The Jungle

"Remember boys," Billy Stillman said. "It's a jungle out there so let's all be lions today."

James Normandy didn't know this was how Paul Stillman, the district sales manager for Nuclivax, ended every morning staff meeting; it was his first day on the job, a job he didn't want but had taken because there wasn't anything else. Not for a college dropout with no marketable skills to speak of. Such is the life of the young, starving artist. James didn't necessarily think of himself as the next Brian May - his personal favorite - and maybe it was all just aspirational; a fantasy. He'd already been in three different bands and had poured every dime he'd earned mowing neighborhood lawns or found in the couch cushions into a basement studio set up he used to post his music on YouTube, much to the indifference of the masses. His dreams might well be on life support, but James wasn't ready to sign the DNR. Not yet. That's not what getting a real job meant. After all, James thought, life is a struggle. It was as good a reason as any for his anonymity. And poverty. Reason? James wondered. Or rationalization?

More to the point, his parents wanted him to kick in some money for groceries. 

I’m still living with my dad, James thought. And now I’m working with my dad. It’s like dad 24/7. Dad all the time. Got to get my own place. Dad, dad, dad. Is this some kind of zen punishment? Punishment. That doesn’t sound zen. What goes around comes around is kind of zen, isn't it? Is payback punishment? Note to self: Look into zen before zen looks into you. 

James had been paired up with Matt Stanic, who'd worked for Nuclivax for twenty-two years. James thought it wasn't as bad as working for his dad but not by much. Matt would serve  as James' mentor. Or perhaps passenger was a better description. Matt had recently totaled his cherry red Chevy Impala, a feat memorialized by the photo and article clipped from the local newspaper and posted on the bulletin board in the break room. Apparently, alcohol had been involved and Matt's license had been suspended, pending a court appearance. Such things are forgiven when you've been regional salesman of the year 12 times. 

"We are selling vacuum cleaners, aren't we?" James asked Matt as the meeting broke up.

Matt smiled. "They don't sell themselves, you know. Sometimes, you gotta kill a few zebras." He winked. "It's a jungle out there."

"Savannah," James said.

"What?" Matt asked.

"If we're talking about zebras and lions, they'd be found on the savannah, not in the jungle," James said.

"I don't think you know how metaphors work," Matt said.

James was pretty sure he knew how metaphors work, but he was in no mood to argue semantics.

"And they're not vacuum cleaners," Matt said. "They're domestic sanitation solutions."

"Right," James said. "The Nuclivax 3000 is the complete domestic sanitation solution. It dry vacs, wet vacs, mops and disinfects, killing up to 99.9% of common flu viruses. Essential to the everyday health of young children, the very old, and the immunocompromised. Easy to store, easy to use, with up to four hours of continuous use on a single charge."

"Good," Matt said. "You memorized the pitch."

To my undying shame and regret, James thought.

"Remember, you're selling peace of mind in an increasingly infectious world." Matt winked at James. "Jesus was wrong about one thing. It's the germaphobes who'll inherit the earth. As long as they own a Nuclivax 3000."

I'm saving lives with a vacuum cleaner, James thought, but the thought was not so much virtuous as ridiculous.

"It's James, right?" Matt said. "Mind if I call you Jimmy?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," James said.

"How do you think you're going to stop me from calling you Jimmy, Jimmy?" Matt asked.

A punch in the nose? James thought. I'm giving up a couple of inches and forty, maybe fifty pounds and maybe that isn't forty, maybe fifty pounds of muscle but I haven't been in a fight - if you could call it that - since Ron Lovato in 3rd Grade… And Ron pretty much kicked my ass then so… Direct, physical confrontation probably not Plan A. 

Matt's face brightened. "I'm kidding, kid. James it is. I've got some leads for us," Matt said. "I'm going to hit the head while you load up the kit. You're the rustbucket Honda Civic, right?"

James winced a bit at "rustbucket." But it wasn't a point he could rightly argue. "Right," he said. "I'm right out front."

"All right," Matt said. "See you in a few."

It was nearly 20 minutes before Matt joined James in his car.

"Sorry, man," Matt said. "I haven't had a drink in a week and I've been a little constipated. Made up for lost time this morning, though. I feel twenty pounds lighter."

James wasn't sure what heavy drinking and regularity of the bowels had to do with each other but decided against asking a follow up question.

"No worries," James said. "Where to?"

Matt took out his phone and scrolled with his thumb. "Let's see… 121 Elm Street. I've got a demo set up. You can be my lovely assistant."

"Okay," James said. "But I draw the line at wearing a thong."

"What?" Matt said. 

James wasn't sure if Matt was confused or simply wasn't listening. He decided on the latter. "121 Elm Street it is."

They were quiet for a while as they drove, then Matt asked, "You don't really wear a thong, do you? A banana hammock? Speedo? I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that, of course."

"I don't know if we've really known each other long enough to have this conversation, but, if you're asking me, boxers or briefs, I'm team boxers. Not that there's anything wrong with tighty whities, of course," James answered, already regretting the thong joke. "I'm glad to hear you haven't had a drink since the crash, though," he said, risking the change of topic from underwear to substance abuse. "Are you, um, are you -"

"An alcoholic?" Matt asked. He took a moment to consider the question. "I don't think so. I just like being drunk."

"But you've given up alcohol?" James asked.

"Until my court appearance," Matt said.

"And then?" James asked.

Matt shrugged. "I'll take an Uber next time," he said.

"Good call," James said.

"Live and learn," Matt said, then smiled. "Or die, trying." 

*****

The demo at 121 Elm Street - a modern, two-story home with an in ground pool in the fenced backyard, a well kept lawn and ornamental shrubs surrounding the property, and more importantly, wall-to-wall carpeting throughout it's 2,000 square feet of floor space - had resulted in a sale, thanks in some small part to James' skillful handling of the Nuclivax 3000, quickly swapping attachments, deftly changing from dry vac to carpet cleaner in seconds, just as he had rehearsed in the orientation and training sessions. 

Even while demonstrating the various features of the "complete domestic sanitation solution," James could not miss the fact that Matt had a gift for sales. He sat and spoke with the couple while James demoed. He was ingratiating without coming across as manipulative. He seemed sincerely interested in the homeowners, an older couple, about the same age as James' parents. They were diabetic. The husband had suffered two heart attacks. The wife had issues with chronic pain and had both a knee and a hip replaced. At one point James noticed Matt holding the woman's hand as she told him how they hadn't seen their daughter for nearly three years, since her husband's second heart attack. Their daughter had a job and her own family on the west coast, Walnut Creek in California, and her mother understood her daughter had her own life but it still hurt. The couple had a daughter-sized hole in their lives and Matt filled it with a brand new Nuclivax 3000. A bargain at any price.

James wondered if he should be impressed or appalled. 

Back in the car, Matt said, "Hey, great job in there on the demo. I don't usually split commissions but I think you earned it. You know, it feels really good when you feel like you're really helping people."

"Thanks," James said, feeling more like the driver for a bank job than a guardian angel's right hand man. "Where to next?"

Matt consulted his watch. "Lunch. On me. Do you know Aniello's?"

"Yeah," James said. "Of course. Best pizza in the tri-city area."

"All right. Punch it, Chewie," Matt said.

"Star Wars fan?" James asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"And you aren't?" Matt asked, the hint of a challenge in his voice.

"Of course!" James said, lying. "Who isn't? I used to watch them all with my Dad. Han. Luke. Chewbacca. Yoda." He hesitated, stretching the boundaries of his knowledge of that galaxy long, long ago and far, far away, and the memories of his fractured relationship with his father. Maybe Star Wars was just too on the nose for him. "Baby Yoda."

"You should stop now before you embarrass yourself," Matt said. "But I do appreciate the effort."

Am I stuck in the past? James wondered. What little past I have doesn't seem like enough to get stuck in. Is it better to live your life unfettered by facts, history, to be blissfully ignorant? Does anything mean, well, anything? I suppose that's why we carve our names and metadata onto slabs of granite to mark our place in history, to commemorate our place on this planet. But it isn't about vanity, it's only irony. Irony of ironies; all is irony. What is mortality but the ultimate punchline to the worst dad joke ever told? Note to self: Living with your aging parents is not good for your mental health.

Matt nodded. "So," he said. "What was your dream?"

"My dream?" James asked. 

"Yeah," Matt said.

"You mean, like, I went to the grocery store without my pants or something like that?" James asked.

"No. That's not what I meant, Hang on. You dreamt you went to the grocery store without any pants?" Matt asked.

"No," James said. "Just an example. I understand it's a pretty common dream. Being naked in public. Flying. Falling -"

"Are you concerned about your physical endowment?" Matt asked. "Or is it performance anxiety?"

"What?" James asked.

"You dreamed you were naked at the grocery store," Matt said. "And nobody even noticed."

"I didn't say that nobody noticed -" James said, louder than he intended.

"Not even the cute young girl at the checkout," Matt said. "That had to hurt."

James took a deep breath. "I didn't dream about going to the grocery store without my pants," he said. "It was just an example."

"Are you sure?" Matt asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," James insisted.

"You don't sound sure," Matt said.

James glanced at Matt and caught the impish smile.

"Oh," James said, finally catching the drift. "Funny. No, seriously. This is my `That's Funny Face'."

"Okay," Matt said. "Look, All I meant was that nobody ever dreams of growing up to be a salesman. Everyone in sales gave in to cynicism at some point, talked themselves into taking the money, believing the zebras wanted to be eaten by the lions, and left their dream behind. Usually in a box in the basement." He paused. "I just wondered what your dream was."

"I haven't left my dream behind," James said, feeling a bit like he was trying to talk himself into it. 

Matt shrugged. "It's a process."

"A process?" James asked.

"It doesn't happen like flipping a light switch," Matt said. "It's like the five stages of grief. Only instead of denial and anger and whatever, it goes from childhood dream to part-time dream to daydream to hobby to putting it in a pile in your backyard along with anything that reminds you of that dream, soaking it in gasoline, and setting it on fire."

They were quiet for a moment.

"That's a lot," James said. Matt didn't reply. "What was your dream?" James asked.

Matt smiled. "I asked you first." He paused. "You're still living with your parents, aren't you?"

James hesitated. "That's how you do it, isn't it?"

"Do what?" Matt asked.

"That's how you sell vacuum cleaners," James said. 

"Complete domestic sanitation solutions," Matt corrected.

"You poke around in people's heads," James said. "You're a psychic."

"Guessing that a man of your age and prospects is still living with his parents hardly requires supernatural powers," Matt said. "You're more of a cliche than a puzzle."

"Ouch," James said.

"See, a psychic would've known that would hurt you," Matt said.

"Maybe you're a mean psychic," James said.

"I'm not a psychic, mean or otherwise," Matt said. "I'm an empath."

"An empath?" James said. "Wouldn't an empath know you were hurting my feelings?"

"An empath would know you needed it," Matt said. "And this empath knows you're dodging the question. What was your dream? I'm sorry. I mean, what is your dream?"

Why is he busting on me like this? James wondered. Why do I care? Just tell him. Let him have his fun. It's probably just some kind of 'new guy' ritual. Break the wild pony. Throw a saddle on him. Rent him out to kids birthday parties. Wild pony? I'm a wild pony? I mean, I'm a wild pony! You'll never break me, cowboy! Screw you and your bullshit rodeo! 

James parked his car in an open space on the street in front of Aniello’s. 

"Tell me your secrets, I'll tell you mine," Matt said. "This ain't no time to be cool."

It was a line from Victim of Love, an Eagles song James had covered and posted online. It has a great guitar line that had taken him weeks to master. James thought it was more than a coincidence, even if he'd actually believed Matt's claim to being an empath. And he was right.

"I've seen your stuff on YouTube. You're not bad," Matt said. "I mean, the covers are okay but you should really think about doing some original stuff. If that dream hasn't been left behind, of course."

"Not - Wait! You cyberstalked me?" James asked.

Matt shrugged. "Paul told me yesterday he'd pair us up today so I did some research. You know, being an empath can only take you so far." He paused, then got out of the car. James followed suit. 

“Is the circus in town?” Matt asked. 

James looked at Matt, and started to ask what that was supposed to mean, then turned to look at what Matt was looking at. 

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Matt asked. 

“A zebra,” James said. “Seems like a lot of effort just to prank the new guy.”

“You think I did this?” Matt said. "Trust me. I'm as mystified as you by this zoologically improbable turn of events." 

James took out his phone and snapped a few pictures of the zebra on Market Street. "Why don't I believe you?" James said.

"I'm hurt," Matt said. "I really thought we had something. You know. Trust."

"When does the -" James began, but before he got the words out of his mouth, the zebra disappeared from the frame as it galloped up Market Street, replaced by a lion.

"- lion arrive?" James finished.

"You're the kind of guy who would read aloud from the Book of the Dead, aren't you?" Matt said.

The lion turned its gaze toward the two men.

"Don't move," Matt said. "They hunt by movement. If you don't move, he can't see you."

"Isn't that dinosaurs?" James asked. He heard the car door open and close behind him. He looked and saw Matt back in the car. 

Matt's voice was muted by the closed windows of the car but James could clearly make out what he was yelling.

"Get in the car! Get in the car! Get in the car!"

Good idea, James thought, and so he did.

The lion seemed to consider the car and its occupants before turning back and loping off in the same direction as the zebra, heading west down Market Street.

"Let's follow them," Matt said as James dialed 9-1-1.

"Why would we do that?" James asked. "Yes, hello. I'd like to report a lion on Market Street near Aniello's. A lion. And a zebra. Yes. Yes." He nodded. "James. No, it wasn't a cougar. It was an African lion. Yes. And a zebra." He paused. "No, I am not taking any medications including but not limited to powerful antipsychotics." He paused again. "Yes. Aniello's. Thanks. Bye." 

"Let's go!" Matt said as soon as James hung up.

"No," James said. "We're supposed to wait for the cops."

"Screw that," Matt said. "Don't you want to see if the lion catches the zebra?" He paused. "Come on. We're not waiting for the cops. We're waiting for the  ambulance and a straight jacket that has your name on it."

James held up his phone. "I've got pictures."

Matt thought for a moment, then said, "Let me ask you a question that the EMT may ask you when he arrives with your new sports coat."

"Okay," James said.

"What's more likely; a lion photoshopped onto a picture of Market Street or an actual lion on Market Street?" Matt asked.

James put the key in the ignition, started the car, and pulled out to follow the lion following the zebra.

"Are you packing?" Matt asked as the car fishtailed its way onto Market Street.

"Excuse me?" James said.

"Are you carrying?" Matt asked.

"What?" James asked back.

Matt slipped the gun out of the shoulder holster under his sports jacket. It was the biggest gun James had ever seen, so big he wondered how Matt had kept it concealed in his jacket. The shock of it startled him and he swerved almost onto the curb. 

Carefully annunciating each word, Matt asked. "Do you have a gun?"

"Why would I have a gun?" James asked, thinking he sounded even more frightened than he actually was, not sure if he was more afraid of being eaten by a lion or shot by a co-worker.

"For a moment like this?" Matt asked, with a smile that said crazy creasing his face.

Do I need crazy right now? James wondered. No. I do not. So why am I chasing a lion down Market Street with an armed and apparently dangerous man, a danger not only to himself but to others, most notably, me! So why am I speeding up? And why do I feel like I'm flying?

James was, in fact, flying. Or perhaps more accurately, crashing. As Market Street curved along the bank of the Neahwa River, the balding tires of his rustbucket Honda Civic lost their grip on the asphalt, and the car slid up the gentle embankment, achieving takeoff on a collision course with the torn and faded billboard that had once advertised Cavalucci's Mediterranean Tours but now was better known for the penis graffiti. 

"Shit!" Matt muttered. James thought that must be the most common of all famous last words as the rustbucket Honda Civic exploded through the billboard. It seemed to hang weightless in the air for just a moment before falling precipitously to the ground where James skidded to a halt, the car now surrounded by a cloud of dust.

Matt laughed. "Great driving, kid!" He craned his neck to look behind him. "But I think he's getting away."

James surveyed the broad plain of tall yellow grass and scrub brush that stretched out to the horizon. "Shouldn't we be in the river?" he asked.

Still looking behind them, Matt said, "Maybe you jumped clean over the river."

James joined Matt's perspective. "Do you see the river?"

"I do not," Matt admitted. He looked at James with his crazy smile. "Who knew the penis billboard was a portal to another dimension?"

"What?" James said. 

Matt shrugged. "Take a look around and tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong," James said.

"Look around," Matt said, his crazy smile getting just a little bit crazier. "It's a jungle out here."

"Savannah," James said, and it hit him. He didn't believe in interdimensional penis billboards but somehow they were indeed somewhere else. Then he saw it; a herd of zebras, dozens of them, moving slowly, grazing, maybe a hundred yards away. 

"How do you explain that, then?" Matt asked.

James couldn't. Confusion quickly gave way to curiosity, which barely had time to raise an eyebrow before it was overtaken by fear. "We need to get out of here." He reached to turn the key in the ignition.

Matt grabbed his hand. "Wait!" he said. "Look!"

Matt pointed and James saw the pride of lions gliding through the long grass, upwind of the zebras, patiently moving closer to the herd.

James pushed down hard on the car horn and it yelped a whining nasal cry that spooked the herd; the zebras bolted off to the west, leaving the lions to stop momentarily, before they turned their attention to the rustbucket Honda Civic, which seemed to be wheezing its last dying breath.

"I think you were right," Matt said.

"About what?" James asked.

"We need to get out of here," Matt said. He smiled. "Punch it, Chewie!"

James started the car. "Wait!"

"What?" Matt said. 

"Why do you get to be Han Solo?" James asked. "More importantly, how am I Chewbacca?"

"I suppose you think you're Luke," Matt said.

"Well, yeah," James said. "I'm the young guy with daddy issues, here."

"I guess I've always wished I could be Han but I can live with being Obi-Wan, too," Matt said. "Is this the part of the movie where the heroes have a heartfelt conversation, where they settle their differences and forgive each other and become the brothers they always knew they were despite the fact the one guy slept with each other guy's wife and one of them was actually working with the Nazis and the whole scene seems completely crazy given the imminent danger of death that literally surrounds them?" Matt asked.

"No," James said. "That would be stupid."

"But suspenseful," Matt said.

"Yeah," James said. "I suppose so."

"Okay," Matt said. "Are you finally ready to move out of your parent's house and go on an adventure?"

"Do I have a choice?" James asked.

"The hero always has a choice," Matt said. "That's what makes him the hero," He paused. “Come on, kid. Daylight’s wasting,” Matt said. “It’s time to start living the dream.”

“This isn’t my dream,” James said as he shifted the car into drive. 

“I know,” Matt said. “It’s mine. Punch it, Chewie!”