Utter Perfection

I woke up this morning, exactly like I’ve done for the last two thousand three hundred days.

Exactly the same time.

Exactly the same way –except for the slight throbbing that doesn’t seem to be letting up, resting just behind my left eye. That’s fairly new.

Five forty-five a.m., the smell of freshly brewing coffee wafting towards my room starts my wake-up routine. My dog stirring by my side is next on the list of my morning routine. Except, he’s gotten too used to our little regimen. Clearly, he would rather stay in bed just a little longer, as his chubby body does this strange sort of lift and shift, tipping his warm back up against my thigh. He lets out a snorting snuffle and my hand instinctively goes to rubbing his tummy all while his stubby tail wags away, thumping heavily against my plush duvet. He won’t bother opening up his eyes, he likes living the dream.

The sun is barely coming up, painting the sky perfectly on a summer’s breeze - a breeze that I can smell from the crack I left open in my bedroom window, the scent after a rain - exactly like it has done over the last six years that I’ve been here. It only rains in the evenings. Keeping everything green without disturbing our days. It’s always that way. Structured perfection. Exactly how I like my life.

Nothing’s changed. Other than the fact that I’ve gotten a little older and Haywire has started slowing down – just a bit – from what he was like as a puppy. But that’s to be expected. Age changes us, even if nothing else around here changes.

I climb out of bed with just my boxers on. I prefer to feel the 1,500 thread count of my Egyptian cotton sheets against my skin. My bare feet are - as always - loving the feel of the high-gloss, black concrete flooring - that is heated or cooled as needed, always remaining the perfect temperature - and I make my way to the patio doors that open to an expansive, well-manicured, back lawn. (Well, expansive for a penthouse apartment, not in comparison to the eighty-two acres that I grew up on.)

I hear a soft thud as Haywire jump/falls off my bed, heads out from under and between my legs, and scurries over to his pee-pad. Barely making it in time. If it wasn’t for his weak bladder, he'd probably never get out of bed. As always it rained last night. The damp grass will have dried already. It’s pure perfection, every day the same. No variations.

I leave the door open just wide enough for Haywire to squeeze his fat butt back through as I make my way to the kitchen, taking a sip of my perfectly brewed, perfectly flavored, rich cup of coffee. A bold, robust flavor with vanilla cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. I get razed by the guys at work that I like my coffee sweet. But I don’t care, and they know not to push it too far…that is, if they value their careers.

My cinnamon-raisin toast pops up from the toasting machine, warm and pre-buttered, to enjoy with my coffee. That’s one thing that I’ll never grow tired of, a perfectly prepared cup of coffee, with my toast, right on cue. I just wish all the other ‘perfectness’ of this place could be as easily adaptable to my mind.

I sit at the corner of my seven-foot island that’s wrapped in an all-white marble, while my fingers wrap around my cup like it’s a lifeboat that I need to cling to. And I allow my mind to wander. Things have really seemed disjointed lately.

This restlessness that has plagued me for the past three months is like a bad itch that I can’t seem to reach. There’s a longing. A hunger that can’t seem to be fed, –deep inside of me, and I’m about to crawl out of my skin if I don’t get relief from this soon. I just wished I had some idea how to itch it. I can’t explain it, there’s a feeling, like when you can sense danger.

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck are almost always at attention. My nerves keep me jittery, like I’m hepped up on caffeine, or the drug of choice here - Peyote, or what everyone affectionately refers to it as –Pet. Those who started this new world found it’s a great mood-altering assistant, as they like to refer to it. Promoting morality and ethical behavior. It’s administered to every citizen, along with a hybrid cocktail mixture of all the vitamins and minerals a body requires. They have perfected the needs of the human body, and they’ve got it down to a science.

The whole first day - upon your arrival at Beginning, or BUD, if you’re into acronyms, which stands for Beginning Unification Destination - is given over to BMI measurements, blood work, urine samples, and a load of various testing –all to help determine each person’s physical and mental condition, so that this - so called mega cocktail mixture - can be altered and adapted for each person’s specific needs.

Food here is just for pleasure, it honestly isn’t even needed to sustain one’s self. They still promote healthy eating though. I think it’s all a mind game. Tricking the brain into thinking it has control over keeping your body healthy.

-

So –I’ve been diligent in taking my Vits, but I started dropping my Pets because I don’t like how docile they make me. I think there’s something more in those pills that they aren’t letting on to. I want to get to the bottom of it, I want to understand what their game plan is.

Are they doping us to keep us neutral and happy, so no one rocks the boat? That’s my theory. I feel someone needs to get to the bottom of things, I'm just not sure it should be me. Even if I hate feeling like a rat in a science lab. Granted, it’s a beautiful lab to live in. But a rat and a lab –all the same.

-

Time passing here is supposedly irrelevant. The weather never changes so it can be easy to get confused, not to mention, there are very few clocks/watches here. Timeclocks are a thing of the past. People usually go to work studiously because all citizens are placed in positions where they can thrive.

And calendars are forbidden. That was all I needed to hear to make my own commitment to mark the passing of time. It’s like raised hackles on the back of a dog when it’s threatened. My spine jolts and the hairs on my arms raise up when people deliberately go out of their way to tell you not to do something when there’s no apparent reason. So right from the beginning, this strongly pressed directive didn't sit well with me.

I have a hidden form of a calendar tucked behind my wardrobe. I cut open a door-like hole into the wall that I use to store my journal. I know! Old fashioned paper and pen! It’s unheard of in this day of technology. But that's the point. Any form of technology here is heavily monitored. So, this antiquated technique is what I chose. It’s where I mark my days, weeks, and months.

I haven't been able to put my finger on it, but I don't like it. I’ve never liked this whole idea of the perfect world to begin with. I’m not stupid, I understand something needed to be done. But still… There's no way humans can ever live a perfect life.

Granted, it’s been working for the last forty plus years, but… I’m positive, at some point, the other shoe is going to drop, the curtain will finally be pulled back, and the Wizard of Oz will be sitting on his small stool, manning the computer system, manipulating the world. I’d even bet all my gems on it.

There has to be something more to this. People aren’t just going to become good if all their needs are met. I mean, really. It’s all so ridiculous. Their freakin motto is ‘Enjoy each day as if it's the first day of the rest of your life - because you'll never have to worry about tomorrow.’ Call me old fashioned, but if something seems too perfect to be true, it probably is.

Even after all these years I’ve been here, I really have nothing to substantiate my doubts, but… people are people. History always repeats itself. Somehow, someway, we're gonna end up screwing this all up. It's inevitable. Of course, I'll never say that out loud, but that's the cynic living deep inside of me.

-

I glance over to the patio doors. Haywire bee-bops back in through the slit I left open for him and the slider shifts closed as - out in the lawn - the robotic arm lifts away his soiled pee-pad, replacing it with a fresh one. He can easily go through the doggie door. He uses it just fine when I’m not home. But he likes this part of the morning, feeling like I’m taking care of him as I watch him run out in the lawn. He always does a little spin, lifts his leg, and looks up at me. I swear his jowls raise into a smile.

He rubs against my leg, back and forth one time. It's his normal routine because then I command his food bowl to be filled so he can enjoy his breakfast while I enjoy the rest of my coffee, perusing all the latest news of the day.

Haywire scarfs his food down while I finish my coffee and he plops back on his haunches, sitting like a fat Budha all while staring up at me, willing me to give him some more. We have this little game he likes to play, called how gullible is Alister today.

It never works. His warm, puppy dog eyes are beguiling, but he’s porky enough, so I won’t give in. I don't understand why he can't get that through his thick noggin, but I play along, reminding him he needs to watch his figure. He likes the little Pekingese next door. I've told him that he doesn't have a chance with her, (I also shared that her owner is a real piece of work) but he's too far gone.

Truth be told that little turd shouldn't even be alive. I found him on one of my work tours not too soon after I arrived here. He was in a bad place. Literally on death's door. His bout with mange –fleas overtaking him, and his little puppy body was so thin his ribs protruded so far out he looked like the last remnants of that shriveled up turkey in the old movie, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, with Chevy Chase. Ha, I haven’t thought of that in a while. It’s a classic.

“Ultra, remind me the week before Christmas to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.”

“So noted. A reminder is on the calendar for December 20th to watch Christmas Vacation.”

“Thanks Ultra.”

“You’re very welcome. Reminder: today you start the Relocation Process for Topeka, Kansas.

Reminder; layer your clothing and drink plenty of water throughout your day.”

“I remembered, but thanks all the same.”

“Stay safe. Have a great day!”

“I’ll try.”

Immediately Haywire was tagged for disposal, but I had offered to take him in myself. I knew the instant I looked at him I couldn't go through with standard protocol. I saw the look in his deeply saddened eyes, he was scared to death. I just couldn't go through with it. He had me. And those eyes of his were huge in his tiny, malnourished, body. And they were pleading with me to help him.

I understand Beginning‘s reasoning, there just isn’t enough room for every animal. Plus, they want pure bloodlines –which I also get, but if the animal is already alive, they should be cared for, nurtured and treated with some respect. They shouldn’t die because of the sins of their parents.

That prickle I’ve been experiencing lately flushes over me and sparks run down my spine at the mere thought of BUD’s rulebooks… Because I feel they would - without care or concern - attach those same ideals to our citizens –if they could get away with it. And that’s what scares me. Their ideals, their principles and ethics are - in my opinion - skewed, they’ve morphed over the years.

That’s it in a nutshell; that’s part of the reason my hackles have been raised. I’ve been noticing very minor shifts in the mainframe. The way they’ve been dealing with the Newbies, being one of them. I haven’t been able to figure it out yet, but that doesn’t mean something isn’t right.

I look at my watch. Only a small number of residents are allowed watches, me being one of them. Those jobs where you have to be on site at specific times warrant watches.

“Better get a move-on Buddy.” Before I head to the bathroom, I toss him one sliver more from my last bite. I'm such a pushover. Ok, maybe he’s pegged me right. Gullible.

-

I've been lagging this morning, my thoughts drifting, carrying me down a dozen rabbit holes. I'll have to skip my half hour workout if I’m gonna get out of here on time.

As I step into my steam stall, my mind is already filled to capacity. Thoughts of these past couple months are flooding my brain to the point where I can hardly think of anything else. Thoughts of her, if I’m to be more precise. These last two months have been filled with not much more. I barely eat, barely sleep, I can barely keep my brain focused on my job… let alone friends and family.

Everything here is about balance. Restoring and maintaining the perfect harmony between leisure and work, and if I’m not careful, someone’s gonna rat on me and I’ll be visited by my personal trainer… or even worse, my physician. Or even worse than that… My therapist!

They’ll prescribe a heavier regiment of training along with a plethora of pills. Pills to help me stay more focused, pills to help me sleep, pills to wake me back up, and pills to help me with my wandering thoughts. If pills and training is prescribed by either my trainer or my physician, I have to take them. Their word is law. Not to mention, their probing into my psyche will probably prove to find I'm in a really bad state of mind.

That would be really bad. So… I need to watch myself, keep my thoughts to myself. Hide my concerns and pretend that I - like everyone else here - am completely and totally happy, and let’s not forget, satisfied with my life as it is. Heaven forbid someone tosses out the D-word! Depression has been lawfully stricken from all records… including all of our history ledgers. It isn’t tolerated here. Period! End of story! Curtains fall. Mic drop!

Afterall –depression has no place in a perfect world. Right!?! So today, I'll stick to my perfectly scheduled morning routine and continue to present a well-rounded, healthy, functioning adult. All the random thoughts and ideas, some of which she’s put into my head –need to be tucked safely at the back of my brain. At least until we meet again.

-

I’ve shampooed and conditioned my hair, lathered myself fully with the scented body wash of eucalyptus and spearmint. Keeps you calm and relaxed. So the bottle says. I then reach my hand out, palm side up, under the wall dispenser, and the exact amount of shaving cream drops in a perfect dollop. I smooth it over my face and neck, feel the tingling as it removes yesterday’s stubble, and I take a step forward. Once again, the shower head turns on, rinses me off, and I hit the dry button.

Thanks to my personal AI chef; even though we all know it isn’t necessary –I’m healthily fed a well-balanced breakfast, and thanks to my personal AI stylist, two minutes later I’m dressed in my uniform… steel boots and all, standing at my front door, summoning my car.

Because of my worth, I live in the sector of penthouses reserved for people whose work is higher class then the majority of the masses here. There are fifteen different levels, (they use the term level here, so it doesn’t sound like there’s any division between people’s worth, even though we all know there is)

My level… or status - in the Old World - would be considered upper-upper, middle class, or, more like lower upper class. Here my status group is referred to as The Proficient. People whose talents and skills are based on being physically and/or mentally helpful to Beginning. Although, I’m the only one that works outside of Beginning’s borders, so there’s still that distinction between them and I.

Before I head out, I turn and bid Haywire goodbye. He's already cozied up on his fake lama fury bed, belly up, head hanging off the side, tongue lolling to one side, and legs practically stick-straight in the air.

“You're such a goofball!” He shifts his head and snuffles out an exaggerated breath, biding me goodbye. “See ya tonight, Bozo. Don't go too crazy while I'm gone.”

As I step out onto my platform, neighbors line themselves up and down the row of penthouses. And like a beautifully performed symphony, we descend on the day as melodiously happy and fulfilled individuals.

I watch as a plethora of travel units start lining up in front of their owners' homes. I turn, glancing toward the park, I have a perfect view. The sun’s made its way high enough in the sky that its rays are glistening off Lake Grandeur, and the view from up here is serene and picturesque. I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of it.

I take a moment, looking over the park, which stretches over twelve hundred acres, including footpaths, bridges over riverbeds, flower gardens of every variety, merry-go-rounds. An amazing zoo. The list goes on and on. It was designed to resemble New York's Central Park, back when it was still a thriving city.

Of course they upgraded everything, superseding the old park in every way. Everything here is bigger and better. Grandeur is the banner they wave. Opulence and overabundance are the exception to the rule. That rule being: maintain the perfect balance in your life, but when it comes to aesthetics, they go above and beyond expectations with elaborate buildings and museums, fine arts. Mammoth parks in every suburb.

They’re trying to create heaven on earth. Maybe because most have now given up on the hope of a heaven, so they want to make sure their time on earth is… I’m not really sure. Maybe super-sized!

Beauty and abundance is all around us in architecture and landscaping. I laugh at myself. I am a little irritated that my mind slips in and out of this euphoric state of being. I know darn well that her influence has made me appreciate life more, paying more attention to nature, throwing prose in there for good measure. I guess if that’s the only negative in spending time with her, I can live with it. I'll become a friggin poet and read sonnets to her while feeding her grapes if that’s what makes her happy.

-

In the evenings I often take a walk around the lake –with Haywire in tow -of course. The fountains in the center and on either side of the oblong lake, are shown off in an array of rainbow-colored lights and it’s just breathtaking. In the past, I’d walk Haywire, oblivious to my surroundings. Now I find myself enjoying nature. Go figure.

I grew up working the land, having an appreciation for it mainly for what it would yield. Now she has my head spinning with appreciation of its beauty and the life it’s so filled with. Birds and squirrels, along with swans and geese, all catch my attention. It’s F-ing annoying, but in the sweetest of ways. Dang her anyways! I laugh to myself.

Still, we are the lucky ones. Living in penthouses that were engineered with nature in mind. Every one of our apartments steps out high above the ground below. Our yards are built off the back of our penthouses, we don’t have front yards, instead we have large platforms where our travel units come by to pick us up.

Our hangout spaces are in our private back yards. Personally designed for each person’s tastes. No one sits on their front porch, visiting with neighbors like many southern cities used to encourage in the Old World. Here, they've determined that neighbors should not be thrust upon people to befriend. Friends are cultivated and chosen based on your own personal AI generated profile not by proximity from living arrangements. Yet, people are placed within their appropriate lanes based on income, status, abilities, and talents.

So, I find myself looking around, still in awe that I belong in this group of highly skilled and talented people, rubbing elbows with some of the world’s most intelligent. I turn to my left, leaning forward a little bit not meaning to, but I notice Sherbert’s mom. She’s dressed to kill. I mean, her body is a masterpiece, and, if timing was different, if proximity wasn’t an issue… let’s just say, in another lifetime, I probably would have been all over that.

It's such a shame she's such a bitch, because she's smart as a whip with a great career and the package she comes in is very eye appealing. That being said, she doesn't hold a candle to my woman. Wow! That's the first time I've thought of her as mine. That actually feels pretty good. My woman. Is that derogatory? I should find out. Probably is.

I straighten and turn away from Tawny just as she glances my direction. Shite! She caught me looking at her, I offer her a friendly wave, I mean, we still are neighbors. Yet, her petite nose lifts in the air as she flips those long locks of blonde hair my direction. Whatever. Her snubbing doesn’t bother me in the least.

She moved in about six or seven months ago, all feminine and sparkly. The girl knows how to flirt. At the time I was single so, of course I offered her help to get moved in. I mean, it's the gentlemanly thing to do.

My rule is don’t ‘you know what’ in your own backyard, even though she made it perfectly clear she’d be interested. I feigned ignorance. That didn’t bode well with her. And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduce that she’s the type of woman who always gets whatever it is she's going after. I hope she can drop it. The last thing I need is a bitch neighbor with a vendetta.

Beginning encourages friendliness here, superficial greetings suffice. I forget about Tawny and look around, waving at some neighbors, nodding at others, and offering a congenial good morning to the two elderly ladies who live across from my place. They are the sweetest couple. Both physicists. The two of them glance between Tawny and myself, I’m sure wondering if they interrupted something. And I'm so grateful that they did before anything transpired.

I shift myself to have my back to Tawny as I engage them. I really do like them. I'm convinced that they were full-fledged hippies in another life. Their style for clothing, hair, shoes; their home and car… Well, it's… let’s just say –eclectic. That's the polite way to say it. Not my taste, but also, not my concern. To each their own. And that's another good motto that's practiced here. To each their own.

I love these two women though. Okay, for purely selfish reasons. They’ve mastered the use of their chef AI and are always carrying plates of their creations over for me to sample. Especially baked goods.

“Good morning Alister!” They both call out in unison. I give them both a big Montana smile. “Good morning!” I may sound a little overzealous, seeing as they stepped in between whatever Tawny was building up for.

“Are you going to be home at your usual time tonight?” Gertie asks. “No. Sorry, I have something this evening.” Tawny twists her whole body to face me, and I feel a chill run down my left side. “A date!?” I try to ignore her, asking Gertie if she needed something that I could help with. Hazel answers. “We just came up with an amazing new recipe we wanted you to try, that’s all.”

“Shoot! My loss.” I laugh out loud. They both flap their hands at me, giggling like little schoolgirls. They couldn’t be any more adorable. “Well, maybe we’ll freeze some. You can have it later or tomorrow.” Gertie is starting to feel embarrassed. She's the shy one of the two. “I’d love that. Thanks for always thinking of me.” They both smile, grins so wide all their wrinkles seem to accordion-fold into one another. They both glance Tawny’s way and their smiles fade. They don’t care for her. Smart women!

The two of them have been together for over fifty years and the stories they share about going through the Changeover are hair raising, to say the least. It sounds like it was the wild wild west back then. I like hearing about the Changeover. The more I know, the more it helps me understand this world we now live in.

My thoughts turn back to my day, as –thankfully several travel units pull up to their designated places. And I bid a quick goodbye to my neighbors without turning towards Tawny. She calls out my name in a last-ditch effort to continue this farce of a relationship she’s trying to cultivate with me. I pretend I don’t hear her.

I see Gertie and Hazel glance her way, frown again, and turn to wave me goodbye as I hop in my car and take off. That bitch! Tawny better not become a problem. It stinks being a target of someone's –for literally doing nothing! It's usually the ‘something’ that I get in trouble for. If Tawny messes things up for me, I’m gonna…” Ugh. I have no idea what I’ll do. I hate vindictive women!