Tag: decisions

Cause and Effect, A Fictional Short, The End

October 25, 1987

Autumn in New England. The air feels crisp. I need more than a sweater to sit here by the lake. It’s 3 in the afternoon. I left the office and drove to my favorite spot. The old patchwork comforter provides a layer between my body and the chilly ground. The sun, at just the right angle, forces the crimson and gold leaved trees to see themselves on the smooth surface of the lake. I’m not close enough to the edge to see my own reflection. A slight breeze crosses over me. I shiver and grab my pea coat, draping it over my shoulders. Reaching into my right pocket I pull out a pack of Marlboro Lights and a Bic lighter. I don’t smoke as much as Doug, who is up to half a pack a day. Shielding the lighter from the mild wind with my cupped hand, I manage to light the cancer stick on the first try. Then, leaning back on my elbows, turning my face toward the sun with closed eyes, I will its rays to warm my cheeks.

I take a deep drag off my cigarette, open my eyes trying to see the smoke rings I blow, but the sunlight blinds me. Abruptly I sit up as if the sun has reminded me what I’m doing here in the first place. Reaching into my left pocket, I pull out a wad of folded papers. Unfolding them, I tuck the newspaper clipping about the Johnson case under my leg and begin reading the photocopied article: Baron Paul Henri d’Holbach’s “A Defense of Determinism.”

The article: “Those who have affirmed that the soul is distinguished from the body, is immaterial, draws its ideas from its own peculiar source, acts by its own energies, without the aid of any exterior object, have, by a consequence of their own system, enfranchised [liberated] it from those physical laws according to which all beings of which we have a knowledge are obliged to act. They have believed that the soul is mistress of its own conduct, is able to regulate its own peculiar operations, has the faculty to determine its will by its own natural energy; in a word, they have pretended that man is a free agent…”

It’s not an easy read and I’m unpracticed, unlike my husband who reads this sort of thing every day. I haven’t actually read this, or anything like this since I graduated. And, although I hadn’t memorized it word for word by any means, I knew the gist of it. More than that, I lived by it. Remember it’s my God alternative. I wasn’t kidding about that.

The gist of it: We humans seem to think we have free will, it feels like we have free will, so we must, mustn’t we? Hell no, according to d’Holbach. We are far from free agents, controlled by mere impulses in our brains, those purely physical things inside of our skulls dictating our every move – including our decisions. We are no more in control of our desire for potato chips than we are for our desire for love, freedom, or nicotine. We didn’t ask to be born into our particular family. We didn’t choose our DNA. We had no control over our own personality development. Our brain does what it does based on competing impulses. The force of each impulse directs our behavior. A decision to do X instead of Y is simply the outcome of a stronger impulse to do X. Cause and effect. Our decisions are all effects of previous causes, none of which are in our control. We are simply slaves to our impulses, and can, therefore not be blamed for our decisions.

Get it?

Distracted with my reading, I let the ashes accumulate on the tip of my cigarette. They grow heavy and drop onto the faded blanket. I smash the butt on the bottom of my shoe and start a pile of extinguished filters. Turning my attention back to the article, page 4, I absent-mindedly light another.

The filter pile increases to four by the time I finish the article. My Bible.

Raymond Johnson is dead. Executed in the electric chair at 10:08 p.m. last night. No more appeals. No stay of execution from the governor. No last minute heroics on my part to save him.

Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Did you expect me to simply decide to change everything about myself – all of those causes that created me – and become someone different at the end of the story? I’ve carried the lie for 10 years. There was no choice. My inaction comes from deep within me. It’s who I am.

Go ahead, judge me. Go ahead, blame me.

Say it.   Raymond Johnson is dead and it’s YOUR FAULT.

I light another cigarette. My ass is numb from sitting so long in one spot. I’d better be going soon. Another deep drag. I pull the newspaper article out from underneath my leg and open it. No need to read it again. It’s over. Extending my arm, dangling the newspaper in front of me, I touch my lit cigarette to its corner. Light damnit. But it doesn’t catch. I feel around on the quilt for the Bic. Flick. There. The article burns. I stand, walk over to the lake and toss the small piece still aflame. Close enough to the edge, I see my own reflection. It is me. With no shame.

Acknowledgements:  Special thanks to Kathleen Lucas Executive Director padp.org for helping me with background on the death penalty and proofreading and to Gerard Raus for proofreading and encouragement.  Much appreciation to my readers and those of you who cheered me on.  Your words of support mean the world to me!

For further reading see d’Holbach’s entire argument on determinism.  http://www.gutenberg.org/files/8909/8909-h/8909-h.htm#link2H_4_0018

Cause and Effect, A Fictional Short, Part 5

Chapter 5

June, 1979

I managed to make it through my first year of high school wearing the clothes my parents provided for me, but I desperately wanted to create my own style. I needed a job. Although all of my sisters had previously spent their summers working at the community pool, I didn’t want the income stream to end in August, so I sought something different. With no car available to me, I had to find employment within walking distance of my house. One of my classmates, Janet, worked at Fullmer’s grocery store and had mentioned that Mrs. Fullmer was looking for more part-time help. A week before the end of the school year, I stopped by the store on my way home. My plan: Get the job first. Convince Mom and Dad to let me work there second.

It wasn’t much of an interview. Mrs. Fullmer knew my family and since I knew Janet, she pretty much asked me when I could start, how many hours I could work and how I would get home after dark.

As it turned out, convincing Mom and Dad was much easier than I’d anticipated. They’d seemed pleased I wanted to work and that I’d taken the initiative to find employment at a location other than the public pool. They said they had a lot of respect for Mrs. Fullmer. Dad even offered to pick me up on those nights when I would have to close the store, eliminating any concern for my safety.

I know what you’re thinking. No way. Why would she do that? Why would she put herself in this situation knowing what she knows?

Two answers: 1. There were no other jobs within walking distance of my house. 2. I was drawn there. You decide which one you like better.

My first day. I arrived at the store 15 minutes early as instructed and was greeted at the cash register by a bustling Mrs. Fullmer. “Good morning Tess, come on back here, I’ve got some paperwork for you to complete and a smock for you to try on.”

I followed Mrs. Fullmer to the back of the store where we entered a cramped closet she called her office. The space, just large enough for a desk and two chairs, was so cluttered that I didn’t immediately notice the framed picture of her son, Freddie, hanging above her desk. But when it did catch my eye, an involuntary gasp escaped me.

She noticed of course. “He was a handsome one, that boy of mine.” She said matter-of-fact. “Did you know my Freddie?” She asked.

“No.” I replied awkwardly. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Fullmer.”

“Rule #1 around here Tess: call me June. Everyone calls me June.” She instructed. “And, thank you. My Freddie was a good boy. He’s in a good place now.” Then, handing me a W-4 form, she was back in business mode, “You’ll have to fill this out and return it to me tomorrow.”

As I reached out for the form June noticed my trembling hands. “Oh my, honey, don’t be nervous. We have a lot of fun here. Janet’s coming in this morning and she’ll show you the ropes. You’re a smart girl, so I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly.” She said reassuring me – utterly unaware of the true cause of my jitters.

“Mrs. Fullmer – June, I – –“ I began, but was interrupted by the tinkling of bells. Janet had just come through the front door and was making her way back to June’s office. What was I going to say anyway, I wondered later.

 

 

Cause and Effect, A Fictional Short, Part 3

Chapter 3

My parents were in the kitchen, Mom standing over the stove lifting the last batch of peaches from the canner and Dad sitting at the table reading aloud from the daily newspaper. It was Saturday morning, two days after my sleepover. Dad stopped reading mid-sentence when I walked in and sat down beside him. Placing the newspaper on the table, he glanced over at me, his face instantly registering the familiar look of disapproval. “What’s that junk on your fingernails?” He asked quietly. He never yelled. He didn’t have to.

I looked down at my freshly painted pink nails then curled my fingers underneath my palms saying nothing.

“Get it off before you go anywhere and don’t let me see it again.” Then turning toward Mother, he scowled silently blaming her for my impropriety.

I sat quietly eating the Cheerios Mom had poured for me trying to catch a glimpse of the front page. Dad caught on, picked up the newspaper and departed for his bedroom. It was just like them – fretting about all of the bad things that might happen to me, yet never letting me hear or read about the awful events actually happening right in our own town.

Later that morning while I was in the bathroom restoring my fingernails to their pure God-given status, I heard the faint sound of the ringing telephone.

“Tess, Cathy’s on the phone for you.” Mom called up the steps.

I walked into my parent’s bedroom. Dad had gone out to check on his garden by then, and I lifted the receiver. “I’ve got it Mom. Thanks.” I yelled down the stairs, not wanting Cathy to start talking until I heard the click of the other receiver. No click. “Mom, I’ve got it.” I said again.

Cathy waited understanding my cue.

Finally the phone clicked. At least I thought it did, but one cannot be too careful. “Hey Cathy, I’m in the middle of something can I call you back in five minutes?” I asked.

“Sure.”

My strategy: never talk on the telephone when a parent has the potential to quietly listen in.

I tinkered for a minute back in the bathroom, cleaning up the nail polish remover and cotton balls; then I proceeded down to the dining room and dialed Cathy’s number.

“Hello.” Cathy answered.

“It’s me.” I said.

“Did you hear?” She asked.

“No.” I knew what she was referring to. It was certainly all we both thought about for the past two days.

“It’s all over the local news.” Cathy whispered excitedly. “We missed a murder by about half an hour. Freaky, isn’t it?”

“What else do you know about it?” I asked, whispering as well.

“It was a double murder. Sickening actually.” She began recounting what she’d seen on the local television news. Obviously her parents didn’t censor. “This druggie killed two guys in the neighborhood. One of them was the son of that lady who owns the small grocery store where we saw the police cars.  You know that cute football player, Freddie Fullmer.” She paused catching her breath.

“When did they catch him?” I asked.

“Right away I guess. They found him crouched behind some garbage cans only a block away.”

Just then Mom walked into the room so I switched topics, “I don’t know if I can go to the pool today. Let me ask.” I said in a normal tone looking questioningly over toward my Mom, knowing she was eavesdropping. Mom nodded her permission.

“Yeah, I can go. I’ll see you at 1 o’clock. OK?”