Dilated Pupils

During the recovering drug addict Scotty and the writer Uko's argument over their roach problem Scotty comes up with an idea that can make him remembered in history as a revolutionary.

Dilated Pupils

 

“I don’t really like dogs, but Scotty loves them,” Uko said as he threw a bottle of raid out the window. “I grew up with dogs, so I feel entitled to dislike them if I choose.”

                He was speaking to Scotty’s girlfriend; she was a dim-witted college chick just like Uko expected: Chubby, blond, clumbsy, lazy, a little drugged just to fit in, and soft.

                “Why don’t you like dogs,” she asked as she stroked the white fur of Scotty’s grandma dog.

                The dog was a puny little excuse for a pet with teeth as intimidating as a child’s and fluffy white fur as soft as the love handles on Scotty’s girlfriend. Scotty had been taking Salsa dancing lessons the past couple of months and was currently dancing in the kitchen while Uko explained his dislike of dogs.  His skin was the color of light maple and his eyes had the ash grey of a wolf’s fur. He was also pretending to hold a female in his arms as he danced. He was dancing fast enough to work up armpit stains in his grey shirt and the salsa music was loud enough to be disrupting.

                “I think his dog is disgusting,” Uko said. “I blame her for the roach problem we had a while back.”

                “You guys have roaches,” she asked with disgust in her voice.

                At the sound of this Scotty stopped dancing and said, “You are to blame for the roach problem and you know it Uko.”

                “How is that?” Uko asked with an unnatural rigor in his voice. “It’s your dog that brings in the microbes from the yard, not to mention the flees.”

                “Your room is filled with fast food garbage, crumbs, half full Heineken bottles, and your dog’s diarrhea is still sticking to the carpet in your room,” As Scotty spoke he smacked his fist in his hand with each point he made.  “You should be ashamed of force feeding my dog your beer, now it s**t all over both our carpets. Everybody knows that smell attracts roaches.”

                Scotty’s girlfriend crossed her legs as a sign of discomfort; the sight of two minorities with veins popping out of their heads and discussing roaches would be discomforting for any female from the comforts of upscale Scottsdale. 

                 “That’s so ignorant,” Uko shot back. “That proves how much people know about roaches. People need to read more Wikipedia. Roaches don’t eat that kind of stuff. Roaches eat roach food.”

                “There is no such thing as roach food Uko.”

                “Yes there is. Your dog carries in roach food from the yard in his fur.”

                “What type of food does it carry in,” Scotty’s girlfriend interrupted just to feel included.

                This is why Uko did not like her. He knew she did not care what they were talking about, but she would defend Scotty anyway by asking annoying questions.

                “They eat microbes and flees which count as roach food,” Uko said without breaking eye contact with Scotty.

                “I have never heard that and I do not believe you,” Scotty said in a fatigued tone.

                “That’s because you have never researched roaches. I have, but it was very difficult. There are no roach books in America, so I had to go the distance to find some roach books in order to do proper research.” As Uko spoke he purposely took on the mechanical Vulcan voice of Spok from Star Trek, he stood up with his hands clasped behind his back and paced. “I saved up three thousand dollars in order to go to Amsterdam, South Africa and Nigeria.”

                “Why did you go to Amsterdam,” Scotty’s girlfriend asked in her second attempt to annoy Uko. “I didn’t think Europe had roaches.”   

                “I’ll just take questions after I make my point okay,” Uko said slightly raising his voice and giving Scotty’s girlfriend a stern look. “As I was saying, I bought twenty roach books at an African bookstore. Now I know everything there is to know about roaches. I actually wrote the History of Roaches page on Wikipedia. I have done twelve roach videos that report on the roach crisis in America and have broadcast all of them on Youtube. I have had over ten thousand views on each video. I must admit, I am well known in the roach community and I have hundreds of followers when it comes to roach rights.”

                “Wow,” Scotty’s girlfriend said in the voice of an easy convert.

                “I know it’s amazing huh,” Uko said shaking his head in agreement. “Nobody utilizes roaches in scientific experiments,” Uko continued. “That gives roaches a bad reputation. Now, nobody likes roaches because they do not help scientist and everybody wants to exterminate them. If roaches go extinct evolution will be all messed up. Roaches are more sexually evolved than humans. They have sex all the time and it’s not even hard for them to reproduce and they have no problem finding partners. Humans make that entire process as complex as possible. It is like we are retarded when it comes to reproducing; relationships do not last, kids raise themselves on tv and video games, and the future is always crazy. Roaches do not have that problem and we need to learn from them and give them credit for it.”

                Scotty’s girlfriend uncrossed her legs and leaned toward Uko; realizing that he had her full attention he turned from Scotty and toward her.

                “If you do not learn anything from me at all, at least learn this; there is no such thing as a lonely roach,” Uko continued. “We should be jealous of roaches and love them above stupid dogs. Roaches don’t even bite.”

                “Well, leaving food all over the house is not going to help our roach problem,” Scotty said.

                “I’ve been leaving roach food around the house because I have a pet roach,” Uko said. “Sorry for not telling you earlier, I didn’t know how you would take it.”

                “What the hell are you talking about Uko,” Scotty yelled.

                “You have your dog and I have my roach.”

                “There are one hundred roaches in this house.”

                “There is only one roach in this house and his name is Fight Club,” Uko protested.

                “What kind of a name is that,” Scotty asked laughing.

                “I like that movie,” Uko said as though he was admitting a wrong he had committed. “It took me years to realize it and years more to accept it, but it is my favorite movie. I was ashamed of it because there are not enough black people in it, but I have watched that movie more times than any CD or song I have heard, any book or poem I have read, and any piece of art I have experienced in my entire life.” As Uko spoke tears built in his eyes and he laughed. “I like roaches because they are deep like Fight Club.”

                “There are 100 roaches bathing in the diarrhea stains in your room alone Uko,” Scotty repeated.

                “You have not seen two roaches at the same time in this house and you know it Scotty. There is only one roach in this house and if you yell its name it will come to you. You probably talk about the movie Fight Club too much and it comes in your room. Just tell it to go away or stomp at it and it will get scared. It understands simple English commands pretty well, that was part of the package when I bought it. Just do not spray it with Raid, that’s all I ask.”

                “That is disgusting,” Scotty interrupted. “You cannot have a pet roach.”

                “That’s racist!” Uko said standing up. “That is exactly what I am fighting against on Youtube. People need to evolve out of this simple racism. Everybody uses mice in lab experiments because they are white. Now people have pet mice and kids play with hamsters; roaches need love too. People call black mice rats and make millions exterminating them by the thousands. What’s more is everybody would love roaches if they were white. Roaches and rats can run on circular wheels too. I hope they are not timing those mice on those wheels, just wait till we get rats and roaches on those things.”

                “You still cannot have a pet roach,” Scotty said interrupting Uko’s monologue.

                “Scotty,” Uko said as though he were about to discipline a child. “Have you not been feeding Fight Club.” As he spoke he wagged his finger in the air and had his other hand on his hip. “You need to feed him daily, try letting your dog run around outside more so Fight Club can eat more of his flees.”

                “I thought you said you guys wanted to kill the flees and microbes,” Scotty’s girlfriend said.

                “No, we want the flees, but we do not want the other microbes,” Uko said. “The other microbes will give us wild roaches.”

                “What are wild roaches?” She asked.

                “Okay Scotty’s girlfriend, that’s your last question,” Uko said.

                “She has a name Uko,” Scotty said.

                Uko gave her an irritated glance and said, “Wild roaches are non-domesticated, usually coming to this country from Asia and the most southern parts of south America like Argentina and Chile. They bite at times and usually have wings powerful enough to fly. People do not even understand the difference between roaches that can fly and those that cannot. The roaches that can fly usually live in neighborhoods that are noisier and more populous. They are more attracted to sugar and other human food; they have a huge appetite and are three times the size of your normal household roach, plus they are twice as fast.”

                “Where is your roach now,” Scotty’s girlfriend asked. “I want to see it.”

                “Fight club,” Uko shouted as he looked around. “Fight club are you sleep?”

                He went over to the trashcan and lifted up the top; he shook the trash around a little bit and then went to the sink that was full of dishes. The dishes had not been touched in weeks mainly because that was Uko’s chore. There was enough food to feed a family of four just in their sink, the garbage disposal was broke and the disposal area was overflowing with food, but there were no roaches to be found at the moment.

                “He usually sleeps during this time of day,” Uko informed her. “Like most roaches he is a night roach, he does not like to come out in the day so much.”

                “You should get a younger roach as a second pet,” She suggested. “Younger pets bring out older pets socially.”

                “Oh yeah, I was actually thinking about getting a social roach,” Uko said. “They sell social roaches back in Africa for 25 bucks a pop.”

                “Really,” Scotty’s girlfriend said with genuine interest.

                By now Scotty had given up and began shaking a full red can of Raid.

                “Yeah, they sell roaches for only 25 dollars and they come house trained, they have undergone all the proper procedures in order to not be able to reproduce; plus they allow you to name it when you go in and pick it up. The naming part is what attracted me to roaches so much because I am sure they have never heard of Fight Club in Africa.”

                Scotty asked what the procedure was called that could prevent roaches from reproducing while continuing to shake the can of raid.

                “Can you stop shaking that,” Uko asked with irritation in his voice. “It is kind of insulting to my pet. I do not know what the procedure is called. I am not a roach doctor.”

                “Where can I find a roach doctor?” Scotty’s girlfriend asked.

                “Why do you need a roach doctor?” Scotty asked redirecting his anger at his girlfriend. “Please don’t tell me you have roaches.”

                “Because I kind of want a roach as a pet.”

                “Hell no,” Scotty yelled.

                “I need companionship,” She said. “And a roach seems much easier to take care of than a dog.”

                “They are,” Uko intruded. “You don’t even have to feed them, they feed themselves. If you live in an area with low roach food then you want to order some roach food online. I usually get my roach food off Amazon because then I can bargain and I can buy roach food in bulk. They have water based roach food, vitamin filled roach food, they even have roach food energy drinks and once they get an energy drink or two in them they run with Olympic speed. One time I had a few of Fight club’s friends over just to work on his social skills; by the way I don’t really approve of Fight clubs friends because he only hangs out with wild roaches, but he gets lonely around the house sometimes, any way I gave them all some energy drink roach food and they all started crashing into each other at full speed as though they were playing smear the queer.”

                “I think I saw a roach in the fridge watching the food,” Scotty said.

                “I don’t think that was Fight club, he usually watches TV, not human food.”

                “Your roach watches TV,” Scotty’s girlfriend asked in excitement. “That’s better than my cat. My cat use to ignore me and my TV.”

                “Yeah my roach loves TV. He usually goes for chick shows, he loves the Kardashians. I don’t really like it, but my roach watches it so I just sit through it. He also likes the real world and jersey shore too; I am becoming more convinced my roach wants to be human.”

                “I think you need a psychiatrist Uko,” Scotty said smirking.

                “I don’t need a shrink,” Uko responded slightly frustrated by Scotty’s lack of support. “Pet roaches are incredibly popular in other countries; Roaches are like soccer, everybody in the world loves them as pets, but for some reason Americans just don’t understand them.”

                “There’s nothing wrong with speaking to a doctor, I spoke to a doctor once,” Scotty said. “He was a psychiatrist my parents made me speak to after my second relapse to heroine. Just ask Mexica, I have a life crazy enough to write a book about huh baby.”

                “Yeah your life is crazy,” Mexica said nodding her head in agreement.

                “I could write a book about your life,” Uko said as he held a roach by red scissors and began to smoke it.

                “I’ve got stories man, I’ve got so many stories, I’m one of the few people who have lived the life of a crack head and returned alive,” Scotty said with a smirk on his face, he threw a pill in his mouth that was clear and said Easy on the side and his eyes quickly dilated and seemed to lose touch with all reality in the world. After a couple minutes he began to look around in random directions in an attempt to appear normal, but he didn’t know what he was looking at. He grabbed a trash bag and opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink and a city of roaches rushed into the lights. He dug his hands into the pile of roaches and dumped them inside the trash bag. “You see how random I can be,” he said looking at Uko with another hand full of roaches in his hands. “I actually plan to do something great with all these roaches, I figure I might as well make some use of them since you won’t clean up after yourself.”

                “What do you plan to do,” Uko asked as he pretended to write in a notebook.

                “You will see.”    

                “We could do this,” Uko said standing up in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to be a journalist. I could start paying attention to you, listening to you covertly and taking notes. We could come up with the greatest story ever put down on paper. I would be like your personal journalist, but I would exaggerate everything and lie of course. All I have to do is write one great book and I can live forever, I can be a literary one hit wonder.”

                “I want it to be deep,” Scotty said as his pupils continued to dilate in front of Uko’s eyes. Uko could see the iris shy away from the deep dark hole of the pupil as though it were a black hole, as though the iris would be swallowed up by the dime sized pupil and taken to another time. “I want you to ask me questions,” Scotty continued.

                “I don’t want to do it like that,” Uko responded. “This is not going to be the normal interviewer interviewee relationship.”

                “So how are you going to write the damn book then?” Scotty said, his slurred speech a hint that he was already becoming influenced by the drug; he was skinny and weak which was not good. He was kind of like a natural disaster when he popped pills; he became hard to predict, unconscious of fear, and he thought he could talk crazy and get away with it.

Uko responded with, “I want to understand you; I want to figure you out like an equation and apply you to different situations.” 

“There’s nothing mathematical about my life, I am clean of heroine now,” Scotty explained leaning toward Uko so he could see right through the nostril size hole at the center of his eyes. “There was a time when I use to slip drugs into the drinks of my closest friend just so I wouldn’t feel alone. Isn’t that evil?” 

“I feel like you are finally coming out of the closet,” Uko said.  “I’ve always thought there was an innately evil side to you”

“I have to admit tripping is much more comfortable when someone else is tripping harder, I would drug my friends just to be safe,” Scotty said. “I feel uncomfortable if those around me are not rolling with me. It is uncomfortable to do it alone; besides my ability to effectively drug people will make great material for the book. Maybe I will drug you so you know what it’s like to be a victim.”

“You can’t kill the author before he is finished with the book Scotty.”

“Don’t worry, if you die on drugs it is like dying in a dream; it does not count unless you believe it really happened. Wow, that didn’t even make sense. Tripping balls, I’m tripping balls man,” Scotty repeated. He started singing this not as though it were a normal song, but as if it were a church hymn. He threw a second pill in his mouth and buried his back in the corner of the kitchen as though he were trying to hide some sort of fear. “Easy isn’t a normal drug, it doesn’t even count. Until people start giving head for easy I’m going to take it and it won’t count as a relapse. I’ve been sober for nearly two years.”

                “What drugs did you take?”

                “Heroine,” Scotty responded. “That’s why I don’t count Easy, it’s not in the same league as heroine so I can take it and still say I’m sober. I’m different now; I have a unique strength that has continued to build up inside me since I quit. You should make the first chapter about me becoming a lamb.”

                “Be more specific.”

                “A sacrificial lamb. I’m the type of guy that loves everyone,” Scotty said. “Since I’ve been off drugs I’ve rediscovered my fervor to bring the world together. That’s why fate brought me to Arizona.”

                Uko held up his pointer finger as a sign for Scotty to pause. He grabbed a steno black notebook and made sure Scotty saw him write his name at the top. Scotty’s eyes widened and he smiled as though he was being recognized for the first time in his life.

                “Arizona,” Uko said as he wrote it underneath Scotty’s name. “What’s the big deal about the Valley of the sun?”

                “AZ is a hotbed for revolution,” Scotty said. He pulled out clear plastic tublewear, dumped half a bag of Doritos inside, and proceeded to crush the chips with the knuckles of his fist. “Downtown Phoenix has been turned on its head because of the new play.”

                “What play?” Uko asked.

                “The one about killing Mexicans.”

                “Who would write a play about killing Mexicans?”

                “The minutemen, the government gave money to a group of guys who hunt down Mexicans trying to cross the border and kill them. Now the play is being performed in all the border-states and it is actually getting press. The government is trying to purge the state of Mexicans and this play is the start.”

                “What’s that your making,” Uko asked pointing to Scotty’s tublewear.

                “This is a dish my Argentinian friend taught me to make,” Scotty answered. “Crush chips, a tablespoon of Jalapeno cheese, a can of Hormel’s chili, bacon bits, olive oil, and a touch of mayonnaise. Sometimes I add wheat bread to make it healthy.”

                “Is it an Argentinian dish,” Uko asked.

                “I’m not sure if it’s American or Argentinian, but the spice is so rich that it sticks with you for hours.”

                “Is your Argentinian friend Illegal?”

                “I can’t tell you that,” Scotty said. “I don’t want to incriminate anyone, you could be immigration. He might be at this portest I’m about to go to. If you’re serious about writing a great novel with me as the hero you should come and witness.”

                “I never said you were going to be a hero,” Uko said.

                “What I do is going to symbolize what my entire life is about, it will make me heroic in your reader’s eyes.”

                “What are you going to do, hold a sign?”

                “I’m probably going to end up in prison,” Scotty said and walked back to his bedroom. He convinced Uko to dress up in a shirt and tie and informed him that he purchased two tickets to the minutemen play. Before they left he grabbed his tublewear of what he called Argentinian grease soup his girlfriend’s purple purse, the trash bag full of wild roaches and walked to the door. “Be sure to take good notes of everything I do,” he said. “If I die I want to be a legend.”

                The sun was in the middle of the sky burning a hole in the surface of the valley as Scotty and Uko rode the light rail to downtown Phoenix. Scotty ate the Argentinian grease soup with his fingers. The chips mixed with the mayo and olive oil to form a crunchy dough with bacon bits cross-bread throughout. He amused himself by smacking his lips, licking the grease from his fingers, and flipping off the appalled senior citizen passengers that stared at him.

                “I was so unhealthy when I was on heroine,” Scotty said loudly. “I could never do things like this when I was high.”

                “You couldn’t eat Argentinian grease soup?”

                “No no no, you’re not paying attention,” Scotty said shaking his head in frustration. “I couldn’t be a part of a revolution when I was high, I couldn’t free people from captivity, I couldn’t be a legend.”

                Scotty polished the edges of the tublewear with his fingers. Once the tableware was clean he held it up to his face and savored the sticky scent that emanated from it.

                “Where people see a barrier I see opportunity. I’m the type of person that ends up owning private jets,” he said with the arrogance of a car salesman. “My plan will change lives today.”

                “What exactly do you plan to do, speak?”

                “No no no Okon. What I’m doing is going to touch people in a special way. People forget speeches, but they are not going to forget this.”

                 Uko was thrown off by Scotty every once in a while, but was afraid to admit it. He assumed Scotty to be too bland and skinny, too wide nosed like the tip of butterfly wings, too drunk and addicted to internet dating to be so randomly abrasive.

                “I don’t want you to think I think too much of you,” Uko said.

                “What is that supposed to mean?”

                “It means that novels can only be written about people who present themselves as deep,” Uko shrugged his shoulders when he said this.

                “You haven’t seen deep until you’ve choked a man to within an inch of his life, stuck a needle in his neck, pushed heroine inside, and begged him to do the same to you,” Scotty said. “I can tell you’re soft, but I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault nature didn’t choose to give you strength. But Uko, I promise I can save you. I can make you real like the rest of us.”

                “how are you going to change me,” Uko asked. He was not convinced that he needed to change, but he wanted to instigate the unsound mind of Scotty.

                “I will tell   my story,” Scotty said. He shook his tightly clenched fist in front of Uko’s face. “That’s why you must tell my story ver-batim; record every word, observe every action and you will learn my truth.”

                “I can’t do that,” Uko said with a shrug of the shoulders. “You haven’t convinced me of your relevance yet. A little embellishment is the only way people will read your story.” 

                They got off at City Hall in Downtown Phoenix. The platform in front of the theater was thronged with enraged protesters. Most were from Latino leftist groups who held signs criticizing the president, city politicians, the sheriff and most of all the play about the minutemen. The walkway that led to the front doors of the theater were guarded by policemen armed with double barrel shotguns, sticks, pepper spray, tasers, and 9 mm sidearms. K-9’s were held back from the protesters with leashes; they breathed heavily with their mouths open and teeth showing.

                “Do I look nice,” Scotty asked as he adjusted his navy blue and grey striped silk tie.

                As Uko and Scotty approached the ticket booth a dog was let loose on a protester who reached for the badge of an officer. The k-9’s teeth cut through the flesh of the protester’s arm and before he could scream he was knocked unconscious by a dozen rubber bullets.

                “Look at that madness,” Scotty said as he handed both tickets to the vendor.

                The vendor, wearing a white dress shirt and black bowtie, examined Scotty suspiciously.

                “Why do you have a purse,” he asked.

                “It’s my wife’s,” Scotty lied without missing a beat. “She’s parking the car and will meet us inside.”

                The psychotic movement of the roaches inside the bag was nearly audible amidst the protesters chants. The vendor looked Scotty over again and hesitantly handed him the tickets. They walked inside the theater and the crowd was engrossed in the image of a man in brown paint being chased by a guy with a cowboy hat and wooden shotgun. The play itself was not great, it was the idea of the minutemen being glorified that people were in love with. Scotty pulled out the black trash bag from the purple purse and the roaches wings could be heard as they struggled to make it outside.

                “Okay, here I go,” he told Uko and walked down the aisle toward the stage.

                As he walked forward he began to unite the loose knot of the bag and some roaches escaped and crawled down his arms and legs.

                There was a lady giving a monologue at center stage. Her face had a light coat of perspiration and once she was done the crowd erupted in cheers. She made eye contact with Scotty as he approached the stage and climbed up. She screamed at the sight of the roaches crawling on his face. Once her scream was let out the roaches automatically jumped from his body and flew to hers. He completely opened the bag and dumped all of the roaches directly onto her.

                As the actress screamed some of the roaches made their way into her mouth and she struggled to dig the roaches from her mouth. Falling on the floor a couple male actors attempted to assist her, but her screaming ceased and she fainted.

                Okon turned around and walked outside as he saw a dozen police officers in full sprint toward Scotty.

                The audience was not sure what the commotion was about at first, but as more roaches escaped the bag they could be seen flying in the air. The roaches were aggressive and flew directly at the faces of the people in the theater. They attached to their skin and crawled onto their faces and down their shirts. There were no less than 3000 roaches in the air before five minutes had passed. The theater sounded the alarm for evacuation and the audience began to rush the door.

                Okon sat outside with the protesters who cheered as the theater audience rushed outside in panic. They slapped themselves in the face, the legs and arms all in an attempt to scare the roaches away. A few people rolled on the ground and ruined their expensive suits. Others took off all their clothing because they were afraid of the unusually large flying aggressive roaches. The news cameras were zoomed in on all the action, it would certainly be on the news the next day.

                Scotty was dragged outside by two police officers. His lips were split open, his eyes swollen and black. He saw Okon, looked him in the eyes and smiled with blood running across his gums and teeth.

                “You’re welcome, he yelled. “To everyone watching, I am Scotty and you’re welcome.”   

                 

               

               

 

Author's Note

This is my fourth or fifth draft of this. I am having trouble making it read smoothly.

Reviews

[Everett DeValle]

I'll say, it's technically written well...but the story fell flat, I'll just be honest...it felt like a long running joke...what I'm saying is, you may want to shorten it, it's all in the delivery...I'm aware there is an interracial relationship with a full description of the Caucasian girlfriend, again, I don't think there was a one mere reference to the minorities as African American...I'm all for subtlety in race relation because here in America it has grown more common, which is great, I felt the girlfriend was described as a disorganized messy individual...then there was disagreement with the girlfriends about cockroaches...leading me to the build up of them going to a movie theater and how the dispersement of cockroaches were set free and a pandemic that ensued...with an ending that leaves me bewildered, yet somewhat amused.


I can really, Really, tell that you spent a month or two writing and re-writing this story...my recommendation to you is read a book of the same genre you are attempting...what readers are you trying to target...were you going for an off beat social commentary situation or was it a build up to a funny situation as the center piece to climactic part of the story. Nevertheless, this was a very good practice draft.