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I wrote this story in a fiction workshop last year and it spiraled out of control. this is the reigned-in version that I came up with to humor the professor.
mainly, I would like to let you know that the firebird series is continuing -- if you're interested in following it, review or send me a PM and I'll send you the URL (or you may be able to find the site yourself).
He was staring at a wall that read SMUT.
The word was scrawled in neon green chalk on the battered brick. He blinked. Everything remained – the graffiti-covered wall, the overstuffed bulletin board, the icy wind stirring the corners of fliers announcing lectures and dorm rules.
Slowly, he turned his head. The covered walkway stretched into the distance. Young men and women with expensive coats and exhausted eyes hurried past.
“What’s the matter? Another message from the mother ship?”
He jumped and glanced around. A well-dressed group smoking cigarettes by a nearby column watched him expectantly. Their expressions were uniformly hostile.
“Seriously, man,” said the speaker. “Standing there pretending to hear voices. Get over yourself! Get a life.” The guy’s gaze flickered down. “And jeez, get some pants.”
They laughed as he looked down at his flowered shorts and worn flip-flops.
“Hey!” A hearty slap on the back spun him a hundred eighty degrees. “How’s it going? How’s your immortal soul?” He regained his balance and found himself facing a vast expanse of hideous Hawaiian shirt. He backed up. His assailant, a huge boy with wild hair, beamed at him. “Just wanted to say hey, and all hail the noble savage!”
The giant lumbered off. Unsteadily, he stepped back – and collided with someone.
“There you are.” An anxious-looking boy with a floral-print tie wound around his head brandished a sheaf of papers. “Something’s come up. It’s them.”
“Who –” He stopped. “Who are you?”
The boy’s eyes squinted, then widened. “I see. That’s good – ha!” He flashed a nervous grin. “Find me when you want to take a look at this.” The boy darted off.
He started to follow, and tripped over a foot.
“Sorry!” The girl’s apologetic smile vanished from her sparkle-gloss lips when she saw his face. She tried to sidle away. Desperate, he seized her fur-clad elbow.
“Where is this?” he asked. “How – do you know who –”
He faltered at her frightened face. She pulled her arm back and ran away.
Retreating to the side of the walkway, he pressed his hands to his temples. The stream of pedestrians was thickening. Many shot him wary or disgusted looks as they passed. Holding on to his head and his sanity, he scanned his surroundings. Weathered brick buildings and impeccably trimmed shrubbery. Modestly sized statues and fountains.
“Isn’t it a little irresponsible to be playing that game so soon before tonight?”
The drawling voice, dripping with sarcasm, came from behind him. He whirled to confront it – and froze, his mouth open, all questions perishing on the tip of his tongue.
The girl leaning against the wall a few feet away was staggeringly lovely. From the slim bare legs disappearing into oversized combat boots to the red curls tumbling over the tattered shoulders of her trench coat, she was a vision of grace.
“Stop it,” she said sharply. It took him a second to perceive that scorn curled the corners of her delicate mouth and filled her dark green eyes. “Quit gawking at me.”
His mouth closed with an audible snap.
“You’re unbelievable,” she told him, straightening up. “It’s unbelievable that you would do this today and let everyone down. Your ego really knows no bounds.”
He couldn’t stop marveling at the way her shapeless flowered dress and clunky coat and boots became an elegant, enviable ensemble just from the way she held herself.
A smack in the side of the head jolted him to his senses. “Would you stop that!” the girl hissed, following up with a shove to his chest. He stumbled back. It was the way she moved, he decided. She flowed from one stance to another with impossible poise. Every step and gesture was infused with spirit. Angry spirit, yes, but –
“I get it already.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve never seen me before. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know who you are.”
Every word struck him. “You know what’s going on!” he gasped. “What am I doing here? What’s happening?”
She looked at him for several seconds. Then she tossed her head dismissively. “Just like the last time,” she said. “One would think you’d at least vary your routine.”
The girl turned on her heel and walked off.
“Wait!” He leaped after her. “This has happened before?” She kept going. “Who am I?” he demanded. “At least tell me who I am!”
She faced him. “Jed Caldwell,” she said coldly. “You’re Jed Caldwell, Lincoln College’s resident narcissistic asshole.” He gaped at her. “Now stop being ridiculous,” she said harshly, “and start thinking about tonight.”
She turned her back again and left, striding more briskly than before.
Dazed, he called after her, “What’s happening tonight?”
Without looking back, she smacked the wall with the palm of her hand. She disappeared around the corner.
He looked at the wall. SMUT, said the spot she had indicated. Below it, a few more words were written in smaller letters:
10PM West Hall Roof – tonight.
_~_
_~_
“You want to view your file?” The receptionist frowned suspiciously.
“Please,” said Jed. “It’s very important.”
The woman remained frozen. “Your antics are unwelcome here, Mr. Caldwell,” she said. “I suggest you visit an office that you haven’t yet set on fire.”
He stared at her. She did not smile. He looked again at the sign he had ignored on the way in: Discard All Flammable Materials In Outer Bins.
“Right,” said Jed faintly. “Thanks.”
In the hallway, he slumped onto a bench and gazed at the payphones. Campus security and health services had kicked him out. The counseling center had pretended to be closed. Now that the college’s main office had accused him of arson, he was beginning to wonder exactly what kind of a person Jed Caldwell was supposed to be.
Maybe it was time to seek help off campus. He put a hand into the pocket of his shorts to find change for the payphone. He came out with a folded piece of paper.
Find the Dean, it said.
There was no signature. Unnerved, Jed glanced around. Nobody was there.
It didn’t take long to locate the office labeled Dean of Students. Stopping outside it, Jed turned in a circle, trying to recognize something in the ink-scented air and sickly yellow lights. There was nothing familiar to indicate he had ever stood here before.
He raised his hand to knock and paused. The last thing he needed was another door slammed in his face. Steeling himself, Jed turned the handle and went inside.
“Before you say anything, listen,” he said brusquely. He closed the door. “You can’t…” He trailed off as the man behind the desk moved into the center of the room.
Looking comfortable in his wheelchair, the dean raised his eyebrows. “Can’t?”
“Throw me out,” muttered Jed, defused.
“I agree.” The dean set the brake on his chair. “What’s the crisis today, Jed?”
“I…” Jed swallowed. “You’re not going to believe me, sir.”
“When has the prospect of my disbelief ever given you pause?” asked the dean. He smiled. “I assure you, your improbable catastrophes are always quite real to me.”
“I’ve lost my memory,” said Jed. “I know you’re going to think this is a joke. But I don’t remember anything about who I am, or what I’ve done. And nobody will answer my questions. They all think I’m going to trick them, or set them on fire, or –”
“Ah, yes, the fire,” said the dean. He rubbed his beard. “Where are your friends?”
“I didn’t bring them here!” Jed cried. “I’m not lying, sir! This isn’t a prank!”
“I mean, have you talked to them,” the dean said. “Asked them who you are.”
Jed peered at the white-haired man, but his expression was calm. “No…”
“Then I recommend you do that,” said the dean. “You’ll have more luck with people who take you seriously and know you well.”
Jed tried to detect any patronizing traces in his voice. But the suggestion seemed sincere. And the advice was reasonable. “Thank you, sir,” he said uncertainly.
“I’m curious, Jed,” said the dean. “Have you heard at all from Brian?”
“Brian?” Jed repeated. “I… don’t know. He’s one of the friends I’m looking for?”
“Not exactly,” said the dean. He released the brake on his chair and wheeled himself back to his desk. “I’ll see you tonight on the West Hall Roof.”
Jed opened his mouth, but the dean was studying a document. Reluctantly, he left.
_~_
_~_
“The dean’s been trying to expel you for a year,” said the boy. He adjusted his floral-print tie; it was slipping into his eyes. “He’s up to something, if you ask me. Why are you playing with college administration, anyway? There’s bigger game in town.”
Jed silently gave thanks that he hadn’t left campus. He examined the boy sitting beside him on the wall. It had taken nearly an hour to find him. He couldn’t mess this up.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m testing something. Will you answer some questions?”
“A test?” The boy bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Yeah! Hit me.”
Jed chose his words carefully. “What do I do here on campus?”
“You combat conformity and societal conditioning,” said the boy instantly. “You oppose apathy, entitlement, egocentricity, and narrow patterns of thought.”
“Why?” asked Jed. “And how?”
“Because people have gotten stupid and shallow,” said the boy. “It’s time to look back to Rousseau’s natural man, Dryden’s noble savage, untainted by civilization. As for how – speeches, public events. Unifying symbols.” He gestured to the flowers on his tie.
“What about tonight?” asked Jed. “What’s happening on the West Hall Roof?”
“Kickoff rally for SMUT – Students against Materialism, Urbanity and Torpor. It’s a new social experiment,” said the boy.
Jed tried to sound casual. “And if it gets… canceled?”
“What?!” screeched the boy. “They’ll eat us alive! Not to mention Tabitha!” He saw Jed’s blank face. “Tabitha Weaver? Red hair, man’s clothes? Intolerable?”
Jed froze. “What does she have to do with all this?”
“She’s been trying to take over SMUT for months. ‘Less bluster, more theory!’ If it were up to me, we’d cut her out of our operations. With a blunt knife.” The boy’s expression was disgusted and intimidated at the same time. “I’m not denying she’s good at strategy, Jed, but did you really have to let her get so involved?”
“Involved?”
“She’s in on so much, she’s practically your second-in-command.” A note of envy crept into his voice. “Some of the others are saying she could run things by now.”
“Where is she now?” asked Jed.
“Menacing some classroom,” said the boy. Anyway, you know Tabitha hates you more than the dean does. She won’t talk to you unless something huge happens.”
“Huge like what?” asked Jed.
“I don’t know. Maybe if you weren’t kidding about calling off the rally. Although then there might not be words so much as blood.” He considered. “I guess if you did what she’s been screaming at you to do and let SMUT and the student body in on whatever you’re planning for tonight. That’d get her attention.”
_~_
He received another note in the late afternoon, delivered by the large boy in the Hawaiian shirt. “It was taped to your door,” he said. “What does it mean?”
The paper read, You did it to yourself.
A shiver went down Jed’s spine. He glanced around. His speech was over; none of the students in the lecture hall were staring. But he felt like he was being watched.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Jed jumped. Tabitha Weaver, her body rigid with rage, stood at the edge of the platform. She ignored the departing students, her livid gaze fixed on him.
“You’ve missed the open forum,” Jed told her regretfully. “But if you’d like to come by in half an hour, another one will be –”
In the blink of an eye, she had his tie wrapped around her hand. She marched off the platform, towing a strangling Jed behind her. Passing students giggled.
The undignified parade ended in the vacant professors’ lounge at the end of the hall. Tabitha shoved Jed inside, slammed the door, and performed a smart about-face.
“Explain yourself,” she said tightly.
“I thought you had me all figured out,” said Jed.
She kicked him in the shin. It was no sputtering girl’s kick, but a powerful blow with the full force of her body behind it. Jed staggered back and collapsed into a chair.
“You want to play games with me, that’s fine,” Tabitha spat. “But jerking around students who actually care about what you say? Making fools of the people who will devote themselves to anything you do?” She threw her arms into the air. “My God, Caldwell – I thought even you couldn’t sink so low!”
“I’m not playing with them,” said Jed.
“Then what are you doing?!” she bellowed.
“I’m asking for their help because I don’t know what I’m doing,” said Jed. “I’m giving them a say because this is their campaign, not mine. And I’m offering them the stage because I want them to take it. With your direction.”
“Jed!” A student appeared at the door. “I set up the projector for tonight. I’ll have the show ready by six.” She beamed. “Thank you so much for letting me do this!”
Tabitha stared at him with stunned eyes.
“Also,” said Jed, “I think you’re beautiful.”
She recoiled as if pushed. Her knees gave way and she sank into the chair opposite Jed’s, gazing at him as if she had never seen him before.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
Jed sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
_~_
It was nightfall. They still sat in the lounge, talking with unguarded earnestness.
“The dean mentioned someone named Brian,” said Jed. “Not a friend.”
“You never knew anyone named Brian on campus,” said Tabitha.
“Do you think he has anything to do with this?” asked Jed. “I got two notes from somebody today. The first one sent me to the dean. The second told me I brought this upon myself.” He fingered the pieces of paper. “There have got to be a lot of people upset at the disruption I’ve caused at this school. The dean is one. Maybe Brian is, too.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with this,” said Tabitha.
Jed shrugged. “Don’t be. I never would have gotten the chance to talk to you if I’d stayed Lincoln’s resident narcissistic asshole.”
Tabitha laughed, and then yawned. She rubbed her eyes with her fists like a little girl. “It’s almost time,” she said, checking her watch. “I’ve got to go up to the roof soon.”
“You’re sure you can’t take over?” Jed asked.
“I told you, it’s Jed Caldwell everyone’s come to hear,” said Tabitha. “Only your presence can get kids to listen. And only your protection can save whoever listens from expulsion by the administration.” She shook her head. “I’ve never understood this power you have over the college.”
“So I lead the rally and the campaign is initiated,” said Jed. “Then what? Do I keep being Jed? Do I tell everyone the truth?”
“I don’t know,” said Tabitha. “You always said the purest form of reality was the unadulterated moment – no analysis, no context. Independent of anything but itself.”
“So the truth here isn’t that Jed Caldwell’s brilliant but unstable mind snapped under the stress, or that an evil dean and his consorts sabotaged a genius,” said Jed. “It’s that I’m an amnesiac with no clue of what’s going on.”
“No,” said Tabitha. “The truth is this.” She gestured to the room around them, filled with cushy furniture and harsh fluorescent light. “Whether it’s amnesia or an elaborate hoax or something else, this is real. You and me, sitting here and talking.”
“Maybe it’s that simple,” Jed said slowly.
Tabitha touched his hand and then got up quickly, her cheeks pink. “You may have gone crazy,” she said, “but you seem a lot saner for it.”
She left.
Jed looked at the second note in his hand. You did it to yourself.
He stayed a moment, thinking, and then went to see the dean.
_~_
_~_
“I did it to myself,” he said.
The dean looked up from behind his desk. “What?”
“I was tired of being a hypocrite,” said Jed. “So I ended it. I escaped the only way I could: by turning theory into reality, philosophy into fact. By turning myself into the true noble savage, forcing myself to live in the moment and only in the moment.” He searched the dean’s face. “I erased my own memories.”
The dean sighed heavily. He laid his hand flat on the documents on his desk and looked out the window at the night sky. At last, he spoke.
“This experiment has gone too far,” he said. “I’m calling an end.”
Jed stared at him. “This is your experiment?”
“No,” said the dean. He faced Jed. “This is Brian King’s experiment.”
“Who’s Brian King?” asked Jed.
“You,” said the dean.
The world started to spin. Jed backed up and fell against the door.
“You are not a college senior,” said the dean. “You are a graduate student at the Weston Institute of Technology, and Jed Caldwell is the subject of your dissertation.”
Jed held on to the door, trying to remember to breathe.
“You created him, Brian,” said the dean. “You constructed a personality designed to challenge rules and authority, to catalyze change in a community, to galvanize the apathetic youth into action. You manufactured three years of memories as a student at the Weston undergraduate school and the memory of a transfer to Lincoln College. And you left supervision of the experiment to me, your faculty advisor. I left W.I.T. to pose as the interim dean here at Lincoln, with the cooperation of the administration.”
Have you heard at all from Brian?
“There are three months left in the experiment,” said the dean. “But due to the unexpected turn it has taken, I no longer deem it wise to let it continue. You gave me trigger words, Brian, to keep until the end of the academic year. I return it to you now.”
He held out a slip of paper. Jed took it, dazed.
“The act of speaking these words was supposed to deconstruct Jed and reassert your own identity,” said the dean. “Now that Jed has erased his own memories, I cannot predict who will return upon the utterance of the words.”
“The notes,” said Jed. “They were from Brian.” Brian’s identity had to have surfaced, perhaps during Jed’s process of forgetting. Jed Caldwell had never intended to leave himself clues, to come back. Brian had. “What about Tabitha?” asked Jed.
“Tabitha was purely part of Jed’s world,” said the dean. “Brian never knew her.”
“So if I speak the trigger words and Brian comes back,” said Jed, “she’s nothing to me but a part of the experiment.”
The dean inclined his head. “It’s your experiment,” he said. “It’s your choice. Say the words and end everything. Or go ahead and give your speech tonight. It’s your life.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jed. He folded the slip of paper without looking at it and left the office.
_~_
It was 10PM.
Jed stood at the edge of the roof, looking out across the sea of students and townspeople crowding the green. “SMUT! SMUT! SMUT!” they were shouting.
He glanced back at where Tabitha stood, her beautiful face anxious. He unfolded the slip of paper and looked at it. He put it in his pocket.
“Hello, Lincoln,” he said into the microphone.
He paused, breathing in the night air, rooting himself in this second in time – because this moment, where he was, who he was – would never come again.
“The experiment has begun,” he said.
