the buttons were hanging on for dear life. Mark felt revulsion overtake him. Benett was a user. He was consuming far more of the Earth’s resources than he needed. How dare he? “You got something to say, pisshead?” Benett growled. Pisshead. What an ass. The old Mark, the unenlightened, un-hybridded Mark, would definitely have sucker-punched Benett the moment he stepped into the cube. A sock to that fat gut and maybe a second to the kidneys. Mark stood slowly from his chair and placed himself just under Benett’s cheese-colored nose. “What are you gonna do about it, douchebag?” He felt the tension between himself and Benett like it was a tangible thing, thick and ropy; the slightest movement would snap it, releasing both men and sending them and their fists flying at each other. “Reynolds! Benett! What the hell is going on here?” Linda 27 I Brake for Whales shoved Benett’s bulk aside and crowded the small cubicle. She pointed her finger in Mark’s face. “You! Sit down and get back to work. I’ve had just about enough of your shit for one day.” “But--” “I mean it, Mark. You’ve caused me more crap this week than you have in the entire six months you’ve been working here.” Linda shook her head from side to side. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.” “Do…with me?” Like he was the cause of the office’s problems? What about these idiots with their paper wastage, their time wastage, their energy wastage? Mark threw up his hands. These people didn’t deserve a good, clean planet. Mark’s Outlook pinged then: Terrence had returned his email. Mark’s heart raced. He lunged for the keyboard, nearly knocking Linda over in the process. “What the--? Reynolds, you’re a real jerk, you know that,” Linda said. “Be quiet! Just be…” Mark opened Terrence’s email: All Eco Friends! I’ve passed a new milestone! 57 MPG! This should encourage all of us to strive for the greatest energy savings that we can! Good luck! FOE, Terrence “Oh my fucking lord!” Mark cried. “This is insane!” “You’re insane,” Benett commented. He wiped - finally, finally! - the orange cheese from his face with the back of his sleeve. Then he punched Mark hard in the shoulder before he left the cube. 28 C. Leigh Purtill “Reynolds, I think you better leave before I call security,” Linda told him. “Huh…” “Go, Mark. Go home now. You don’t work here anymore. I’m firing you.” But Mark barely acknowledged her. Terrence had again surpassed his mileage. What was going on here? How did he do that? Was he even driving the Prius or merely pushing it downhill? A rivulet of sweat trickled down Mark’s temple and was sucked into his sideburn. Would he ever win? He pushed his ergonomically-designed chair away from his desk and stood abruptly. There was only one way to find out. He had to keep at it. He had to work harder, drive better, save more of the planet than Terrence could. He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t shower. How could he use up any more of the earth’s precious 29 I Brake for Whales resources? He was willing to bet Terrence didn’t. Terrence probably consumed only enough calories to keep his body alive from day to day - and not a bite more. Did he recycle his coffee grinds, keep a sustainable garden and compost his waste? Mark didn’t. Damn it! He wanted to. Did that count toward his carbon footprint? Good thoughts? No! Of course not! If that were the case, there would be no more global warming and Al Gore would be President for Life. Mark thrashed from cushion to cushion as he tried to relax on his couch. There was nothing more he could do. Not a thing. Terrence would always get better mileage than he, would conserve more energy, would save more of the planet. The phone rang then and Mark snapped it up. Terrence was calling, perhaps he had tracked him down… …but no. It was only Grace. “Oh hello, sweetheart.” Grace sounded worried. “I haven’t heard from you all week,” she said. “Are you well?” Mark sat up and groomed himself with his fingers. “I’m fine, Gracie. How are you?” “Very very busy with father’s party plans. My brother is being a real pill about the catering. He wants chicken wings, you know, the kind with the sauce?” “Buffalo wings.” “The hot ones.” Perhaps 30 C. Leigh Purtill “Buffalo wings.” “No, no, the hot ones that you serve with--” “Buffalo wings, Grace! They’re called Buffalo wings because they were invented in Buffalo, New York!” Uh-oh. “Well! Excuse me, Mark, for not being as quick as you or as sophisticated or knowledgeable as you,” Grace railed. “But I think you’ve been extremely rude to me lately and I don’t appreciate it!” Mark sighed. She was right. He had been rude. “I’m very sorry, dearest. I want to make this up to you.” A long pause from Grace. “I don’t see how you can.” Frankly, he didn’t actually see how he could either. He only knew if he didn’t say something nice, he would soon lose his lovely girlfriend. “Why don’t you tell me what I can do.” Mark heard heavy breathing on Grace’s end of the line. Was she weeping? “Gracie?” “I’m thinking.” “Oh yes, of course, dearest.” Mark stood and paced the length of his apartment as he waited for his girlfriend to respond. He thought about sending an email request for more hybrid hints to the Eco-Wagon members sans Terrence but he worried that it would get back to the president somehow. It could appear Mark was attempting to usurp Terrence’s authority when in reality, all Mark wanted to do was to get his numbers up - something that 31 I Brake for Whales would help everyone. Maybe if he chose a select few, members he knew wouldn’t mention it to Terrence-“--at the party, okay?” Mark heard Grace finish up. “Absolutely,” he agreed automatically. “You can count on me.” He had no idea what he was agreeing to but it cheered Grace up immensely. “Oh thank you, sweetheart! My father will be so thrilled.” “Then we’re good, yes? All settled?” “Yes.” Mark breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.” “So, you’ll pick me up at 6, right?” “Six. Blazer. Tie. Wine. See you then.” He hung up the phone and wondered for a split second what the favor was that he was expected to do for his girlfriend’s father. Then he headed to his computer and instantly forgot all about it. Six. Blazer. Tie. Wine. After picking Grace up at her condo, Mark followed his girlfriend’s directions to the hotel on Magnolia where the grand 80th 32 C. Leigh Purtill birthday celebration was being held for Grace’s father. Mark struggled to remember his name. Bob? Steve? Joe? John? His brain swam in his head and his chin kept drooping against his chest as he drove. He was exhausted from lack of sleep and sustenance. “Mark? Mark?” “Hmm?” “Are you okay?” Grace’s round face appeared in front of his eyes. Her eyebrows knitted into two sandy-colored clumps of yarn on her forehead. Mark poked a lazy finger at them, as if he could de-knot them. “What are you doing? Look out!” Mark glanced up and swerved to avoid a mailbox at the last second. Fortunately, they were traveling at less than half the speed limit so quick reflexes were not so much a priority. “Mark, darling, please pay attention to the road.” Mark slowed the car even further. They were now driving at barely a quarter of the speed limit for this road - a risky 10 mph. “Should I drive?” Grace asked. “No! This is a brand new car,” he said as they bobbed and wove their way down Magnolia to the hotel. “I’ll drive it myself, thank you very much.” His eyes were drawn to the dash and he groaned. “Oh my god, would you look at that?” His numbers were down! Down! Only 45 MPG and six 33 I Brake for Whales diamonds! Six! He had avoided the 405, had taken three hours to get to Grace’s condo, only to get this as a result? “This is no good, no good at all,” he said. He reached around behind his seat and pulled out the red wine. “How much does this weigh?” he asked Grace. “Weigh? I don’t--” Mark pushed the window down with his thumb (he had long since removed the handle that cranked it open) and tossed the bottle of wine over the roof and onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing a woman walking her Pomeranian. Grace shrieked. “Mark!” “I didn’t hit them,” he said. Damn it! The numbers were still down! Maybe he could ask Grace to walk for a bit and he could pick her up-“The wine! You threw out father’s wine.” “It was cheap,” Mark replied. “I’ll get another one.” Grace’s head whipped over to him. Hermitage I asked you to?” “The what?” So that was what Grace had asked him to do the other night. Grace rolled her eyes. “Oh god, Mark.” She leaned her head back and caught her hair on a piece of jagged metal that previously held the stuffed cloth rest. “Ow! Jesus!” “Sorry,” Mark said. “I tried to get that part out but--” “Why is it gone in the first place?” Grace hunched forward “You didn’t get the 34 C. Leigh Purtill and hugged her knees. “You have truly stepped off the deep end.” They drove in silence until they arrived at the hotel, nearly an hour late for the party. Grace’s father (Jack? George? Mike? Sven?) had already been surprised by the unexpected seventy-five friends and family members he suddenly encountered on his trip to the hotel for god-only-knew-what could have legitimately brought him there and was now enjoying Buffalo wings with hot sauce and celery sticks and presumably looking around for a decent red wine. Mark followed a few paces behind Grace as she stalked through the party looking for her father. Heads turned as they passed the buffet table, the cash bar and the banner welcoming everyone to “Herb’s Big 8-0!” Herb. Of course. “Billy,” Grace said to a trim fortyish fellow in a navy suit and crisp white shirt. “Sorry we’re late.” “Dad’s waiting for you,” Bill said. “Where the heck have you been?” Grace turned to glare at Mark. “Is this…” Bill started to ask and then stopped. He swallowed hard and nodded at Mark. “I’m Grace’s brother, Bill.” Mark was about to offer his hand when Grace interrupted them. “Where is he?” “Over there,” Bill said, pointing out a silver-haired man surrounded by guests. A plate of chicken wings rested on his lap. Grace hustled over to her father with Mark in her wake. 35 I Brake for Whales “Happy birthday, Daddy!” “Grace!” Herb accepted a hug and kiss from his daughter and then looked expectantly behind her at Mark. “We had car trouble,” Grace said. Mark scowled. “You make it sound like there’s something wrong with it.” “Is there?” Herb asked. “No, of course not. It’s a brand new Prius.” “A Prius!” Herb’s lashless eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted a ride in one of those.” “Dad, no--” “Hybrid, right?” “Yes, sir. State of the art,” Mark replied proudly. “Can I see it?” “Yes!” “No!” Grace tried to hold her father in his chair but Herb was as agile as a seventy-nine year old. He and Mark were headed for the door lickety-split with Bill and Grace bringing up the rear. Mark took his prospective father-in-law out to the parking lot where the Prius was parked in a spot far from the rest of the regular gas-guzzling cars. Herb’s mouth dropped open. “Son, I don’t know how to tell you this but…” “Should we call the police?’ Bill asked, worry in his voice. “No,” Mark and Grace replied at the same time. 36 C. Leigh Purtill “Mark intended his car to look like this.” Herb peered closer at the interior of the car. “Why, it’s just a hollow shell. There’s no car there at all.” Mark held open the passenger side door for Grace’s father. “Would you like a ride, sir?” Grace grabbed onto her father’s elbow and pulled him away from the Prius. “There’s cake inside, Daddy, and presents.” “I’m not a child, Grace. If I want a ride, I’ll take a ride.” Herb turned to Mark with a smile. “Let’s do it, son.” “Excellent.” Mark appraised the old man. About six feet even, maybe 175, 180 pounds. The hard leather Hush Puppies and heavy slacks added another couple of pounds and the jacket and tie…Mark guessed him at about 185 even. Mark began to undress. “What…what are you doing?” Grace asked, her eyes bugged out and wild. Mark would have thought she’d seen him shooting up. “Compensating.” “Excuse me?” “For the extra weight,” Mark explained. “Your father, although in good shape for a man his age, is far heavier than you.” “So you’re taking your clothes off?” Herb asked. He wore a curious smile. Grace’s brother hurried to intervene. “Dad, we really shouldn’t keep your guests waiting.” 37 I Brake for Whales “No, no,” Herb said. “I want to see what happens next.” Mark was down to his briefs, a pair he had owned since the turn of the century. He hadn’t done laundry in a while. They bagged in the back, he noticed, where they used to be more snugfitting. Had he lost weight? That could be helpful. Grace hurried to stand between Mark and her family, as if she could shield them from harm by covering up her boyfriend. “Honestly, Dad, we should get inside.” “But my ride--” Herb said. “Another time.” “It’s my birthday!” “I will buy you a Prius!” Grace shouted. “Just get the hell inside now!” Herb grumbled and groaned but he allowed his daughter to lead him away. “Grace?” Mark asked. Grace stopped but did not turn around. “What.” “Do you want me to come in too?” Mark watched his girlfriend’s shoulders slump and her head shake from side to side. “I don’t think so, Mark. I don’t think it’s appropriate that you be here.” “Oh, Gracie,” Mark said with a sigh. How had things come to this? He thought the evening had held such promise. Mark saw Bill smirk as he took hold of his father’s other arm. “Is he challenged in some way?” he asked his sister. 38 C. Leigh Purtill “Bill…” Grace said in a low voice. “I’m just asking!” Challenged? The old Mark, the Mark who didn’t know any better, would have shown this son-of-a-bitch what challenged meant but the new Mark… …would too. Mark’s fingers curled under his thumbs and into two flat fists as they made their way to the back of Bill’s head. He was about three inches shorter than Bill so the connection wasn’t exact but it was enough to get Bill’s attention. “What the…” Bill’s head snapped around and his eyes narrowed at Mark. He let go of his father’s arm but he wasn’t fast enough. Mark gut-punched him twice and then smacked him openhanded across the side of the head. Bill’s face reddened where he was hit. “You little weasel,” he said as Mark danced and bobbed in front of him. “You better hope I don’t catch you.” Grace pushed her father toward the hotel. “Leave, Mark! Please go before I call the police.” Mark ignored the warning. His hands were up in front of his face; the old habits returned quickly and easily. His muscles had retained the memory of how to kick someone’s ass. He knew just where to land the next blow on Bill’s body to knock him down. Just let Bill try to---WHAM! And FWAP! Mark felt Bill’s wedding ring mash his lips into his teeth. The metal tasted faintly of Buffalo wing sauce. 39 I Brake for Whales Mark shook it off and hopped back, his hands raised but that SOB sneaked a fist under his elbow and knocked his chin skyward in a 1,2, left-right combo. “God damn,” Mark mumbled as Grace screamed. “Bill!” she cried. “Stop!” She ran inside the hotel with her father, leaving Bill to pummel Mark, fists to head and chin and ears. Mark dropped to his knees and covered his head with his arms. Oh god, oh god, oh god, Mark thought. Terrence,” he whispered. After a long moment, the barrage stopped and the chimes in his ears ceased ringing. Mark peered up cautiously to see Bill walking away. He stood then and with all the strength he had left in his body, he launched himself at Grace’s brother and kicked him full-force in the back. “I hate you, Bill thudded to the cement and his head smacked the corner of the sidewalk. A trickle of blood oozed out of a gash at Bill’s temple. 40 C. Leigh Purtill As Mark watched the blood pool, a police siren wailed in the distance. Mark ran to his car and silently, stealthily, saving energy took off. This was a huge step backward, Mark thought as he drove through Hollywood and toward downtown. The confrontation with Bill had been the opposite of everything Eco-Wagon stood for. Mark could never show his virtual face on-line again and he certainly couldn’t serve as the club’s vice president without some serious action. He parked the Prius under the 710 freeway near Commerce. The constant hum of the traffic overhead provided a backdrop of white noise against which Mark could think properly. He had to earn back Terrence’s respect. If only he could improve upon Terrence’s mileage and garner more gold diamonds than Terrence, then he would gain his president’s trust once more. For the next week, Mark slept curled up in the front seat, awakening each hour to bat away the disenfranchised urban dwellers who wanted to sleep there too. He lived on nothing but black coffee. For an entire second week, he didn’t sleep at all and sipped only at water that condensed on his windshield. By the third week, his undershorts fell to his knees when he stood up and his teeth were loose in his head. But he got fifty-nine miles to the gallon and 15 gold diamonds. 41 I Brake for Whales He had done it. He had finally beaten Terrence. He had won. Mark raced back to his apartment in a record four hours and hurried to his computer, eager to tap out a note to Terrence. His hands cramped with the effort. His forearms were exhausted from moving the mouse on its pad. But he managed. With a grin and a grimace, he did it: My Eco Friend, I have bested you in service of our planet. 59 MPG and 15 diamonds. I hope this will set the example for EcoWagon and the rest of the world to follow. Yours as FOE, Mark He clicked send and then collapsed onto his sofa. Painfully. He was all elbows and knees and protruding ribcage. He couldn’t cross his legs without scraping his thighs with his hamstrings. His head was only able to hold a thought for just one moment before it disappeared into the vast landscape of his brain. His Prius had consumed all his energy. But it was done. He had done it. He had won Terrence’s respect and admiration. He was certain of it. His email spoke to him. You’ve got-Mark reached a long, bony-knuckled finger toward the keyboard and clicked open Terrence’s email: Very good news, my Eco Friends! The Prius and I achieved a record-setting 65 MPG this morning! It’s a challenge to all of us to strive for the… Mark couldn’t read the rest. another, he was livid. For one thing, he simply couldn’t focus on the words swimming in front of him but for 42 C. Leigh Purtill He leaned his head back against the cushions and screamed. “Terrence!” It. Just. Wasn’t. Possible. Mark shook his head. He could do no more than he already had. He had sacrificed so much for Mother Earth: his job, his girlfriend, his health. He had nothing left to give. So Terrence won. So what? Let him have his kudos, Mark thought. Let Terrence get the acknowledgment from Eco-Wagon members. If Mark was destined to be number two, well, that was the way the cookie crumbled. Ah, cookies. Mark’s tragically empty stomach growled at the memory of food, so long ago in the past. His head lolled to one side as he stared into the kitchen. Were there any cookies in there, he wondered. Any food at all? His phone rang then, echoing in his head. He raised his hands to his ears but it kept ringing. His eyes searched the living room, found it. Somehow his fingers knew to click the right button, to clutch the receiver and hold it to his mouth. “Hello?” “Mark,” a male voice said. “It’s Terrence.” Mark heard a gasp escape his lips. “How did you find me?” he whispered. “Eco Friend of mine, you must continue on your quest.” Terrence’s voice was low and rumbly. He sounded so close to Mark, as if he were in the same room. 43 I Brake for Whales “But how?” Mark asked. “I’ve tried--” “Weight,” Terrence insisted. “I gave you the clue. Now it’s up to you.” Mark stared down at his emaciated figure. He could truly do no more. “Terrence, my friend, I’ve lost the fight. I’m a lousy vice president and no friend of the environment.” “Do it, Mark,” Terrence urged. “Take matters into your own hands. Your own hands.” “But--” “I believe in you. I know you can save the planet,” Terrence said. There was a click on the line and Terrence was gone. Mark clenched the phone. “What does that mean, Terrence? What should I do?” But there was no answer on the other end. Mark dropped the phone to the floor. I know you can save the planet, Terrence had told him. Mark rose and went to the kitchen window; he stared down at his Prius below until the sun began to fade. Only a sliver of golden glow remained in the apartment. Mark knew what he had to do. In his toolbox he found a hacksaw, its thin blade as sharp as a Ginsu knife. He sat on the floor and rested the saw against his left thigh. Once round and thick and fatty as a roast, now it was barely a driedup winglet. He pressed the blade against the skin and saw a thin 44 C. Leigh Purtill line of blood appear. Wow, that was sharp, he thought. It was his left leg, his non-driving leg, after all. He didn’t need it, not like he needed his right one to work the accelerator and the brake. He wished Terrence were here with him. He wished he could show him how much he cared for the environment that he would do this thing. Mark closed his eyes and gripped the saw with both hands. And pressed. “Oh god!” he cried. But he kept his eyes closed and continued to press. He felt warm water cascade over his fingers and realized at some point, it wasn’t water at all. There was a sudden clatter of footsteps outside his door and muffled voices. “Reynolds! We know you’re there!” He lifted his head toward the door. He felt swoozy and faint. “Mark! Mark!” Grace’s voice. Grace was here! Thank god. He could finally show her what it meant to be a Friend of the Environment. Hands, feet, clubs, guns, pounded at the door. Mark’s head fell forward and his chin hit his chest but still he pushed on. The saw reached bone; he had only to press once more and it would be done. He took a deep breath. 45 I Brake for Whales The door behind him splintered open. His thigh bone cracked. He had done it. He had saved the planet. Copyright © 2009 C. Leigh Purtill Graphics by Maurice (Mo) Jordan www.LeighPurtill.com 46