Testimony of: MATHIS, CHARLES
Case No.: 4652201
Date: 4/24/2018
I just forgot is all. It was blown way out of proportion, but when I turn it over every which way in my mind—as in any time something is troubling me—it always comes out that I simply forgot. Such a lovely lamp… such a shame.
“Tell us what happened, Mr. Mathis.”
It was a rainy Tuesday in the fall. The kind of rainy Tuesday in the fall that is somehow colder than when it snows. Snow just blows all over the place and nips at your nose and fingers while you’re outside, but a cold rain storm will soak through your clothes and ruin your whole day. I suppose there’s some science somewhere that explains that idea or debunks it or something, but who am I to say so? I was never too good at school, and now I’m nothing but a lousy… well, I guess you’d call me a stoner.
I have no problem with that word, or any word for that matter—people can make words into terrible, monstrous things nowadays—though I’m not unaware of the connotations that come with it. Forgetful. Lazy. Complacent. Slow. A leach to the greater society. Someone who makes plenty of messes and always needs someone to clean them up for him. And you know what? 99.9% of the time, you’d be right to assume that. But this time? This time I just forgot is all.
It was a rainy Tuesday in the fall. Rainy enough and cold enough to keep me inside the whole day with the blinds down, and as such, I spent my time enjoying a sampling of various cartoons and cereals. Around 1, my eyes began to get sore, and when I checked them in the mirror, they were bloodshot, which would be ordinary enough—red eyes being a side-effect of my medicine—had I taken any.
It must have been that damned TV. The light from the TV was frying my eyes, and the programs were frying my mind! All those damned shows do is pander to the lowest common denominator; god forbid they make you think or do anything short of melting into your lazy boy. Yeah, I turned off the TV for the day. ‘My eyes will thank me,’ I figured. ‘And future me will thank me, for the prudent consideration I had for my brain. In fact, why don’t I read a magazine? That will be grand. I have some fine magazines kept in a box in the basement. Some light reading will not only relieve my tired eyes; it will stimulate my tired brain!’ So I retired to the basement and, as you can see, my intentions were of the most genuine caliber. I just meant to read a little! I never meant for anybody to get hurt, let alone killed.
“Just continue with the events of the day, Mr. Mathis. What happened in the basement?”
Well, I sat down in my big bean bag chair and pulled out my favorite magazine—
“Which was?”
… I forget. But I remember, as I was rubbing some lotion on my hands—you see the basement air gets very dry, and I don’t like to lick my fingers every time I’m turning the page—I noticed that my tissue box was empty. I like to keep tissues near in case my nose runs or—
“Mr. Mathis.”
Right, right. Well when I refilled the tissues and turned my lamp—which really was a lovely lamp—on to… read, it looked right at me, looked me straight in the face, and said, ‘No fuckin way, dude.’
“Excuse me?”
Hand to god, that’s what it said.
“Does this lamp have a history of talking back?”
Not at all! It was always such a good lamp. It was the only light in the basement, you see, so I think it must’ve just been stressed from working all the time. Work, I’ve found, doesn’t always ‘set you free,’ as our Commander and Chief would have us believe. This lamp was just overworked is all.
“Are you saying that you do not feel America has been made great again, Mr. Mathis?”
No sir, of course not. I was just trying to—
“And what did you do when the lamp refused to turn on?”
Well, we had a bit of an argument, I must admit. It was nothing at first. I asked it, what did it mean? And it said, it meant what it said; and that I should find myself another lamp pal, ‘cause it wasn’t going to light up anything I was doing in my beanbag chair. And I said to it, buddy, you’re my lamp, you can’t choose not to turn on if I say to, and I asked it what good is a lamp that won’t turn on. Well, that got it angry, and it yelled at me. It yelled that it didn’t know and it didn’t care, but what it did know was that it wasn’t turning on. And this, sir, is where I believe I should accept some responsibility.
“Responsibility for what, Mr. Mathis?”
Well, this is where I forgot.
“Forgot what?”
Well, its going to sound silly, but… I forgot—I forgot how dangerous a lamp can be!
“Mr. Mathis, you understand our skepticism. I mean, really. To forget how dangerous a lamp can be? That’s not something that casually slips someone’s mind.”
But it did! Besides, it was always a good, respectable lamp to me. This was the first outburst from a lamp I’d ever encountered. I guess it must have had faulty wiring, but I don’t know how that stuff works.
“Did it attack you?”
No! I wish. Then I would’ve known not to do what I did.
“You freed it.”
Well what use did it have to me? It could suddenly decide if it wanted to turn on or off! If I wanted to convince something to do what I wanted, I’d talk to a person. But that’s not what lamps are! That’s why they have switches!
“And you never tried to reorient your lamp? To correct its behavior?”
No, I told you, I don’t know anything about how lamps work.
“Well, Mr. Mathis, two people are dead, and your lamp killed them.”
Oh, god!
“You are, of course, not guilty of those murders directly, but you will have to pay grievance fees for your neglectful actions.”
Of course I will. Those poor people!
“That is all, Mr. Mathis. Good day.”
And the lamp?
“What of it?”
What will happen to it?
“The scrapyard will take care of it, salvage the parts that still work, reuse them in new lamps, and toss the parts that don’t.”
I feel so responsible for all this. Can I see it before it goes?
“Its already gone, Mr. Mathis. Good day.”