Object x, p.2
Object X, page 2
“We need to get this written down and notarized before you change your mind.”
She climbed to her tippy-toes, pulled him down to her level by a firm handful of his t-shirt, and planted one last kiss on his yummy lips. That would have to hold him over until tonight, because the only member of the house who didn't like kisses was on his way downstairs.
Sam helped himself to one last squeeze of her butt for good measure before turning to the hallway. Seconds later, he was in dad-mode.
“Dad!” Tommy excitedly greeted Sam before Wendy, per usual.
“What's going on, kiddo?” he smiled as his son hustled over to him and hugged his thighs. Tommy had a long way to go until he looked directly into his father's eyes, but Sam expected to gaze up at his pride and joy one day. He seemed to be growing by the hour.
Wendy waited patiently for her hug while noting how cute Tommy looked in the cargo shorts and Batman t-shirt that she'd laid out for him last night before bed. One day, her little angel would be all grown up with facial hair and a phone full of risque pictures sent to him by his many girlfriends, so she planned to savor every precious moment of his youth. She would never be happier than she currently was. Her life was complete.
Tommy broke away from his father to complete his very important morning ritual. “Mommy!”
Sam had always been Dad, and she'd always been Mommy. Why? She didn't know, to be honest. She didn't necessarily care either. She would gladly be Mommy for the rest of her life. The little guy hugging her like his life depended on it was her world.
The thin youngster didn't look impressed after ending his hug with her. His nose told him what his eyes couldn't see. “Eggs?”
Sam chimed in before Wendy could speak. “Are eggs a problem, your highness?”
Tommy turned to face his dad. He rarely behaved like a boy a few weeks short of his seventh birthday. Even his mannerisms typically reflected those more of a teenager as opposed to a first-grader.
He shot his father a dramatic eye roll. His response contained part of Wendy's bubbly side with plenty of Sam's sarcastic personality. He truly was his parents' kid, and if his character didn't show it enough, then his brown hair from Sam and blue eyes from Wendy proved it.
“And what would you prefer?” Sam asked.
“French toast!”
Sam quickly made eye contact with Wendy before she could manage to dig the bread out of the refrigerator. Lord knows that she couldn't say no to Tommy.
“Let me tell you something, kiddo,” Sam said, leading Tommy to the kitchen table to take a seat. “French toast is for softies. It's what wimps eat. But do you know what real men like you and me eat?”
Tommy awaited his dad's reveal from across the table. Three things had the ability to put him in a trance: animated movies, Wendy's tablet, and whenever Sam lowered his voice to stress the importance of one of their guy talks.
“Eggs,” Sam told him, smiling over at Wendy before turning his attention back to his son. “It's how you get big muscles, and big muscles are how you get girls.”
“Girls are icky.”
Sam burst into laughter. “Girls are still icky, huh? Trust me, you'll be singing a different tune in a few years.”
“Most of 'em are,” Tommy quickly corrected himself. “Mommy isn't.”
Wendy transferred the eggs from the pan to a plate with an ear-to-ear smile.
“Mommy definitely isn't icky,” Sam agreed in a tone that Tommy wouldn't recognize until puberty hit. Wendy, on the other hand, knew exactly what her husband meant. “And you want to marry a girl like Mommy someday, right?”
“Just like Mommy!”
Wendy paused at the kitchen table, a plate of eggs in her hand and a list of tasks needing to be accomplished before she started her day. Her heart fluttered as she closed her eyes for a brief moment to appreciate how good she had it. Her husband couldn't get enough of her, and her son had not only just declared that she was the only non-icky female in the world, but that he wanted to marry a girl like her when he grew up. She didn't care if it was nonsense similar to what all young boys said about their mothers either. To her, it was the single most incredible moment of her life.
“And let's ask Mommy if she likes muscles,” Sam said with his familiar grin.
“There's plenty that I like about Dad,” she stressed to her impressionable child. At times, Sam and Tommy acted more like best buddies than father and son. She needed to remind Tommy that girls would be after him one day for more than just his handsome looks. “I like how nice he is, how much he loves the both of us, and how hard he works.”
Sam stared at her.
Tommy, like a twin of the man she'd fallen in love with so many years ago, stared at her as well.
“And yes, I like his muscles too,” she finally conceded. She knew what Sam was up to, and he had a proven history of being much more successful at it than herself. She looked at Tommy. “So, eggs?”
Tommy nodded, suddenly excited to chow down his breakfast to get big and strong just like his daddy.
“Sometimes, your mother forgets how important protein is for her diet too,” Sam said.
She tried her hardest not to laugh. She honestly did. Unfortunately, she wasn't very successful as she pushed a heaping helping of scrambled eggs onto Sam's plate, shaking her head as she smiled at his big grin. Thank goodness that Tommy wasn't mature enough to pick up on Sam's many sexually-laced comments. Although, in only a few short years, their son would be horrified rather than oblivious by some of the stuff that came out of Sam's mouth.
Sam had a very important question for the little guy across the table. “So, what's on the schedule tonight after I get home from work? Are we playing football, basketball, or hockey?”
In a style exclusive to six-year-old boys, Tommy pondered the crucial question of what sport he wanted to play with his dad tonight for the rest of breakfast.
Chapter Three
Current Day.
Wendy didn't care if French toast was for wimps. Today, Tommy would be getting what he'd wanted for breakfast yesterday morning.
But something was off.
She'd spent the past hour in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to fall back asleep. Sam, inversely, had stayed in the backyard until only ten minutes ago when he finally opted to come inside and take a shower in the downstairs bathroom. She didn't like anything about their interaction outside earlier. She felt like a distant priority for the man who was supposed to have her back no matter what.
What was that thing in their backyard? It had to be some punk kid's version of a joke, right? If not, then what else could it possibly be? And why did she allow it to upset her so much? She needed to call the police to come take care of their problem. Or the town. Or someone. The sooner that thing was out of their backyard, the better.
Breakfast would give them a chance to get back on the same page. Sam would forget all about his new obsession, and she would enjoy her favorite part of her day like always. She just needed to feed her men. What else brought her family together like her cooking? Certainly nothing that she could think of.
She could count how many times a similar situation happened over the past eight years on her hands. Sam—like all men—had a tendency to be a bit of a drama queen after coming down with a cold, so she saw a different side of him whenever he felt ill. Otherwise, there wasn't much that negatively affected his mood. He almost always mauled her in the kitchen every morning, but he would still at least plant a kiss on her cheek on those rare occasions when she didn't feel like himself.
This, however, was so unlike him.
She listened to Sam enter the kitchen as she made a big stack of French toast at the stove, pull out a chair, and take his seat.
She turned to find him staring out the sliding glass door and into the backyard. She knew what he looked at. Despite its distance, that black thing was still visible from inside the house now that it was light out.
“Good morning,” she greeted him for the second time today, although more cheerfully this time.
He didn't respond.
“Um...good morning,” she tried again.
Once again, he silently gazed out the door.
“Sam!”
He looked at her, almost with disgust, as if she'd inconvenienced him. “What?”
“Good morning.”
“Yeah, good morning,” he grunted, quick to turn his line of sight back to the mysterious object in the backyard.
So, no mauling this morning. It didn't even look like a kiss was on the menu. For the first time in her life, she knew what it felt like to be the wife of a man who treated her like a roommate instead of his soulmate, and she didn't enjoy the feeling.
“We need to talk to Tommy about that thing.”
His head quickly snapped to her. “Why?”
“Why?” she asked, surprised by his abrupt burst of passion. “Because I don't want him going anywhere near it until we get someone to remove it. It gives me the creeps.”
“It's not creepy. It's fascinating.”
“Well, I find it creepy,” she disagreed before placing the plate of French toast on the table. She looked above her. “Is Tommy still asleep? I called up to him five minutes ago.”
“Don't call anyone or get anyone involved with it.”
She was more concerned with getting their son fed and ready for the school bus on time. Unlike Sam, who seemed to be focused entirely on the backyard. “We're not going to leave it there.”
“I'll take care of it.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” she asked, looking to the ceiling again. Why didn't she hear footsteps from Tommy's bedroom?
His voice brimmed with confidence. “I'll figure something out.”
“Did you try moving it at all?”
“I said I'll figure something out, okay?” he huffed at her.
His passion typically reserved for her was funneled solely into whatever object was in their backyard. What exactly did he spend his time doing outside while she'd unsuccessfully attempted to grab a quick hour of sleep earlier? Couldn't he just move it? Or break it into pieces and drag it out to the street for the garbagemen to collect? Why did they have this discussion at all?
Leaving it out there felt like a needless risk. It could attract wild animals. Or fall and hurt Tommy if he decided to ignore her warnings in favor of boyish curiosity. Yet, her biggest gripe came courtesy of Sam's attraction to the same object that she wanted nothing to do with. It was unlike them to not see eye to eye on things.
She walked over to the stairs and shouted, “I made French toast!”
Four simple words were all it took to cause a stir upstairs. Moments later, Tommy was on his way into the kitchen.
“Dad!” Tommy hugged Sam, who showed little interest in returning his son's embrace from his seat.
He quickly made his way to Wendy, hugged her, and then hustled to his chair to dig into his breakfast. But then he hesitated.
Tommy stared at Sam—who sat directly across from him, but gazed over his head and out the glass door as if he wasn't even there—before turning to Wendy. She knew what was on the young man's mind. Yesterday's discussion at breakfast still echoed in his head. A father's words weren't small potatoes to a six-year-old little boy who viewed his dad as a rock star, and Tommy clearly had second thoughts regarding feasting on a meal for wimps.
“Sam,” she tried to jolt her husband out of his funk.
He may as well have been in another world.
“Sam!”
He finally looked at her, annoyed. “What?”
She used her eyes to make him look at Tommy. It was time for Sam to get his priorities in order and act like a dad. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much he disagreed with her, being a father was monumentally more important than whatever happened in their backyard. She shouldn't have to remind him of that either.
“It's fine,” Sam told him, his eyes already back on their sprawling lawn. “Just eat your breakfast.”
She wasn't familiar with the man who'd dismissed Tommy so casually. What happened to her happy husband? Where did his personality run off to? And for how much longer would he behave this way?
“Tommy, we need to talk to you about something.”
Tommy was already busy digging into his French toast.
“I don't want you to go past the first row of pine trees in the backyard,” Wendy proceeded to play the role of a single parent. Sam certainly wasn't of any use. “Actually, stay close to the house when you're playing outside.”
“Why?” Tommy asked, his breakfast visible in his open mouth as he chewed away.
“There's something in the backyard that we want you to stay away from,” she said. “It could be dangerous.”
“It's not dangerous.”
She huffed, looking at Sam. “It could be.”
“It's not, though,” Sam argued without bothering to look in her direction. He stared outside like a child dealing with the temptation of a tray of cookies off-limits until after dinner. It was obvious where he would rather be.
Sam's casual attitude regarding the backyard situation caused Tommy to appear rather indifferent in regard to her warning. It'd never happened before, but she finally experienced the difficulties of parenting thanks to her first encounter with an unsupportive partner. Sam had always been the world's greatest husband and dad. Now, she didn't know what to do. Tommy would always value Sam's words more than her own, so she hated the idea of Sam openly fighting her on this.
She did her best to bring Tommy into a world where only the two of them existed. “Promise me you won't go past the trees. Hey!” she raised her voice just as he started to look toward Sam. “Promise me.”
“I won't go past the trees,” the youngster reluctantly gave his word.
Wendy knew how little boys functioned. Telling them to stay away from something elevated their curiosity to almost incomprehensible levels. She counted on Tommy to be mature well beyond his years, however. She needed her incredible son to act more like a man than his father did at the moment.
She wanted to hear it. “Tell me you promise.”
“I promise I won't go past the trees, Mommy,” Tommy told her what she wanted to hear with a slight huff of frustration.
She found Sam off in his own world when she looked his way. The sooner that thing was out of their backyard, the sooner her family could get back on track, because she didn't want anything to do with this version of her husband. It wasn't just that he felt distant either. Rather, he seemed hassled by the basic idea of having to spend time anywhere other than outside. He didn't even want anything to do with his own child. It troubled her.
Chapter Four
Sam sat in a lawn chair, three feet from Object X as he'd labeled it. It hovered exactly ten inches off the ground, completely motionless, and the tape measure at his feet verified his findings. He'd attempted to push and turn it—as he had after first discovering it this morning—to no avail, like expected. Nothing about it made sense. Why was it here?
It was exactly seven feet tall, two feet across, and two inches thick. Finally, it occurred to him what it looked like now that his eyes were no longer hindered by darkness. He also couldn't believe that it took him so long to come to this conclusion.
Object X resembled a door.
At least it did when it came to its dimensions. Nothing else about it added up, though. Why was it so black? And so smooth? He glided his fingers along the metallic surface without encountering so much as a bump, noting how the edges of the object broke off at ninety degree angles just like any other ordinary door. Except what he stared at didn't qualify as ordinary. It was extraordinary.
He'd called in sick to work after Wendy backed out of the driveway to make her way to her office. He needed time alone with it. To study it. To figure out how it worked. Wendy was too naive and Tommy was too young to appreciate this opportunity in their lives, but he wouldn't take a single moment for granted. He understood the importance of Object X's arrival. It was here for a reason.
He just didn't know why yet.
The mundane routine of life crashed down upon him this morning, suffocating him with the heaviness of wasted years as he stood in front of Object X. He wouldn't find purpose throwing a football back and forth with his son. He wouldn't leave a lasting legacy fucking his wife. He needed something more. Something special. In order to make a real impact on the world, he had to do something to separate him from all the other ordinary people on the planet.
Sam wasn't an intellect. He couldn't sing or act either. He was the son of regular people, cursed with average genetics and a sudden urge to find meaning in a society which lacked his footprint. He felt sick at the breakfast table this morning. Wendy didn't understand him. She didn't understand anything. She was the same as everyone else, entertained by flashy movies and loud music. Her complacency with being just another nameless couple on an unknown street in Nowhere, USA enraged him even more than her lack of talent. She didn't desire anything more than the basics.
But he was different.
His name would be remembered for generations. Sam Ellison, son of a mailman and a lunch lady, husband of a bore, father of a disappointment. He would be the shining example of trudging through the shit attempting to hold him back so he could change the world forever. Kids would study his name in textbooks. Husbands would strive to be half the man he was. Women would drool over him like they did their celebrity crushes.
Sam Ellison, the man responsible for why the world worked the way it did. Sam Ellison, the man who'd answered all the questions. Sam Ellison, the man who'd somehow managed to live fifty more years without OD'ing on the overwhelming amount of nineteen-year-old pussy thrown his way on a daily basis. Sam Ellison, the man you could never be.
Object X was his ticket to something worthwhile. It was his legacy. Tommy would never amount to shit and Wendy wasn't good enough to knock up and try again. It was all here. It was all right in front of him.
But he didn't know what the hell he looked at.
