Unfortunate Descendants

The metallic pot had been sitting on a small portable heater all afternoon. It’s coffee toasted, roasted, and then crisped some more. A forgotten token from the day’s events. A lanky man walked into the room and beelined it to the coffee. He approached it as though the coffee pot was a porch light and he a moth drawn toward it. His name was Roberto. There wasn’t anything particularly distinguishing about him. He likely was a face you forgot moments after seeing it. He may have been in his early forties, but still appeared young without the onset of wrinkles. Only the start of a crowning hairline and minimal packets of white revealed some age. Like so many, Roberto did not appear or act like he was special, and yet, he preferred for most people to know as little as possible about who he truly was.

Roberto was the sole person in a vacant space, save for this table with coffee and chairs positioned in a corner. He grabbed a styrofoam cup from a stack on said table and poured it. While doing so he breathed in its aroma as he filled it to the brim. It did not matter to him that the coffee reeked of burnt wood chips and carried an equally strong acidic loft with it. Holding the cup to his lips, he drank and felt the warmth drive out the night’s chills. He liked to think that it reenergized the low battery of his spirit and helped him embrace the late night. Within several gulps he had downed its entire contents.

After polishing off a second cup, Roberto gathered and began the process to disperse chairs. He expected eight and so organized the chairs into a circle numbering such. A definitive circle or at least an outline of it was important for the process, he recalled. From there, he would have to take his place in its center.

Roberto remained very inexperienced at this unique therapy session. He wasn’t even sure if this therapy of sorts benefited him more than the others, but as long as they showed, he would continue. For the last year, his Tuesday night routine had been this, to arrive at this recreation center, down coffee and set up for his guests. He had decided upon this specific location out of a lack of other viable options. It was a moderately quiet spot, a room that was one of a handful of empty spaces of a recreational center. It was perhaps the only place to allow late-night visits like his. It helped that he had once known the security guard on the night shift here, and even after his departure, Roberto was allowed to come. Occasionally, he even saw the guard when he wanted to drop in. Roberto also chose this spot to steer clear from prying eyes. Privacy was, after all, of the utmost importance to the attendees. Usually, those who came once found peace and moved on. Sometimes they spoke to a friend who Roberto would also help. In this way, the sessions were very much word of mouth.

Roberto finished organizing the chairs, careful to distance each. He had learned in his first session that this particular clientele did not like to be in immediate semblance of contact with others. He supposed that it reminded them too much of their past. It was strange, Roberto often thought, how even though they didn’t know each, their association in suffering bound them. Roberto hoped that when he moved on one day that if he had a last story it would not be a cause of harm like these poor souls endured.

After establishing the circle, Roberto did the most important preparation of the night. He made a sign and taped it on the entrance door. Using a marker he wrote ‘AA Meeting’ in bold letters. This wasn’t an Alcoholics Anonymous group, but under this pretense eliminated unwanted attention. And luckily, at least up until this point, no one dealing with alcoholism had wandered in.

Almost immediately after the sign had been put into place, Roberto’s first and then second guests arrived. He had not yet taken his place in the center of the circle, but that did not matter. The circle would be for initializing the event and he didn’t need to be the literal center of attention until all were present. His two guests sat down quietly. The third, fourth, and fifth guests followed suit soon after. To the casual observer, it had to appear odd how their solemn entrance without uttering of a word in acknowledging one another. But Roberto was used to this lack of pleasantries, at least during this initial stage. The last three entered in the same manner to total eight. Once all were in place, Roberto took his spot.

*. * *

Roberto was now in the middle of his little universe. He closed his eyes. To have his arrivals show was not the parlor trick the movies had one believe. To establish the next connection was the more challenging part. It wasn’t specific concentration just more knowing what to do, actually. Over time, Roberto had found the secret was in emotional connections. With powerful emotions, communication came. He preferred time delve into the happier variety, or else uninvited guests would show; and Roberto did not mean simply the alcoholics. And so, with his eyes closed and his body relaxed, Roberto broke the dead’s silence as he always had.

 “Homework. It is my burden”.

There was a momentary pause as was customarily at this moment. Well, in reality, it was not a pause or further silence but a bridge being created for Roberto to hear the present spirits. Roberto had never dreamed he would use a comedy routine to speak with the lost, but here he was. Plus, this was an audience that if they ” boo-ed” at him it would be appropriate.

Tonight, and right on cue, the snickers became audible. With the bridge created, Roberto continued.

“I have dealt with it all my life, this burden...homework. My great-great-great-grandfather was Roberto Nevelis, the first. Most think it is a myth, but he invented Homework.”

There was a recognition from the ghosts that this man was serious.

Roberto continued. “I know that you all share equal burdens. And it is time to let those go. It is freeing”.

The spirits in the room were shaking their heads. Their agreement with the orator written on their faces if not yet able to be verbal still.

“But my friends. Don’t let the burden consume you anymore. Here, we can for once speak openly about our family heritage. “ Roberto paused as he heard yes’s from those surrounding him and even an Amen. “Let us open our stories to each other. Do you have any idea the bullying I received in grammar school when the kids learned who I was?” Roberto shudders at remembering the childhood memories. “I bore the burden of more than my homework for many years”.

There was quiet in the room again. Perhaps uncertainty from the guests on how to respond.

“It is okay. You all can laugh. I have let it go.”

The room had some low-level snickers. Nothing of the uproarious laughter that Roberto needed. In the lack of emotion, the silence threatened to cut the bridge. Roberto was losing his crowd.

“You all don’t believe me?” And with that Roberto carried on his brief comedy routine to restore the link.

“What did the dog say to his classmate?” Roberto waited as was customary but not necessarily expecting a response. After all, timing was important. “Can I copy your homework…I ate mine.”

Roberto then heard one of the two ladies in his crowd laugh and shout “Oh no you didn’t.” The rest of his crowd remained in more ways than one…dead.

“Tough crowd. Okay, well let’s hope you all know the ’90s culture. Why can’t you do homework faster than Rachael Leigh Cook?” This time Roberto only momentarily paused. “Because ‘She’s All That’”.

It wasn’t even that the line was funny, per se. Perhaps it more the absurdity of the whole situation, this human telling them jokes...the dead. Either way, there was an awakening. To everyone’s surprise but perhaps Roberto’s. The spirits became audible. The laughter from the first woman who had shouted out earlier was more so what carried on to the others. Her’s was contagious. She would be the spark, thought Roberto.

* * *

The link was re-established between the two worlds. The emotions of joy would allow their therapy to move forward to share their stories. Roberto spoke again.

”Do you all see the power you have?” It was less a question than a statement. “You all can connect. You are not alone. And you can move on. Share your experiences and be free of the burdens from your life.”

Moments after the last word left Roberto’s lips one of the ladies spoke. “My family created the snuggie”. As she said it she put her head down in shame. “And not the original one. The one for dogs.”

The room, to include Roberto, was of laughed. Sounds of clapping too. The woman lifted her head and smiled. She continued.

“The functionality of the original made sense to use your arms and keep you warm, but for dogs…” She put her hands up in the air. “A dog snuggie pulls. No dog needs that. When was the last time a dog required it’s paws free to grab a remote or a drink”.

The room engulfed in more laughter. The woman next to her perked up more. “You should be telling the jokes, not him”, she said while pointing at Roberto. The group enjoyed her joke, nodding approvingly. Luckily, Roberto still had his eyes closed but it did not matter, he knew. The same lady continued to talk.

“Well my great grandfather developed the catchphrase that I know you all use. And I die inside a little bit every time I hear it. And it was not the cause of death but…” The spirits sang out in belly laughs. She continued.

“As I was saying...Oh gosh it’s so embarrassing...” She paused. Tears from the others in laughter were wiped from their eyes and they looked at her. Roberto spoke directly to her.

“Is it better to hold onto this and remain where you are? I could give you a forever routine of stand up homework jokes.”

The woman smiled. Nodded. “My great-granddaddy coined the phrase, ‘the greatest thing since sliced bread’.” She stood up. “And ya’ll, I just the darn phrase... he didn’t even invent the thing.” Laughter was abound. For probably the only time in her life it was not at her, but how she said it and was taking her burden and releasing it. In the presence of equally tortured souls, she laughed. At herself and everything she had endured in her life that she carried into the next. Her story and the lady before carried into the the next man’s willingness to share.

“Hair in a can”.

Those were truly the only words he needed to say as oddly enough, the man was bald and clearly was using the product until the time of his death. But he continued any way despite the roars that nearly drowned him out.

“Spray-on hair is the least dignified way to grow old, or in my case, to live for eternity”. He laughed as he said it joining in with the rest.

His story was followed by the grandson of popup ads who seemed now so proud to share a past he had once despised. Then came the man speaking about his lineage of the shoe line called Crocs. He triumphantly called then those rubber clogs. They laughed calling the stupid shoes and blinking, flashing banner ads those that forever haunting them when they should have been the ones haunting.

Next up was the grandson of the asbestos founder. His story almost completely changed the mood. No one found fibrosis of the lungs funny but they applauded his openness. The following man who described his familíes creation of leaded gasoline brought similar results. The mood was less light-hearted. Between the harm of asbestos and leaded gasoline, the somberness was evident. But then the man added that he had taken his family’s money and done something equally terrible, more or less.

He delved into his investment that brought forth something called a vibrating ab belt. a few laughed but many many of the deceased did not know as it was well after their time. So the man described the gimmick or helping to tone the abdominals by doing nothing other than strapping a defibrillator-like device around their waist. The older ghosts exclaimed in amazement that such a thing existed. Then, they roared in laughter at the absurdity of its success, even if it was short-lived.

The last man to speak had been smiling throughout but his mood changed on his turn. His hesitation to share was evident. He was still deciding if he should. The lights flickered when he started and then stopped. Roberto’s eyes opened. Darkness was setting in.

“No!!!” He shouted. Roberto had his eyes on the last man to speak. Others in the room tried to say something but their voices were inaudible now. So it was only Roberto’s that could be heard. “You must say it out loud or all that we have done here will have been for nothing.”

Roberto stood up as shadows encroached into this space. Sharp fingers on each and their movement was becoming the only sound now. it was the sound like nails on a chalkboard. Roberto looked into the man’s eyes and spoke one last time.

“Believe in yourself. Let go of it.”

And then the man spoke. Not with timidness but almost in a rage he exclaimed... "My family created the Easter bunny."

All went dark. The lights went out. There was no sound....until giggles built. Giggles that transformed into uncontrollable laughter. Followed by clapping and hollering. And then lights. Not the overhead lights like before but a glow that illuminated from each of the spirits. The lights then connected them. The brightness continued until at last, it was no more, and neither were the spirits. There essence in this world and their tortured history could now move on.