After he stepped out of the shower, Gene flipped on the morning news:
“Good morning Memphis! Better bundle up before you go outside today. It’s a frosty ten degrees right now and we’ll probably top out around fifteen degrees this afternoon. That’s cold for August 13th, but nowhere near our record low which was 15 degrees below zero just last year. The good news – no snow in our forecast today or over the next several days. I’ll be back with our extended forecast right after sports with Mike Lomanstry.”
Gene knew it was worthless watching a weather report from a Memphis television station, but to maintain empathy, he did it regularly anyway. The climate here in Jonesboro, Tennessee was getting more and more heated each year.
He finished shaving his head, dressed and got a cup of hazelnut roast from his Keurig to bring out on the back deck. His normal breakfast on a Saturday would have included baked oatmeal and freshly squeezed orange juice, but he really didn’t have much of an appetite today.
When Gene finished his coffee and walked out to his car in the driveway, Lyle was there waiting.
“You know this is it, right? We’re about to choose between life and death here,” Lyle said.
Lyle had a way of overdramatizing things, Gene knew. Last week, Lyle was certain their El Toro chicken enchiladas had been deliberately poisoned. He believed Gene had radiation burns after a game of shirts and skins basketball last summer. He once told Gene he should stock up on toilet paper since it was all made in Japan and was about to be hit with a tariff.
“I know things are going to change, but we’ll get through this OK-.”
“Earth to Gene, come in. This is reality calling. We’ve been trying to reach you, but you’re been so out of touch, little buddy.”
Gene hated that name, but comparatively it fit. Lyle had always been bigger, and now with both men at forty, he had at least six inches and a hundred pounds on him. Size wasn’t even the most prominent feature that distinguished them, though. Lyle sported long hair, vast bushy eyebrows and thick russet beard only allowed the upper portions of his cheeks, his pinched nose and heavily lidded eyes to show through. When he wasn’t talking, he didn’t even appear to possess a mouth, which would have been Gene’s preference at times.
From the sidewalk, Gene heard someone say, “Morning Gene.”
It was Betty White, a little old lady who lived two doors down. “Good morning Betty. Look at you – that new hip must be feeling good!”
“I’m a new woman and I’m ready for action.” Despite being almost eighty, Betty at
least talked a frisky game.
“Glad to see you up and about, dear. I’ve got to vote so I’ll see you later.”
Gene climbed into his car and before he could fasten his seat belt, Lyle asked, “So how are you voting?”
If he were being honest, he would have answered that he hadn’t decided. That answer, however, would result in Lyle stating his case for the entirety of the ride, so Gene made a snap decision. “I’m voting for the solar redistribution.”
“What! Have you lost it? You want to turn this city into the North Pole? You been outside Jonesboro lately? It’s going to be eighty here today, buddy. Know what it is in Nashville? It’s going to be-.”
Gene cut in. “I know, I heard. I’m just trying to be fair, and I’m trying to get the protestors off the streets, too. We’re only talking about twenty degrees difference in our average temperatures – we can live with that.”
Lyle ran both hands through his substantial mane. “Sure, twenty degrees today, and then next year it’s another ten and then another ten and pretty soon, we’ve wearing parkas year-round like everybody else. I don’t think you even understand what happened around here.”
Gene read the bumper stickers on the car in front of his, both of which favored Jonesboro seceding from the state of Tennessee.
Gene exhaled heavily. “That coal vein under us is the only coal left in the ground in Tennessee. When the sunshine absorbs into the ground, it heats that coal and we get warmth coming up from the Earth. Since the sun became a white dwarf, this is the only warm spot left in the state. They want to put reflecting satellites in orbit above us to divert sunshine to other parts of the state to warm them.”
“Glory be, you do get that part. And as soon as they get that OK to tax our sunshine – and that’s what it is, a tax – our property values drop by like ninety-nine percent.”
Gene hadn’t realized they were close to their voting location until he saw about twenty people walk past his car carrying signs that said ‘Hoarders!!’ and ‘We’re Cold But Bold’ and ‘Degrees of Inequality’.
Lyle watched them walk up the street, bared his teeth and hissed, “I wish it was night. I’d love to see how bold they are when a huge wolf man like me chases them down the street.”
“You’re not going to do that again. C’mon, we can walk from here. Looks like all the parking is gone anyway.”
Gene and Lyle left the car and after a minute, Lyle started again. “Can I ask you a question? Do you want to move to the poor house? And for what? From what I heard, even if they diverted all the sunlight from Jonesboro, it would only increase temperatures in the rest of the state by like ten degrees. Why can’t they just live with it and we keep our good fortune?”
“Because it’s not fair.”
“Fair? What’s not fair about it? Who said everything is supposed to be equal? This isn’t China or Cuba or Russia. This is the USofA!”
They approached the Lincoln Elementary School which was serving as the voting place for their neighborhood. Gene signed the voter log before moving to a voting machine.
From the conversations Gene had with others over the past several weeks, he knew sentiments were strongly against giving up any of their current wealth of sunshine. Most people felt like Lyle: how can they ask so few people to give up so much to so marginally benefit everyone else?
As he stood in front of the voting machine, he said to Lyle, “This isn’t about being a few degrees warmer, it’s just jealousy. They’ll be happy as long as we have to give up what we’ve got, even though it isn’t enough to change anything in their lives.”
Lyle smacked his forehead with his open hand. “He has seen the light. Hallelujah!”
“But, it isn’t their fault this happened either. They were just born in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe we should be willing to sacrifice to help even if it’s only a little …”
An elderly man who wore a badge identifying him as an election official approached. “‘Scuse me, but there’s no cellphones allowed in here, young man.”
“I wasn’t on my phone,” said Gene.
“Well, I heard you talkin’ to somebody. Figured you musta been.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was…you know how sometimes you debate things in your mind-.”
“Uh huh.” He chuckled. “Well, try not to do that anymore. It’ll give folks the wrong impression, if you know what I mean.”
Gene cast his vote and left alone, the debate over.
Write Brain 