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inane annals
Uptown Nickel, Downtown Dime, pt.2
by Mark Suder Massey | 07 Nov 2007, 13:13

The Science Center's dim cafeteria was full of uncomfortable white metal tables. Except for my dad, all of the adults were sitting at the same table and eating takeout sushi. At the center of the cafeteria, laughing constantly, Vernon and his friends and several girls had jammed three tables together and were eating their McDonald's Happy Meals. My dad and I were sitting together at the far edge of the cafeteria, not talking.

After four bites I set my peanut butter sandwich down.

"That's all you're going to eat?" my dad said.

I picked at the crust.

"Don't do that," he said. "That's the healthiest part. Like with an orange, always eat the peel."

I flicked a piece of crust on the ground.

"Denny." He let out his breath. "Don't waste food. If you aren't going to eat it, I will."

"And that would be so delicious," I mumbled. "A crust sandwich. Make sure to pack it full of orange peels. Yummy to the third power."

My dad set his sandwich down. "What did you say?"

I was quiet.

"Don't smart off," he said, glaring at me.

I pushed my sandwich toward him. "Here. I'm starving but it's so dry I can't even swallow it."

He let out his breath. "Then drink something. I don't see what's so complicated."

"A soda would wash it down."

"Soda's unhealthy."

"I guess milk would be all right, then."

My dad was quiet for a while. "I saw a water fountain back near the main entrance. We'll go there together once you've fin—"

"Why don't you just say it."

"Say what, Denny?"

I looked up at him, sticking my chin out. "That you won't buy me anything."

"Did you see those prices? A dollar fifty for eight ounces of milk? At Price Club I can get two gallons for five dollars. It's basic civics, Denny. Buy in bulk."

"Whatever. I don't see a Price Club nearby, do you?"

"Watch your tone, son. Just because we're around your classmates doesn't mean you can be so—"

"Keep your crappy sandwiches," I said, bolting out of my chair and walking off.

*

Right after lunch we were given thirty minutes of playtime while the chaperones relaxed, gossiped, and made phone calls. My dad walked straight over to a row of plush chairs, put his head against the wall, and closed his eyes. Like most of the boys, I went to the arcade. All of the games were science-themed, such as Geology Superquiz and Clued Into Anatomy.

"God," Vernon sighed as we stepped into the arcade. "All these games are totally dorky. Give me Streetfighter any day, man."

"What's Streetfighter?" I said.

Vernon rolled his eyes. "You don't know what Streetfighter is?"

"No. Is it cool?"

"Is it cool." He snorted. "Put it this way. Bet you twenty bucks you don't have a single game that's cooler."

"I, uh, I don't have any video games."

Vernon's mouth hung open. Then he threw his head back, laughing. "You're shitting me. Almost got me, though."

"So, uh, how much do these dorky games cost?" I said to Vernon, putting my hands in my pockets and trying to sound cool.

"They're free, duh. Nobody would pay for these games."

Relieved, I went over to a video game called Gear Madness. After playing for a few minutes I got the hang of it. The game modeled basic mechanics, such as gears and pulleys and levers. I played with total concentration, the levels blurring, the minutes bleeding, the voices around me meaningless. Suddenly a bell went off and I'd won. Tickets started streaming out of the video game's dispenser.

From two machines away Vernon looked over at me. "Geez. How many did you win?"

"I don't know," I said. "But I built the windmill!"

"Figures only a nerd could win at these nerdy games."

Without bothering to fold them, I pulled out the long stream of faded red tickets and ran over to the prize booth.

"I won forty tickets!" I said to the teenager working the booth.

"Best score so far today," the teenager said, taking the stream of tickets and feeding it into an automatic counter. "You can pick any combination of prizes that adds up to forty."

I scanned the prizes under the glass display case, then bobbed my head back and forth to see the prizes on the wall behind the teenager. There were glow in the dark spiders, small packs of Legos, freeze dried astronaut food, and many other prizes I didn't recognize.

"Whoa," I said. "Those water guns are only twenty tickets each?"

The teenager nodded and grabbed the water guns from their hook. "Last two of these in stock. Probably the most popular prize." He handed them to me. One was red and one was blue.

"Yeah," I heard someone say. "That's cause the other prizes suck."

I spun and saw Vernon, holding a tiny stream of tickets. "Hey Vernon."

"God." He threw his tickets on the booth's counter, wrinkling his nose. "The only thing you can get for three tickets is a stupid planet sticker."

I didn't say anything.

"How much do you want for those water guns?" Vernon said.

"Uh, I don't know. They're not for sale."

"Everything's for sale."

"No, seriously man. I've never had a water gun before and these are really cool."

"Pssh. Those are just some cheapy little ones made in China. I got a kickass Supersoaker at home. Thing shoots half a gallon."

"Then why do you want mine?" I said, feeling my face turn red.

"Because!" Vernon said, clawing theatrically at his cheeks. "This place is so lame."

I looked at my feet for a few seconds.

"Two dollars?" he said.

I crossed my feet.

"Three dollars?" he said.

I bit my lip. "How much does a Happy Meal cost?"

Vernon snickered. "Geez, I don't know. Four something."

"Then I'll sell for five dollars. But you only get one gun."

"What? That's a total rip."

I held his stare.

"All right, all right," he sighed, taking a wad of cash out of his pocket. When I saw a fresh twenty dollar bill I felt my stomach lurch with jealously.

Vernon thrust a five at me, snatching the blue water gun from my hand. "I didn't want that girly red one anyway."

*

When we got to the plate tectonics exhibit, it was dark and quiet. Fenced off by a thick glass barrier, a thirty foot circular pool was set about three feet below ground level. In the end of the pool nearest us floated a twenty foot wide lumpy plastic representation of Pangaea. I was there with Vernon and two of his closest friends, everyone else a few exhibits behind us.

I remembered what Mr. Vandermeer said about his son being a natural leader. "Streetfighter does sound really cool," I said tentatively.

Vernon threw his hands up. "It's only the coolest fighting game in the world. Each character comes from a different country, and has a rad costume, and has their own martial arts style, and—"

"Like my dad!" I said. "He's a martial arts expert."

"Dude," Vernon said, crossing his arms. "Your dad is a factory worker. My dad told me all about it. How he taught this sissy martial arts style called Adido, but then got fired."

"He wasn't really fired, it's just that enrollments kept dropping and they didn't need as many instructors so—"

"Big surprise," Vernon said. "Who'd want to learn such a weak fighting style when you could do Muay Thai and kick down palm trees?"

"Yeah," I said. "I guess." I felt my chin shaking and tried to sound tough. "My dad's uniform looks like a dress, too. It's stupid."

"Put it this way." Vernon slitted his eyes. "No matter how many lame throws your dad tried, my dad would still kick his skinny ass."

Eyes watering, my stomach going hollow, I turned and walked into the shadows of a nearby exhibit.

From behind me I heard a plastic smacking sound. Vernon was on top of the glass barrier and the KEEP OFF EXHIBIT sign was rattling by one of his feet. Yee-hawing, he leaped across the water and landed on Pangaea. I walked back over.

"Pangaea is pan-gay-a," Vernon said, straddling a fault line and swaying his hips like Elvis Presley.

A kid with a rat tail hair cut giggled. "Gay is right!"

Vernon's girlfriend, Rebecca, batted her eyes at Vernon and said, "You're so bad."

Just then the simulation turned on. There was a deep mechanical rumble as a smoke machine belched pink smoke. Overhead lights strobed red and yellow. A wave machine clunked on and the water became choppy. Then the plates started vibrating, fissures opening as Vernon stumbled for balance. Suddenly each of the plates began to tilt and separate. Vernon hopped onto the continent of Australia, hands out for balance as it swayed into its own corner of the exhibit. Ominous booming and hissing sounds erupted from a dozen speakers. Vernon wasn't even trying to hide the hysteria on his face.

"Somebody do something!" Rebecca cried out.

Within fifteen seconds all of the chaperones were there.

"Who egged him on to do this?" Mrs. Rossi said, glaring at each of the kids.

"Dad!" Vernon howled. "Help me!"

Mr. Vandermeer nervously rubbed his suit jacket. "Vernon, just be calm and wait until the simulation is over."

"Get me off of here!" Vernon yelled, his voice breaking as Australia pitched at a steep angle, nearly tossing him in the water.

"Oh! Oh, damnit!" Mrs. Rossi said, wringing her hands. "I'm going to notify the museum people, they can shut this thing off." She ran off.

My dad walked closer to Mr. Vandermeer. "Go in there and get your son," he said softly.

Mr. Vandermeer stiffened, then cleared his throat. "Well. It's not like he's in any real danger. That water can't be more than two feet deep."

"Help your son," my dad said firmly.

Mr. Vandermeer crossed his arms. "This suit is wool, do you know what water would do to it?"

My dad shook his head, then vaulted over the glass barrier closest to Australia. When he splashed down on the other side the water went up to his knees. Wading quickly, my dad reached the continent and lifted his arms up to Vernon. Vernon fell lengthwise into my dad's arms and my dad carried him back like that, above the water. I could hear Vernon whimpering.

At the glass barrier Mr. Vandermeer yanked Vernon out of my dad's arms, saying, "I can take over from here."

My dad shrugged and climbed back over the barrier. The blue dye in the water had stained his white tennis shoes and they sloshed with each footstep.

Abruptly the plate tectonics simulation turned off. The threatening sounds stopped, the water calmed. Vernon let go of his dad and started puffing up his chest.

"God!" Vernon said. "I so had you guys fooled! I wasn't scared at all."

Mr. Vandermeer stepped toward my dad, narrowing his eyes. "Don't you think you overstepped your bounds? Just a little? I'm his father. Don't you ever presume to act on my behalf."

"I didn't presume a goddam thing," my dad said, his voice low. "As scared as your son was he could've drowned out there."

"What don't you get?" Vernon screamed at my dad. "I told you I wasn't scared."

Eyes flaring, my dad looked from Vernon to Mr. Vandermeer.

"Denny," my dad said, meeting my eyes, "I think it's time to go."

My dad walked about twenty feet before turning to look at me. I hadn't taken a step. When I crossed my arms my dad clenched his jaw and walked off. I was blushing, wanting to disappear.

"How lame," Vernon said to me, shaking his head. "Your dad so overreacted."

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