This is the longest and last of a series of short stories I wrote about a couple of imaginary characters. I wrote it in 1998. If you can believe it, this one is much more serious than the many 'Jim & Jake's that lead up to it. It's silly, facilitating semiconscious expression of otherwise difficult or obscure thoughts. It's unfinished, as is our life.
Jim and Jake Discover Reality
"I'm really in the mood to create something ugly, Jake. None of the frogs can rip their skin off without laughing hysterically. I'm just tired of all the Ethiopian wood that's building up in my back seat. What about you?"
"I personally don't believe that the Author wishes me to have any depth. Maybe He gets some sort of kicks out of making us look like idiots."
"What do you mean, Jake?" Jim asked while sipping a case of beer. "What are you talking about - Author?"
"Listen, Jim, it's very dangerous, me even telling you this. If He finds out that I know about him he might make crazy things happen. I'm really sick of it." Jake looked around cautiously, sighed, cleared his throat, gargled, spat, shat, puked, ate a guitar string sandwich, and chuckled. Then he continued, very obviously annoyed, "Don't you see what I mean?"
"No, Jake. But that sure was normal - all that stuff you just did." Jim shifted gears and wheezed. "But go ahead. I like to hear your crazy ideas."
"Okay well here's my theory: This world - this reality that we know - isn't all there is. This chaotic mess that we appear to have no control over is actually only someone's overactive imagination."
Jim looked as though he was entertained, but simply not convinced. "Ok, Jake..."
"I don't have any evidence, Jim, but I have reason to believe that we only exist because someone wishes us to. I mean I think we're sort of like play-things for some superior, and I might add, cruel, being." Jake glanced over his swollen upper lip, gauging Jim's response. "What I'm saying is that everything we do or see or say or anything is the will of the Author. Even our names, our shabby, haphazard characters are only creations of the Author. He has complete control over us at all times. Do you know what I'm saying to you?"
Chewing absolutely nothing, Jim apparently didn't understand. "Jake, I think you're the only one here with an overactive imagination. I am in complete control over everything I do."
Jake pulled back on the yoke and they crashed into a mountain. Yanking Jim from the boat, Jake dusted himself off with a very conveniently present cannon. "I know it may sound crazy to someone as stupid as you, Jim, but believe me, this is the only way I can figure that everything would be just as it is. Our world is crazy! Don't you see it?"
"What's so crazy, Jake? Everything looks normal to me." Jim shrugged seventy times and coughed up a hang glider.
"Oh, for Author's sake, Jim! Do you think there is any logical reason that you just shrugged seventy times?"
"Well, I guess that just what people do," Jim swooped down and snatched Jake up by the underwear strap.
"Listen, Jim, we gotta go. The Author just got a phone call. We'll continue this later."
"Okay, Jake," Jim pulled the ripcord and the chute opened, "I think you're going a bit too far with that stuff. You sound like you actually believe what you're saying!"
"There!" Jake squirmed to adjust his underwear, which had become far too uncomfortable when the opening chute abruptly slowed their descent, "Did you just notice that it felt like an hour or two just went by?"
"No I didn't. Now do you really want to go skiing or would you like to talk about your imaginary 'Author'?" Jim released Jake's briefs and watched him plummet for about two hours before he jumped lazily from the diving board. He landed next to Jake and put on his roller skates.
"Imaginary?! We're the ones that are imaginary! Don't you get it?" Jake flicked a piece of deep fried potato out from under his eyelid, "Shit, am I glad I landed on this pile of french fries... Who knows what could have happened if I landed on concrete!"
"Well what would you expect to land on when you're in Huchk, a tampon?" Jim laughed through his nose, in disbelief of Jake's apparent mental derangement.
"Look, Jim, I think something big is happening here. Haven't you noticed how much more than usual we're talking today?"
"Sure we're talking today. What's so abnormal about that?"
"I think the Author is trying to do something."
"Oh shit, " Jim expelled confetti and threw his arms up in complete exasperation.
Jake caught Jim's arms and handed them to him, "Here's your arms, Jim."
Jim stood with his eyes rolling, as if to a bad joke, "What the hell am I supposed to do with those?"
"Oh, sorry," Jake pulled some silly putty from between his nostrils and generously applied it to Jim's shoulders. He then wound up and slapped Jim's arms into place. "There, better?"
"Yeah, thanks Jake."
Just then the phone rang.
"Yellow," Jake answered.
"Jake, you hafta pick up the receiver first," Jim said, as though it were obvious.
"Oh yeah... Yellow? Yeah... Yep. Oh yeah. Really? Are you sure? No, I left my plunger at home. Yep, he's right here. Yep, you too... Ok, here he is." Jake handed Jim the telephone, "It's your sister. I think she's in trouble."
Jim looked excited and snatched the handset from Jake. "Breeze! how the heck are ya? I know, I know! How's Mom? Is she still doing that? No, the last time she tried that with me... No - I mean with the dental floss. Well, whatcha gonna do eh?" Jim plugged the microphone with a nearby piece of shit and spoke to Jake, "My mom stitched my sister's ass to a three hundred pound moth and she's..." He stopped, returning his attention to his sister. "You're where? We'll be right there! Click!"
"Why did you just say click to her?" Jake smiled broadly and forgot why.
Jim held the phone cord about a meter from the receiver and started swinging it violently. "We have to go to Schrootztown right away, Jake!"
Jake reluctantly, and feeling quite shunned, got into the copilot seat.
"Here, take this for a second," Jim passed the buck to Jake and began altering the settings of the switches on the panel in front of him. "If I could only remember how to activate the hyperdr------------============EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!
"What the hell..." Jake looked at the swirling vomit that surrounded them.
Jim, quite satisfied, sat back, crossed his arms and said "There, hyperdrive!"
"I thought we were going to rescue Breeze in Schrootztown," Jake nudged Jim as they approached a black hole.
"We are."
"I don't remember going through a black hole the last time we went there!" Jake cried frantically in reverse.
"That's cuz we've never been to Schrootztown!" Jim cried even more frantically, only sideways.
Calming down, feeling he had to try to be the sensible one, Jake remembered the faulty wiring in his socks and said "Jim, until about three seconds ago, we didn't even know what a black hole was! How do you explain that? I'm telling you, it's that fucking crazy Author!"
Jim pulled out a sawed off bazooka and blew Jake's ass off.
"Ouch, you son of a bitch! What did you do that for?!" Jake was in no pain at all thanks to nothing.
"I don't know. I just felt like it! You should have seen your face!!! HAHAHAHA!!" Jim laughed heartily at Jake's expense. It was funny, he thought, he never really considered Jake's expense very humorous.
"It was the Author. He made you do it because he doesn't want me to tell you about His reality!" Jake hollered desperately, pleading with fate that Jim could understand.
"Schwitch." Jim very gently placed a microscopic organism on Jake's nose. Then he hauled off and knocked him out with a dead flamingo. "I'm not gonna listen to his shit anymore."
Jim sat back and wondered why he did that. No matter, he thought, and sat back to relax. Eventually, he became bored and invited a friendly fire hydrant over for a light-hearted snack.
"Hey, Sarge! Been a while, eh!" Jim patted him on the valve.
"Sure has! Hey, how's your nose!?" The hydrant broke into furious laughter.
Jim's amusement subsiding, he replied, "It sucks!" And fell on the floor.
"So what's up? And what's with all the vomit passing by the windows, Jim?" Sarge curiously but casually asked.
"Oh that," Jim moved the flamingo and took the buck from Jake's limp hand, then held it out to the hydrant. "Here, take this and I'll explain everything." He concluded his sentence with a reassuring nod.
As soon as Sarge accepted the buck in a very confused manner, Jim suddenly grabbed the flamingo carcass and clubbed the hydrant six trillion times with it. Instantly, Sarge became wax and Jake sprung to extreme consciousness.
"Holy shit, what happened!?!" Jake shook his head and felt a sense of impending revelation.
As the pink feather fragments settled on the toilet, Jim answered, "Oh, I just passed wind in neutral. That hurts man."
"Geez, Jim, I must have fallen asleep. Sorry about that." Jake expressed genuine regret.
"Ahh don't worry about it man. What's a few knockout blows with a flamingo between friends?"
"You're great Jim."
"You're great too, Jake."
A very quiet thud and the cessation of swirling vomit indicated that a destination had been reached.
"Oh look, Jim," Jake brightly announced, "We're here... Wherever that is..."
Jim snapped his fingers and stopped swinging the telephone handset. He would have looked pretty cool if he hadn't busted three of his teeth out when it hit him in the mouth.
"Where the hell are we," Jake noticed his surroundings, "I've never seen a place like this before."
"Me either. Wake Sarge up. We have to explore and I'm sure he's the only one of us that can get us a ride." Jim gestured toward the rotten flamingo corpse covered fire hydrant.
Jake woke Sarge with a wet willy.
"Okay, Jake, Sarge," Jim declared, "We have to find out where we are before any pizza will slide across the horizon so let's get a move on."
The trio began walking toward what appeared to be a city. When Jim, Jake, and Sarge caught up to the trio, the trio ran away.
Jake noticed a telephone pole and approached it, glancing back at his companions with a look in his face as though he were saying something really good.
"Excuse me, telephone pole, but could you tell me where we are?" Jake asked very politely and expected a polite answer. But this totally rude telephone pole didn't answer.
"I SAID: EXCUSE ME, TELEPHONE POLE..." Jake stopped talking. the telephone pole, in all it's arrogance, failed to indicate the slightest acknowledgement.
Jim frowned at the discourteous pole and looked at Jake. Then he grabbed his flamingo and slammed it across the pole so hard that nothing at all happened. "We're talking to you!" Jim screamed.
Shaking his head, or whatever part of a fire hydrant you would consider a head, Sarge spoke, "There's something not right about this place."
"No kidding, the rudeness," Jim said with meaning and bewilderment.
"No, Jim," Jake attempted, "I think something else is different about this place. Have you noticed that we've been in the same scenery for fifteen minutes? We're never in the same spot for that long!"
Jim briefly looked at Jake, with obvious worry in his eyes.
"You know, guys, this place reminds me of a legend once told to me by a firehose." Sarge continued grimly, "It says that there's a distant land where things rarely change; where imagination is stagnant and thoughts have no influence on one's surroundings."
"I wonder how distant that land really is," Jake stated to himself.
Sarge went on, "And there are very specific ways that things are done. It told me that in this faraway world, a fifty pound rock could only fit in a suitably sized work boot."
Jim gasped, "Wow, that sounds like a pretty horrible place!"
"And also in this land, any concept believed is petrified, and made stubborn reality, unchangeable by any single person's desires." The fire hydrant solemnly proceeded, "Any decision made in that such remote place generally must be held..."
"What," Jim interrupted, "That's ridiculous! You can always change your mind!"
"Ah, but not in the land of which I speak. For there, to revoke one's choice is to invite shame to one's self."
"Shame schmame! Every time I've ever been ashamed I got over it as soon as the scene changed!" Jim dubiously objected.
"But Jim, the hose told me that shame, in that far sphere, doesn't fade with the change of a scene. In fact, scenes never spontaneously change there. Everyone is responsible for the deliberate modification of their own surroundings."
They walked on, toward the city. The surroundings changed gradually. A small group of houses was slightly ahead, situated at a cross road.
"What's the matter, Jake? Why are you so quiet?" Jim elbowed Jake in the nuts, trying to cheer him.
Jake buckled and fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Not any kind of pain he had ever experienced, but a pain that rang through his body and crippled him. Jake was crying and tears fell from his face.
Jim, with a half smirk on his face, unholstered his flamingo and wound up to hit Jake. If the elbow in the nuts didn't work, this surely would - it always worked.
"Wait Jim!" Sarge shouted, "Don't do it."
Apparently feeling uncomfortable, Jim said, "I was just gonna..."
"I know. I don't think this is a very good place for that," Sarge looked toward the houses.
"What do you mean?" Jim followed Sarge's gaze to the houses, and then to a fire hydrant at the intersection.
Beginning to sound strained, Sarge struggled to speak, as though his mouth were locking up, "Another thing," he gasped, "about that place... Fire hydrants aren't alive there..." A ticking sound, as of cooling metal in an engine, could be heard as Sarge sat down at the side of the road.
"Sarge?" Jim feebly begged denial of what he was realising to be true. "Sarge?"
Jake, who had slowly crawled to his feet, was still red in the face. "Jim," said Jake sadly, "Jim, Sarge can't be Sarge here."
"What do you mean Jake? Fuck that! Sarge, tell him!"
"Sarge is gone, Jim."
Jim ran to the fire hydrant and threw himself at it with a dull, cold metallic thud, pathetically attempting to embrace it. "Sarge! Wake up Sarge! Wake up!"
Jake put his hand on Jim's shoulder. Jim wept on the ground.
"Let's go Jim." Jake looked away.
"This is your DAMN AUTHOR'S doing, isn't it! You were right to say He's cruel! I want this scene to be OVER!" Jake yelled at the sky, then his face fell into his hands. He had never felt this terrible before. His entire life collection of negative feelings were of such a lighter nature. They were funny. They always faded as soon as he started doing something else.
"No, Jim. I really hate to sound contradictory, but we're in a place that Authors can't control."
"What? Jake, you're really starting to get me worried about your sanity! And mine too for that matter!"
"Sarge and I spoke of this legend in our home world. I know a little about it as well. Do you remember what he said about controlling our own scenery? Well, in this world, that's what we have to do. There is no Author here to bring us excitement or to prevent us from feeling pain. This is the world of the Author, Jim. Here, we write our own story."
Jake held his hand toward Jim. "We have to find our Author. It's the only way we can get back to our world."
"No, Jake, where's that telephone? I can swing it and we can find that black hole. Then we can get back to my sister, Breeze, and save her from being stitched to that giant moth-"
Jake sighed, loath to bare the way of the world of the Author, "That doesn't work here, man."
"Let's go. We have to get something to eat," Jake forgot his offer to help Jim up and started walking toward the city.
"But Jake," Jim said.
Jake turned around and shook his head pitifully when he saw Jim pointing toward the steel, inanimate fire hydrant.
Jim slowly stood and followed Jake.
Jake marvelled as a pair of crows, perched on telephone wires across the highway, competitively cawed. He tried to join in; to ask the if they knew his maker, but they only looked down at him rudely, without answer. Earlier, when he awoke, he experienced extreme disorientation. The crisp, solid images his sore eyes perceived were in stark contrast to his dreams. It was peculiar, he thought, the way everything in this world stayed in his mind. He could look at a scene and close his eyes for several minutes, but he could still clearly see the image. Never before had he considered the value of such powers of concentration.
A large truck sped by, disturbing the cool, moist air and sent dust and pebbles scurrying in fear. Jake tried to catch a look at the driver, but the bright, rising sun's reflection from the windshield obscured his vision. As the truck passed, he felt the damp ground shake beneath him. Jake again pondered the sheer reality of this experience. At first, it felt unreal, as perhaps a particularly bizarre scene in his own life, but he noticed that the longer he was here, the more vivid objects and perceptions of them became. Nothing here was funny, he thought. Everything in his own world was at least entertaining, but here, experience had a serious quality. It was hard to quite understand, but somehow, something felt more important about this place.
Jake's back and shoulders ached as he got up. His groin ached as he urinated and he was amazed at the relief he felt when he was finished. It's not that he's never urinated before, he thought. It was just that he had never urinated out of any kind of need to do so, but only to irritate someone or entertain himself; only to make life more interesting.
Jim's breathing was evident, Jake noticed. It was things just like this that struck him strangely. Had he ever before even considered that people breathe when they're sleeping? Never had he previously given any thought to it - it wasn't very interesting before. And what, he wondered, made it interesting here?
"Jake?" Jim stirred and opened his eyes.
"Good morning, Jim." Jake was happy to see Jim awaken.
"I had the most screwy dream," Jim started. "Oh. Nevermind." He stretched and took a deep breath, nearly startled at the clear air and the clarity of the smells it carried. "What the hell is that stench?!"
Jake looked, "I think it's your flamingo."
Jim tossed the flamingo into the field, "Shit, I've never smelled anything that disgusting! Maybe I have. It just never bothered me like that."
A blue pickup truck approached, and slowed. As it passed, it's occupants met Jim and Jake's gazes. Jim got up, hoping to ask for directions. As soon as he did, the brake lights quickly darkened and the truck accelerated, bellowing forceful putts of effort. "Jerks," Jim exclaimed.
"I've seen a few go by. Nobody stops, Jim. I don't get it."
"We're in the land of the asshole."
"The land of the Author."
"Same thing," Jim said. "My guts are just killing me, Jake."
"We have to eat. Let's go. There'll be food in the city." Jake sighed as he brushed dried dirt from his arm.
They started walking.
"You know, Jake, this place is weird. I can remember everything that has happened. Actually, I can't help but to remember it. Just saying it doesn't seem so weird - I just don't think I've ever paid so much attention to something like that."
"I know. I feel like that too," Jake kicked small stones as he walked, "Don't you feel smarter, Jim?"
"I guess so. I feel very aware - like I can't believe how many things I just never noticed before, like pain. I'm sore all over and I can't stop thinking about it." Jim patted his torso.
"Me too. Jim?"
"What?"
"Don't hit me in the nuts anymore." Jake seriously looked at Jim.
"Ok," Jim smiled slightly. He thought to himself that during this entire scene, this was the only thing that he found remotely funny. What a sad world.
They walked in silence for a while before another vehicle caught up with them. It slowed. Jim and Jake looked as it passed them, but returned their eyes to the shoulder of the road. In their world, someone would have picked them up by now.
The large tan car stopped about a block away. Jake could discern only one occupant. The reverse lights lit and the car started getting closer. Jake sped his pace to meet the car and Jim followed.
"I hope we can get a ride," Jim's voice bounced as he jogged, "My feet are getting sore."
"Come on," Jake hurried.
The car stopped about twenty feet from Jake. He noticed the rust covered body of the car vibrating to the beat of the exhaust. He notice in such sharp detail. And he knew why it was vibrating: The exhaust came in bursts of pressure and the gasses had mass and therefore momentum. When they collided with the inside of the muffler, the momentum was transferred to it and transmitted to the loose muffler mounts, which in turn, rattled against the bumper and so on. How did I know that, Jake asked himself, momentarily feeling anxiety. He felt so smart here, but at the same time, in some strange way, what he didn't know scared him.
Jim and Jake reached the vehicle as the passenger window opened. A woman with dirty-blonde hair was leaning across the seat, operating the window crank. "Where are you guys headed?" The woman appeared very friendly.
Jake pointed toward hazy building in the distance, "The city. Would you give us a ride?" He smiled at Jim, who cautiously stood a few feet from the car.
"No," the woman sarcastically said, "I just thought I'd stop and find out where you were going out of curiosity!"
Jim frowned. The people here really are rude, he thought.
Jake looked, expressionless.
"Well, get in!" The woman lifted the lock control and pushed the door open.
Jim's frown faded from one of disgust to confusion, "But you said you wouldn't give us a ride."
"Have you never heard of sarcasm?" The woman leaned back to her side of the seat as Jake entered.
Jim looked as though he would panic when Jake closed the door in front of him. "Shotgun," Jake said with renewed cheer. "You can ride in the back," he reached over his shoulder and unlocked the back door.
Jim got in and sat quietly as the woman pulled the column shifter down three positions and began driving.
Jake took a deep, relaxed breath and appreciated the comfort of the ageing upholstery in the car. "Thanks very much. You're the first person to stop for us."
"No problem," she responded, "But you got a better chance of getting a ride if you put your thumb out - but I figured you weren't out for a pleasure walk, so I stopped. I know what it's like trying to get a ride these days. My name's Shelly Thalbus." She looked over to Jake.
"Oh, I'm Jake... And that's Jim."
"Nice to meet you guys. Are you from around here? What's your last names? Maybe I know someone from your families." Shelly pushed a cassette into the player.
"Uh... Last name... You know something, I don't know. Jim, do you have a last name?" Jake turned in his seat to await Jim's response.
Jim's mouth opened, but before anything came out, he was interrupted.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Shelly shook her head, "Everyone has a last name!"
"I don't know," Jake said, "I've just never thought about it."
"That's pretty strange," the woman said. "Did you say you guys are from around here?"
"No," Jake answered. "What do you call this place anyway?"
"Well," Shelly seemed slightly concerned, "we just passed lockport..."
"Lockport." Jake had never heard of it. "I mean this whole place - what do you call it?"
"Oh, Manitoba? That's the province we're in. Where are you guys from?"
"You mean what town?" Jake asked, noticing his stomach growling.
Shelly snickered, "Maybe I should be asking you what planet you're from."
"Well, I've had most of my scene in the town 'Huchk', but we don't really have planets where we live." Jake told her, completely confident that he sounded sane.
After a pause, Shelly said, "You know, if I didn't have the feeling that I can trust you guys, I'd stop the car and tell you to get the hell out. You guys are weird." She reached into her purse and pulled out a package of cigarettes. "Are you on acid or something?"
"What do you mean?" Jake asked.
"Nevermind," she put a cigarette between her lips and held two more out, "You guys have smokes?"
Jake felt his pockets and shook his head.
"Do you want one," she held them closer to him.
"Sure. Thanks," he took a cigarette, "Jim, do you want a cigarette?"
"Yeah, okay," Jim took the other.
Shelly lit her own, then passed the lighter to Jake. He lit his, and passed it to Jim.
"I changed my mind. I don't want a smoke," Jim held the cigarette and lighter out to Shelly.
Shelly took the lighter, "You can keep it for later then."
Jim put the cigarette in his pocket.
"So what part of the city are you going to?" Shelly opened her window and exhaled smoke.
"I'm not sure," Jake said, "but we're looking for the Author. Do you know where we can find the Author?"
"The author of what?"
"What? The Author, you know, of our lives." Jake took a puff of his cigarette and had to resist coughing.
"Authors write books!"
"Yeah I know - I mean the Author. The one who--"
"Jake," Jim said, "remember? It's not like that here."
Shelly glanced at Jim through the rear view mirror. "Like what? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Yes, I think so. You see, we came from a place that someone from here created." Jake tapped his finger on the seat, "Do you know what I'm talking about?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't," Shelly said, "Trust me when I say that you're not making very much sense."
"Well your world doesn't make much sense to me either," Jim said.
"I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Where did you say you're from? Huck?" Shelly tossed her cigarette but out the window and rolled it up.
"Huchk. But it's not around here. I made a special helicopter kinda ship and that's how we got here," Jim said.
"We were going to go and rescue Jim's sister cuz his mom stitched her ass to a three hundred pound moth and now she's flying around Schrootztown..." Jake trailed off when Shelly began laughing at his story.
"That's really fucking hilarious you guys, 'stitched her ass to a three hundred pound moth!'" Shelly continued laughing.
Jim joined her laughing, and said, "I know it's funny, but it's true. I'm not sure what went wrong, but we wound up here."
"Well it's a very interesting story." Shelly giggled again.
Jake noticed a passing sign at the side of the road that read "Welcome to Winnipeg." "Winnipeg," he said to himself.
"Yep, the big city... Where do you really want to go?" Shelly asked.