Male/Female

A cheap motel, sitting where the cornfields meet the suburbs, is nearly vacant on this damp evening. Two cars sit in the dark lot, water beading on them. The rain has stopped now but its remnants fill the trenches and drains, soak the ground and splash under the tires of cars that whir past. One car slows and turns into the parking lot; emptying a pot hole with a splash. It comes to a stop beside one of the other cars; its lights go off and engine silences. After a few moments the door clicks and opens. A man steps out wearing a suit, loosely covered by a long overcoat.

56-year-old Chester Thompson sat back in his chair in the empty board room and puffed on his cigar. He should have seen it coming. He threw the packet of legal papers onto the desk in front of him. Another class action lawsuit. He should have seen it coming. When Chester had founded Gentech thirty years ago, his goals had been simple -- bring cutting edge scientific progress to the people. He’d even made the company logo “Expanding America’s Future.” Bringing high tech and innovative products to the common man and woman had made him a fortune. Then everything started to go wrong.

I knew that I had it in me to be a writer. I'd done some articles for my college paper a couple of years ago, and I'd even won some creative writing contest held by the local news. I even knew the subject I wanted to write about; I should, since I was using it to come to terms with who I was.

Our games had been getting more adventurous of late. We had taken to playing outdoors and the inflations had been getting progressively larger. Twice now, each of us had had the opportunity to end up floating at the end of a tether. The earthbound partner had always been sure to pleasure their balloon.

Tonight began with his announcement that he had a surprise for me. I was eager.

‘What is it then?’

He produced a tank from the den. It wasn’t very large. Perhaps standing two thirds as high as the helium tanks we had needed to get each other airborne.