Photo: © Depositphotos.com/franckito
Written by Jason Haas

Grandfather was most troubled that evening. We had been telling ghost stories over flashlight, passing the time while we suffered in the ninety degree heat of an Arizona December. Great Uncle Jake had just told us the plot of Crimson Tide, which was some old movie we had never seen. We agreed that it was a real horror to have one aggressive old man with such destructive capability. He protested that that wasn’t the point, but we thought that was a real turn of the screw™.

Grandfather, hearing this, said, “you believe that one aggressive old man makes for a tale? What if there were two incredibly aggressive old men?”

“Two turns of the screw!” shouted cousin Joe, who really liked a question/answer format.

Grandfather slowly rose and went to his den to retrieve his laptop. I could tell from the cursing that he was trying to open a Microsoft Word document, possibly one sent as an attachment – two old devils trying each other, really.

Some cousins got restless, some once- and twice-removeds. They tried to start a conversation about The Bachelor, but either no one remembered anything or no one wanted to admit to watching it. Eventually they left, leaving Grandfather’s story a little more compact and select – this kept the group subject to a common thrill.

Before he began, he let us know that the letter was from a job applicant he once had to interview some years before. A very special job applicant.

“When you worked in government?” asked Joe.

Grandfather ignored this question, frustrating Joe’s thirst for an answer. Thus rebuffed, Joe tried again.

“Does this movie have a name, Grandpa Jeff?”

“I think I know!” I said, but Grandfather, without heeding me, read on as if he knew the damned laptop battery could go at any minute.

I.

There was me, Bart, and my three bros: PJ, Squee, and the Judge, the Judge being nothing like a judge, and we sat in a Bethesda Country Club, pretending to make up our minds about what to do with the evening, a hot, humid bastard, but free. O man we were pretending to shotgun Frescas and to play Devil’s Triangle with Perrier. The Judge said he knew where he could acquire some skis and I suddenly knew we would all be shopping at our favorite place, Ralph’s, like it was the FFFFFFFourth of July.

“What’s it going to be then, sirs?”

We were surprised by the waiter, probably from Anacostia, looking down at us. We asked for the check, and Squee signed his dad’s membership number and we headed out into the afternoon.

I had already lifted weights, and there were no service projects to do this late in the afternoon, so we went to Squee’s, which we knew had the floorplan for a real good time. The Judge met us there with the skis and we began to get wasted, which was our right and our duty.

PJ’s girlfriend came, and she had a friend. This chick seemed like a nerd – she had a pen behind her ear. Only to be friendly, I rushed to her and pushed a ski into her hand. I said, “Howdy, I’m Bart! I love America!”

She seemed stunned by my affability.

“Drink the beer!” I yelled. “Do you like beer?! We like beer!”

She gently took a sip and said it was good. I asked how she liked it, and she repeated that it was good. Then she reached up for the pen that was behind her ear.

“Would you like to join the PEN 15 Club?” she asked with a smile.

It had been important to me in these years, and ever since, to join clubs. Basketball, Football, Youth Group, Young Republicans, The Malibu Fan Club…I thought about what it could mean to my Future – as a father, as a husband, and as a friend.

“FFFFFFFuck yes!” I sprayed.

With diligence and a gleam that I would later understand, she wrote “PEN 15” on my hand. After that, she excused herself to talk to her friend. I went to show The Judge my new membership.

“Check this out!” I said, holding up my hand.

“Me too!” The Judge said, holding up his. We basked in the glory of our Futures.

Later in the evening though, careening downhill on our skis towards a yard sale, PJ asked, “why do you have ‘PENIS’ written on your hand?”

We must have given ourselves away as we looked at PJ’s girlfriend’s friend. PJ laughed so hard that beer shot out of his nose. We had been duped! I knew I could not put this evening on my calendar, not only because of the shame if my father saw it, but because of my Future – as a father, as a husband, and as a friend.

When PJ’s girlfriend’s friend went upstairs to use the bathroom, The Judge and I followed her to reclaim our honor. We playfully pushed her into a bedroom, our hearts at a fever pitch.

“WHERE IS THE PEN?!” we shouted. “WE’RE GOING TO PUT YOU IN THE PENIS CLUB!”

I searched all over her body for that pen, knowing how important this was for my Future. I even had to cover her mouth at one point, or her yelling might have let other people see our hands! Our futures – The Judge’s and mine – would be secure. At the climax of our search, The Judge was bouncing on the bed yelling “PENIS CLUB!!!” and PJ’s girlfriend’s friend got away. I never saw her again, but as The Judge and I went downstairs, we were laughing about how maybe the pen marks would wash off. We could protect our Futures that way.

II.

When I came into the Oval Office, it was just as I had imagined it. The President, the most powerful man in the world, the paragon of everything Americans hold dear, was sitting behind a completely empty desk.

“Smart guys get other people to do their work for them,” he said, laying out a philosophy.

“Ha ha,” I said. I was so nervous.

“Bart, I want to put you on the Supreme Court. It’s a building down on First Street they tell me. A cushy gig – lifetime appointment they’re telling me!”

It was here. Finally, the moment I was waiting for! I would never have to worry about my Future anymore. Not as a husband, not as a father, and not as a friend. All of my nights of worry could cease. I would be putting a gold star on my calendar tonight!

“Bart – Mitch and Paul and Chunky Grass can tie up the records from when you worked for whatshisface no problem, but some nerd has to walk you through some things now because of the New York Times or something.”

With that, the President walked all the way around the oblong room two or three times, seemingly looking for something. He then laid down on his desk to take a nap. The nerd came over and sat down.

“Hello, Judge. I know this will be embarrassing, but I need to ask you about a few things that the press will almost certainly get ahold of, making it, of course, difficult to Make America Great Again.

“That’s OK,” I said, “This is for my Future. As a husband, as a father, and as a friend.”

“OK – first up, we understand that you have a few hundred thousand dollars in credit card debt due largely to tickets to Nationals games. This sort of thing can make you vulnerable to being compromised for foreign agents. Like a Russian oligarch, just as a for instance.”

“I’m an American. I like to see Teddy Roosevelt thrash the other presidents in the Running of the Presidents. I need to see it in the FFFFFF…in the flesh. This is important in these, our troubled times.”

“Um. OK. Fine. Next I need to ask if you have an alter ego named “The Judge” who harasses women online about videogames.

“That’s a separate person. His name is Mark.”

“Great! Finally, I need to ask you about any troubling associations you may have had when you were younger. They always find out about these things. They use computers, I guess?”

I quickly tugged my shirt cuff down to cover my hand. I was sure I was going to be found out. I know the ink had washed away, but the secret was out there. My Past was going to catch up to my Future. I hadn’t written anything on my calendar, so I was safe there, but PJ’s girlfriend’s friend was still out there. Would anyone remember? Could they testify? Mark won’t get off the Tilt-a-Whirl at Funland, so that’s good…

“What’ll it be then?”

I decided to hedge.

“None that I can recall.”

III.

After a long appointment process, I was finally sworn in! My Future had arrived! I could finally hear cases with Sam, and Neil, and John, and Clarence. We were in chambers, having some skis, but somehow it wasn’t quite the same. I sat listening to cases, watching as if I was on the outside. Bored. I wasn’t sure I had completely realized my Future. Not as a husband, not as a father, not as a friend. Elena walked up to me as I considered my conundrum. She clapped me on the back and shook my hand.

“Welcome to the Court, Bart!”

I was pleased by the warm welcome, but I noticed a familiar gleam in her eye. At that moment, the laughter began. Thinking quickly, I tried to spin in a circle two or three times to try to see what was on my back. John put his hand on my shoulder to stop me, pulling a piece of paper off my back.

It was a sign that read, “PENIS.”

She knew.

Here it was! My Past was catching up with my Future. At the climax of my Future, she had me. My face went hot. I tried not to vomit, from nerves and from the skis. I have a weak stomach.

“FFFFFFFFF,” I hissed. I grabbed the piece of paper from John and crumpled it up. I threw it on the floor and rushed off to the Men’s Room to be alone. An older man in an attendant’s outfit, probably from Anacostia, came in with the paper.

“Justice, I thought you might want this. As a keepsake. Justice Kagan is always playing jokes – you’re one of them now.” He chuckled as he said this.

It was a joke! Maybe she didn’t know after all! The old man came closer and pushed the corner of the paper into my elbow.

“What do you want to do about this paper, Justice?”

He waited dutifully as I considered my Future.

“What’ll it be?”

 

***

Jason Haas studies play, learning, and games and does make ‘em ups. Raising twins and raising hell.