Becoming the Story Read Free

Baby Josie and the wildly popular holo-vids
of her being injected with needles and crying. Given her primitive
status, she is an unlikely savior for those of us gripped with
ennui, but that is what many have called her, facetiously, a
savior.” Lenny chuckled. “And I must say, I agree.”
    “Regrettably, the talking portion of our
show is now coming to an end. In a moment the holographic
pyrotechnics will commence. But to remind all of you suffering from
ennui of how spectacular your lives are, allow us to leave you with
a final image of hope.” He motioned to the nurse at the bottom of
the stage and she looked up expectantly. “If Baby Josie would
perform for us one more time.”
    “There is no more room on her neck,
Lenny.”
    “No problem. I hear that the tender skin
around the eyes is especially sensitive.”
    Maxwell was standing, legs apart and
shoulders hunched, as the nurse headed toward the bassinet with her
needle primed. He marched toward the bassinet until the stage hand
blocked his progress. Max stopped, turned his head, and set his
gaze on the laddered chair in the front of the stage, the one where
Lenny sat.
    “Wait.” Max strolled back to his seat beside
Lenny. “I answered your questions. Now I have a few for
you.”
    “Questions?” Lenny turned toward Max with an
amused expression. “Why of course. Hold off a moment Nurse. Our
recently exhumed artifact is curious about us.” He chuckled
and stared down at Max. “Curiosity is celebrated here. But time is
running out, so ask quickly.”
    Max circled the chair as he spoke. “How can
you endure a life so vacant, you are compelled to jab a baby with
needles to distract yourselves from it? How do you love? How can
you bond over your mutual boredom?”
    “Fair questions,” Lenny frowned. “Indeed,
the ennui epidemic is a terrible scourge. I am afraid I have no
good answers for you, other than the spectacle of Baby Josie and
the warmth her beautiful tears has brought into our lives. What
else do you wonder?”
    “I wonder why your intelligence never made
you wise or good, and why you thought you knew so much, you
stopped asking questions. I wonder why you are wasting your
immortality on silly talk shows. And I wonder,” he looked
down, “how such an advanced species could build such a poorly
designed chair ,” Maxwell said. He rattled one of the wooden
supports. “And,” Maxwell lowered his voice, “I am wondering if you
are as immortal as you say.” Max grabbed hold of two of the legs
that supported the tall chair and, leaning forward, he shoved them
and the chair toward the audience.
    “Hey, wait, no,” Lenny said. “Max. This is
highly inappropriate.” The chair wobbled and bucked as it slid and
screeched along the stage, with Max moving one side forward, then
the other. It scratched the stage with the resistance of wood
against wood, and squeaked in places as Max fought its weight. Max
stood back, then leaned in and pushed the full force of his heft
against the chair.
    The chair went over. As it toppled, Lenny
flung out his arms in unbalanced circles and tumbled out of his
seat into the crowd, a complex blur of flailing limbs, knocking
against one of the chairs in the audience.
    The chair that Lenny fell on toppled too,
and the one behind it teetered and collapsed, setting off a
magnificent clattering procession of chairs knocking over chairs. A
chorus of gasps and screams erupted. Movement passed through the
audience in a great spiraling wave that was almost beautiful.
    But Max did not stay to see. He grabbed his
office chair by an arm rest and, pushing it, rolled it toward the
back of the stage. Behind him the stage hand and nurse were still
staring, dazed, at the debacle, but when the stage hand saw where
he was headed, he unfroze and his eyes widened.
    The stage hand put his massive bulk between
Max and the bassinet, and as Max went forward, the man grabbed Max
by his shirt.
    Max wrenched away, lifted his chair, pulled
it back,