The Happy War

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Desperate. Why else would she, Linda Simpson, a fairly attractive, young, and successful businesswoman, be sitting across from an unusual looking pharmaceutical salesman, on a blind date? In all probability, this would be the last time she listened to her sister. Becca had rambled on like an annoying drone, about the features and benefits of Eric. “He’s unlike anyone else you’ve ever met,” she had said. “He’s smart, cute and funny. You’ll love him,” she repeated over and over. “Give him a whirl. I promise you’ll like him.”

Linda looked at Eric’s thick, tortoise-shell glasses, his messy hair, his tattoos, and his pierced nose. What in hell? Despite her uneasy feelings, they had gone to the movies and were sitting across from each other at a diner. She ordered a slice of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee. He opted for fries and a soda.

“I think this movie escaped me somehow,” she said, wondering how a guy like this could sell anything. Didn’t they have to look and appear professional? Was she becoming her mother? Are cool looking, strange people, the new ‘normal’. Are gothic millennials the fresh faces of technology? While she pondered all that, she tried to avoid the glint reflecting off his substantial proboscis. He probably doesn’t even own a suit.

“What do you mean?” He repeatedly jabbed a french-fry into a small container of ketchup. With his faraway gaze, she figured he couldn’t imagine she didn’t understand the film. “It wasn’t that confusing, was it?” He took a bite of french-fry, and dipped again. Jab, jab, jab, until small pieces of potato floated to the top of the sauce.

The scene in front of her looked bad. Bad, as in the horror show she wanted to walk out of hours ago. At least he didn’t hold her hand or try moving his arm, up around to the top of her shoulders, at the cinema. With his weird taste in movies, it was easy to think, they’d have nothing in common.

She shrugged. “I didn’t get it. How did all those people die?”

He bit his lip and smiled. “Don’t you remember the vials in that General’s drawer? In the very beginning of the movie….”

Pursing her lips, she squinted, and thought back to the movie. “Vials, yeah, I guess, but that didn’t seem important at the time. There were so many things going on. I thought they died from some type of poisonous gas.”

“But the baby running the tap…the mom washing dishes, the guy fly-fishing; those were all clues.”

With every clue, another french-fry dived into the blood red sauce. The ketchup made the innocent fries look slaughtered. Defenseless spuds--sliced and fried were heading for Eric’s mouth. None of it made sense. This date, the movie, all of it made her feel separated from reality. Stumped, she took a big bite of cake. Perfect frosting, like her mother used to make, with a trace of espresso. “I don’t get it. How are those clues?” Trying to figure out the apocalyptic movie left her hungry, even mentally depleted.

“Linda, your sister’s a nurse.”

“Yeah, so?” She didn’t see a connection between nursing and warfare. Once he wiped his fingers in a white napkin however, red grease smeared all over, it reminded her of a scene from a different movie, where wounded soldiers were treated with torn bandages, during the Civil War.

“She would have loved it.”

What a strange thing to say. Sure, her sister knew many things about administering medicine, but that didn’t necessarily mean she’d like this film. Eric Anderson didn’t rack up any extra points with his small jab. Only instead of fries and ketchup, this one seemed personal. “What does that mean?”

“The film talks about chemicals that alter brain function. It’s all about chemical warfare. Don’t you see? The world gets wiped out from a mad scientist and his crazy experiment that goes wrong. He puts chemicals in the world’s drinking supply and boom, everyone begins to die. Even that cute baby. As they travel the world, people in the farthest reaches of Asia are dead. There was nothing they could do.” To drive home the point, Eric banged his fist on the laminate table. “It was a great movie.” Smiling smugly, he looked satisfied with his monologue, picked up another french-fry and began assaulting potatoes again.

Now on top of everything else, he made her feel stupid. Nurses, doctors, lawyers and priests received all the respect. Maybe, if he knew something about advertising and marketing, he’d understand. If, he realized how much work, that she, and her co-workers, put into product placement, demographics, behavioral studies, logo designs, complex target marketing, social media blasts, keywords, layouts, ad copy, web content, and press releases, he’d have some clue about branding. Perhaps, if he’d see how her department took raw data, mixed it with technology, swirled in human interaction, responses and reactions to create the hardware and software--of her job—maybe --he’d have insight into her world. But he didn’t ask, and seemed to assume she sat at a desk answering phone calls. Or, even worse, he didn’t care.

“Guess I’d rather see a movie about the opposite.” She picked up her coffee and took a long swig of the cooled, bitter brew. Besides, she wondered how a ‘sensitive guy’ as her sister had called him, could love a movie with so much violence. Linda thought about the word sensitive and Becca’s interpretation. Whether he wore his hair in a man-bun or kept his flannel shirt untucked like an astronomer at a rock concert, his insides were still ego-filled, self-absorbed man. The guy must be some sort of passive-aggressive, that doesn’t ask about her career, and pounds tables like a caveman. As if, nothing mattered. Maybe, at this stage of the game, it didn’t.

“The opposite?” He leaned back and had a strange expression on his face. Wheels were turning but she wondered where he had drifted. His unfocused eyes had momentarily disappeared to a far-off place, maybe miles from the diner. A pale tone brought out the contrast of stubble, and the five o’clock shadow glittered under the diner’s florescent lights. She didn’t mean to throw him for a proverbial loop, and he seemed to ponder her words for several seconds. Listening, before making a quick, hasty reply made her feel better, and gave him brownie points.

That moment made a difference. It had to do with much more than long hair contrasting wildly and horribly, with cowboy-like silver snaps on a plaid shirt. While he appeared to be a paradox in many ways, and a myriad of mysterious disparities, she felt herself opening up to him. Meanwhile, her mind’s eye saw a fortune wheel, flashing neon letters that spelled out ‘proceed with caution’. Imagining her foot on thin ice, she stood blindfolded on the edge of destiny. Though apprehensive and risky, she moved forward. Her mouth didn’t want to stop. She began to explain what she thought about everything.

“Yes!” Under the table her feet danced across the frozen pond. He’s listening. Don’t be shy, she said to herself. I have to tell him how I feel about movies that glamorize violence. “Doesn’t all the hate bother you?” Every night she heard the senseless killings on the evening news; the shootings, the road rage, the incredible pain of survivors. “Well, why not? Why not create chemical warfare that destroys depression, irritability, bad moods and aggressive behavior?”

“For real?” Eric began to laugh, and she noticed he had attractive dimples. He laughed so hard he grabbed his napkin and had the decency to hold it in front of his mouth before pieces of potato shot across the table. She wondered what he found so funny. “Oh, my God, that is hilarious.” The boisterous outburst almost made him choke. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“What?” She rolled her eyes, thinking he might be short a fuse or two. “What did I say?”

“I sell those things. You described the symptoms. Ketamides, anesthetics, and antidepressants like Paraxethines, Zolough. I’m sure you’ve heard of Woezap.”

What the heck was he laughing about? “Okay, yes. I’ve heard of some of those.” She stabbed her fork into a piece of cake and brought it to her lips. Before she could enjoy the delicious morsel, he touched another nerve.

He pointed at her plate. “Some people order cake because they have low serotonin levels.”

Linda placed her fork down. “Are you telling me I’m depressed?”

“I don’t know, are you?” He chuckled again and even snorted. “Hey, I’m just kidding.”

“Rest assured, I’m fine,” she mumbled in a soft tone. Scanning the diner, she lowered her voice. “But that movie gave me a spectacular idea. Wouldn’t it be great to put Woezap in the world’s water supply?” Thoughts zigzagged like lightening in her mind. Why would I tell this stranger my innermost thoughts? Must be those sincere looking, amber eyes, or maybe the big nose makes him appear trustworthy. Embarrassed, she looked into her coffee cup. She felt red circles burning on her cheeks. I hope he didn’t drug me. And though it was way too early to tell, by some strange turn of cosmic events, Becca may have been right.

“That would be awesome,” he replied with a big grin. “It would also be a huge crime.”

No, it has to be the dimples. She took a bite of cake and swallowed. “It might be worth it.”