Thomas Broderick<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you see, Gerry?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s beautiful,\u201d he says before taking another slightly labored breath. \u201cGrass everywhere. The sun\u2019s bright. No clouds.\u201d There\u2019s a scary optimism in his voice, an unnerving counterpart to the stark \u201cI\u2019m going home\u201d he loudly proclaimed an hour ago during dinner. Yeah, it shocked the hell out of everyone eating, but no one was really surprised. In Antarctica, even more so here at the South Pole, going toasty is a national pastime.<\/p>\n
It stinks to high hell in the small, cramped gym. Gerry\u2019s boot clad feet pound in rhythm against the treadmill. He\u2019s going a steady four miles an hour, a brisk walk that could go on for hours. Gloves, sweat pants, and the standard National Science Foundation red parka cover everything on his beanpole frame besides his pale forehead and gray eyes. A quickly packed bag of god knows what is lying just to the right of him. I keep my mouth shut. Two full winter seasons under my belt have taught me much more than how pipes explode as sixty below, that a single leak can put everything out of commission. Crazies go violent if you don\u2019t treat them right.<\/p>\n
\u201cSounds nice,\u201d I finally reply as I shift my sore ass onto a softer spot on the bench press. What I say to Gerry isn\u2019t a lie. Five months have passed since I\u2019ve seen grass, four without the sun. Living at the bottom of the world, it\u2019s natural to miss these things, miss a lot of things. Florescent lights, shag carpeting and beige walls really don\u2019t cut it. We all feel it, a skeleton crew of forty keeping the place running during the six-month night. It\u2019s all right, Gerry, I want to say. No one\u2019s judging you for this, happens to everyone in one form or another. Your body will give out soon enough. You\u2019ll fall, probably cry a little before passing out. Tomorrow you won\u2019t hear a word about it.<\/p>\n
I, on the other hand, will be pulling a double shift by myself as you recover from your long walk.<\/p>\n
Thinking of the inevitable, I place some yoga mats behind the treadmill. Wouldn’t want him to hit his head on the concrete. Finished, I sit back down and resume my vigil.<\/p>\n
After a few minutes Dr. Harrison, Kate, leisurely steps in from the hall. She\u2019s a kind woman and a good enough doctor for the scrapes we get into down here. She embodies the type of temperament that everyone here carries to one degree or another: so different from the rest of the world that we all fell to the bottom. In each other\u2019s company, there\u2019s really nothing odd about us. It\u2019s just that war, strife, famine, gas bills: the rest of the world can have it.<\/p>\n
No medication or instruments in hand, I guess she just wants to observe for a little while. I motion for her to sit next to me. She does.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019s my patient?\u201d She asks with a knowing smile, the deep wrinkles on her bony face stretching almost comically. \u201cGetting his exercise it looks like.\u201d<\/p>\n
I chuckle. \u201cHe thinks he\u2019s going home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe didn\u2019t seem odd today, did he?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNope. I thought he was holding up pretty well considering it\u2019s only his first season down here. Spent six hours today in the crawlspaces beneath the mess. Replaced insulation on about a dozen pipes in that time. Work was pretty routine. We talked a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout what?\u201d She adjusts her ponytail.<\/p>\n
\u201cShit\u2026normal stuff I guess.\u201d I rub the stubble on my face. \u201cOld jobs, women. He mentioned after lunch that he missed 5th<\/sup> Avenue bars. You know, the ones like Butterfinger.\u201d<\/p>\n Kate nods. \u201cThat is pretty normal,\u201d she says, tilting her head slightly. \u201cThere\u2019s usually signs. You do work with him every day. There was really nothing else?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI took him out this morning on the snowmobile to see the Aurora,\u201d I admit after a few seconds of thought. \u201cBut he was fine the whole time, I swear.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow far?\u201d Kate asks, her tone sharpening somewhat.<\/p>\n \u201cA mile, maybe just a little under,\u201d I reply, looking at Gerry. \u201cIt\u2019s no good if you can still see the base lights.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cChrist.\u201d She shakes her head. \u201cHarris is going to have your ass if he finds out.\u201d She\u2019s referring to the base leader, a small lump of a man who cares more about not getting fired than anything else.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019d be more mad that I used a gallon of gas without permission,\u201d I reply, grinning ear to ear. To hell with Harris or any of his bosses in the Colorado home office. They can bill me for it.<\/p>\n \u201cIt was a miracle we found you last year,\u201d Kate whispers. \u201cIf you hadn\u2019t had your personnel transmitter with you\u2026\u201d She trails off.<\/p>\n I reluctantly nod. \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n Last year, after the end of a three-week twilight, I started going off by myself before shifts, taking brief strolls in the still night. My strolls became long, solitary walks, a quest to find the perfect spot to lie down for a while, plug in the iPod, and watch the Aurora. I soon realized that I could save time by taking one of the snowmobiles every day, riding it out a few miles behind the nearest low ridge where it was perfectly dark and the sound of the jet fueled generators didn\u2019t carry.<\/p>\n One day everything went wrong, at least that\u2019s what I was told when I woke up. The sky was as beautiful as ever, and I was listening to a Mahler symphony burned from CDs I\u2019d received as a birthday gift from my baby sister. All of a sudden the Aurora became especially bright, and in half a heartbeat there was no time, no space, no me. All existence, the universe and the mysteries beyond became the image floating above my head: a pale band of green light dancing endlessly against a star filled sky. Nothing had come before it. Nothing would exist after it. The end of time was also its beginning. Kate later said that when they found me, tears were frozen to my nearly frostbitten face. Fortunately for me, the psych tests came back normal.<\/p>\n \u201cBut at least I had Gerry with me this time,\u201d I say, trying to shore up my defense.<\/p>\n \u201cLook at him now,\u201d Kate says, pointing with both arms. \u201cWhat if he had done this out there?\u201d<\/p>\n I see it in my head, both of us frozen in the dark, Gerry a few miles closer to home. All of a sudden I feel like shit.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, I\u2019m sorry,\u201d I say as if apologizing to my mother.<\/p>\n \u201cJust don\u2019t do it again,\u201d she tells me, rubbing her palm against her forehead.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you think set him off?\u201d I ask after another few minutes of only Gerry\u2019s footsteps filling the room.<\/p>\n \u201cGood question.\u201d She pauses for a moment, sighing in the process. \u201cWhat happened to you out there last year?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWish I knew.\u201d Did I go out there to lose myself again, Gerry only coming along to snap me out of it? Oh course he\u2019d never tell anyone. He looks up to me too damn much. For the life of me I can\u2019t remember any other intention besides wanting to show him a perfect sky.<\/p>\n \u201cDid you know that if you put your neurons end to end, they would circle the entire world?\u201d Her words break me out of the self-inquisition.<\/p>\n \u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n Kate shrugs. \u201cI don\u2019t know, but I think I read it in a book once. The point is that there\u2019s a lot of wiring upstairs in our heads, and maybe for Gerry all it took was one little chemical misfire or break at the right time.\u201d Staring me square in the eye, she taps her temple for emphasis. \u201cAnyway, he\u2019ll be fine by morning.\u201d Kate slaps her denim-clad knees before standing up. \u201cYou look tired. Sure you don\u2019t want me to take watch?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNah. Gerry\u2019s a nice kid. I want to make sure he\u2019s okay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSuit yourself. I\u2019ll be in my room. Call me if anything should change for the worse.\u201d<\/p>\n I nod, smiling at Kate as she steps outside. Gerry is still walking along, oblivious to the conversation that just ended. \u201cStill beautiful over there?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA little warm.\u201d<\/p>\n Of course it\u2019s warm, I want to reply. Running in that many layers in a seventy-degree room will do that. Beads of sweat are dripping off his forehead. His pace is just as strong, though, eighty thuds a minute. It\u2019s hypnotic, an annoying metronome.<\/p>\n Yawning, I get up briefly to pull over Gerry\u2019s duffel bag. It\u2019s surprisingly light for the size. I\u2019m sure he won\u2019t mind if I have a look. Two sweaters, long johns, briefs: it\u2019s a mundane assortment for someone having an episode.<\/p>\n \u201cHad you pegged wrong, Gerry,\u201d I say aloud as my fingers grasp a square glass bottle near the bottom of the bag. The bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold is over half full. \u201cNever took you for a scotch man.\u201d I unscrew the cap and take a small sip. \u201cBefore you decided to take your walk, I was going to buy you a drink tonight.\u201d I grin. \u201cGuess I owe you two now.\u201d<\/p>\n No reply. I\u2019m alone. A half mouthful of the Scottish firewater burns all the way down my throat. I inspect the bottle, rubbing my thumb over the paper label. It\u2019s so perfectly normal, like driving down to the store on a whim to buy a candy bar, or barbecuing in shorts on the 4th<\/sup> of July. During the holiday last week we ate microwaved hotdogs and watched a fuzzy fireworks display on the rec room TV. Going out in shorts would have been suicidal. I take a full swig.<\/p>\n I shouldn\u2019t be drinking so much. The first wave of intoxication hits and I immediately think of another poor soul…Carl Rivers. Jesus Christ, compared to Carl, Gerry\u2019s in heaven.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know, Gerry,\u201d I say, a little sigh escaping my lips. \u201cI never told you about Carl. Carl was an old timer. In all he spent ten seasons down here. After a shift rewiring a fuse box two years ago, Carl sat next to me at the bar, pushed his beer gut against the table, and calmly lit a smoke. One jack and coke turned to two, two to three. Then, without warning, Carl gabbed the bottle from behind the counter and started to chug. We got it away from him pretty quick, but the bastard kept fighting for it. He screamed over and over that some unholy monster was going to pull him into the darkness if he didn\u2019t have \u2018home\u2019 in him. He kept going until Kate shot him up with enough Thorazine to knock out a horse. I walked away with a black eye and Carl didn\u2019t wake up for two days.\u201d A few words later and I trail off.<\/p>\n An overwhelming pang of disgust and fear makes me set down the alcohol. There\u2019s already wetness on my cheeks. \u201cGerry,\u201d I say, voice trembling, hands clenched so tight that my knuckles are white. \u201cI almost froze to death down here once. Carl tried to drink himself into an early grave. Even Kate sobs in her room. She doesn\u2019t think anyone knows, but I can hear her when I walk by before bed. We\u2019d give it all up, all the little distractions meant to keep us sane, the DVDs in the rec room, books, games, and even the fucking tax free liquor, all of it for five minutes of what you have now.\u201d<\/p>\n As I lean forward, probably to fall on the floor and weep, the bottle at my feet reflects the ceiling light into the corner of my left eye. My tears turn the simple flash into a bright, flowering starburst that envelopes everything.<\/p>\n Aurora from a bottle.<\/p>\n Calm and collected, I slowly stand before walking to the phone hanging near the door. I dial.<\/p>\n \u201cHello,\u201d Kate answers, groggy. She probably just nodded off a second ago.<\/p>\n \u201cI think I\u2019ll follow Gerry for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Click. I hope she understands. I won\u2019t be long, just a few days, enough time to see my girlfriend, sleep in my own bed, and maybe even barbecue a little. I\u2019ll work some extra shifts when I get back. Yeah, no one will mind.<\/p>\n I step up on the second treadmill. There\u2019s no need to catch up to Gerry. We\u2019ll run into each other eventually.<\/p>\n As an undergraduate at Vanderbilt University, THOMAS BRODERICK<\/strong> published short fiction in The Vanderbilt Review<\/em> in 2006, 2007, and 2008. His work has most recently appeared in The Legendary<\/em> and Curbside Splendor<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Thomas Broderick \u201cWhat do you see, Gerry?\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s beautiful,\u201d he says before taking another slightly labored breath. \u201cGrass everywhere. The sun\u2019s bright. No clouds.\u201d There\u2019s a scary optimism in his voice, an unnerving counterpart to the stark \u201cI\u2019m going home\u201d … Continue reading