Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Here is the next part of the story. This chapter is more incomplete than the others. This is where I left off sequential writing and started working on other parts of the story because I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted to do here.
I'd love to hear comments and criticism on this part (and the others, if you want).
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Clarence strolls across the Chocco Park soccer fields, making his way from the parking lot to Cal's tree in the wood lot. Another late night has left him pale and twitchy. At 4:30 he saved the latest version of SolarControl, the script he designed to run Cal's electrical system, to Cal's drive. He planned to go to bed then, but something kept him awake. He googled 'Emily Goldman.' A few hits returned, but not her. Then he opened a word processor and began drafting a resignation letter. He had no intention of using it, but there was something therapeutic about drafting it over and over, in different variations. He was still drafting resignation letters at 9:30 when his alarm went off. His last draft began, "Dear Sirs and Madams, After working in your company for five years, it is a wonder I have not tied my monitor cable around my ankles and thrown the screen through the twelfth floor window..."
Cal has the rope ladder out, a sign that the tree-steps are under repair. Clarence makes his way up with his laptop bag carefully slung over one shoulder. Cal is awake and reading the newspaper at his makeshift desk, a piece of plywood attached to the treehouse wall by two cables and a hinge along the bottom edge.
"Ahoy there!" Cal says loudly over the top of his newspaper.
"I have your drive here."
"Well thank you Clarence, very much. But I may not be needing it much longer."
"What do you mean?"
"Check this out." Cal handed over a sheet of paper with the heading "Newdale Common Council Notice of Public Hearing - Resolution 23-068: Enforcement of Park Ordinances, Overnight Occupancy"
"What the fuck is this?"
"I wondered that myself. I asked around a bit, did a little research. Apparently there have been some complaints about my home recently. Since I have an understanding with the police, I guess people started complaining directly to the council. They're going to evict me, man."
"What sort of complaints?"
"I'm a hairy old man with a beard and no social graces who lives in a treehouse in the park. To these soccer moms that means I am undoubtedly a pedophile. I'm probably a drug addict and a thief, too. Who knows. What this resolution does is direct the police to enforce park ordinances strictly and thoroughly under threat of disciplinary action. They're going to haul me out of here kicking and screaming, Clarence. They'll probably use a fucking taser on me. You never know what they'll do. Maybe if I don't go quietly they'll plug me in the skull and plant a gun on my corpse."
"I thought these guys were your buddies? I'm sure they'll be professional about it if it comes to that."
"Buddies. No cop is my buddy. We had an understanding. That's as far as it went. They've been good to me because it's been convenient. It's about to get really inconvenient."
"But we don't even know if this thing will pass. Take it easy, Cal."
"Take it easy. That's what they said. Of course it will pass. Who's going to vote against enforcing the law?"
"Look, if it happens, you can crash at my place until you figure something else out. For free, OK? I have a guest room full of boxes. I can move them downstairs."
"Clarence, I appreciate the offer, but you know why I came out here in the first place. I wanted to live ethically and sustainably. And don't take this the wrong way man, but you're part of the problem. I can't move in with you. Besides, this is my home. I'm a better steward of this land than the parks department. I don't see them out here picking up trash, getting rid of invasive weeds, keeping out paintballers. You remember what this park was like just a few years ago. This is the thanks I get?"
"It's not over yet. The council meeting is on Tuesday, let's go down to city hall and change some minds."
Cal folds the newspaper and tucks it into his armpit.
"Maybe we should get Alan involved?," Cal says with a frown on his face.
"I don't think we can just throw money at this."
"Maybe."
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"Damn. I'm broke, my feet hurt, and that bitch is slippin'." Alan d'Cokaigne's stereo system with seventy-five CD changer kicks into some Ice Cube lyrics. He sits in a leather recliner, playing a boxing video game on a 75 inch flat OLED TV. He has replaced the motion sensitive controllers that came with the console with a stationary controller so that he doesn't have to stand or move his arms. He has not moved for six hours. Excluding bathroom breaks he has not moved for 36 hours.
The bottle of Mountain Dew tucked into the recliner's cup holder is empty. Alan's bladder is full. Something's got to give. His thumbs keep clicking away, delivering blow after blow to his virtual opponent. Also, his fly is unzipped.
