| General Fiction posted May 7, 2024 |
  |
Choices
The World According to Daylin P2
by John Ciarmello
Part 1
According to Daylin Poots, there’s nothing to be envied about an adopted sixteen-year-old boy being raised in a multi-million dollar house, especially if it’s tucked secludedly away in the Florida Everglades miles from anything or anyone he had an interest in.
Mixed among the fifteen prissy cats who ate from crystal goblets were the human-robotic servants whom he was sure stood in separate corners of the estate all day waiting to perform their duties if called upon.
The rebuttals of Daylin’s outward obstinance toward his unwanted lifestyle are voiced daily by his adopted parents: ‘Why do you always look so unhappy, Daylin? Most people would give their right arm to have a fraction of what you have, Daylin. Perhaps you should remember where you came from, Daylin.’ The words most replied in the boy’s unsettling vociferousness are the words “Blah, blah, fucking blah!”
It wasn't that he was ungrateful, but being raised precariously on Chicago’s South Side until age twelve definitely influenced his rebellious behavior. Was he wastefully brilliant, contentiously savvy, and patently streetwise? There was no doubt from anyone who knew him from the South Side. They also knew that Daylin Poots would be hell-bent on having no part of his adopted glam and glitter unless it was on his terms.
“Your bath is drawn, Master Poots?”
“Fuck Bernard! My name is Daylin!”
“Very well–”
“Say it, Bernard!”
“Are you almost done with your television game, Master Poots?”
Daylin casually looked in Bernard's direction. “God damn it, BERNARD, say my fucking name.”
“Your bath is drawn. I’m sure I’ll have to adjust the temperature now that so much time has passed.”
“Fuck you, Bernard!” Daylin tossed his gaming controller to the foot of his bed, bunched a pillow under his arm, and stared at Bernard with his mouth agape.
“Is something wrong, Master Poots?”
“Tell me, Bernard, how long have you been a servant in this fucking dump?”
“Well, if you’re referring to my term of employment at the Shaffer estate, it will be twenty years next month.”
“Twenty years, and in those twenty years, have you ever broken the employment rules, Bernard?”
“I can’t say that I have, Sir.”
Daylin slid off the bed, put his hands on Bernard's shoulders, and guided him into the bathroom. “I want you to get in the tub, Bernard!”
“Sir?”
“You heard me, Bernard.”
“But, that would be highly unorthodox. I don’t have permission to…”
“Permission to what? Permission to take a fucking bath? I’m giving you permission, Bernard! There’s no one here but you and me. My stuffy Baboon-assed parents are on vaca’ somewhere in this stupid fucking world. So, I say it’s your turn to relax, and you can start by taking a fucking bath!”
“But master Poots, I, I,…” Bernard dropped his shoulders and peered into the empty Jacuzzi bathtub. He looked back at Daylin.
“Go ahead, Bernard, live a little, you goddamn android.”
“Sir! I have never in my twenty years…”
“Bernard, just get in the fucking tub! I’ll be right back.”
An unassertive grin raised Bernard’s left cheek.
A few minutes later, Daylin pushed open the bathroom door with his foot, juggling a bottle of Old Rip Van Winkle Bourbon, two shot glasses, and a box of Cohiba Cuban Cigars.
“Well, look at you in that tub! Bubbles and all! You’re officially a rebel, Bernard.”
“Yes, but I’m very uncomfortable, Master Poots. This is highly irregular. Your father’s going to find out about…”
“Father shamather! He ain’t a father, he’s a mantelpiece, him and his trophy wife, they’re just something else I need to brush off.”
“But, sir, I'm sure they did adopt you with all good intentions.”
“Oh, you’re sure, are you? What do you know about me, Bernard?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Tell me one thing you know about me as a person.”
“My job is to take care of your needs. I was instructed never to probe into your history, sir.”
“And why do you think you were told that, Bernard? Didn’t that set off any red flags for you?”
“Red flags, sir?”
“Yeah, unanswered questions, inquiring minds, that sort of stuff.”
“It’s not etiquette to question direct instructions, Master Poots.”
“Oh, blah blah fucking blah! Aren’t you fed up with being their fucking android? Bernard, do this, Bernard, do that!”
“Not at all, sir. The Shaffers treat me well.”
“That’s Bullshit, and you know it! Or maybe you don’t!”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Well, you’re gonna learn today, Bernard.” Daylin picked up the bottle of bourbon and poured the two shots, overflowing both onto the tub's edge. I’m gonna tell you a little somethin’ somethin' about your employers, but first, a toast. Go ahead, pick up the glass.”
“Sir, I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable about engaging in this behavior….”
“I know you already said that, now, don’t be fucking rude, Bernard. I’m about to make a toast.”
“Very well, sir.” Bernard picked up the glass and looked at Daylin sheepishly.
“Thank you!” Daylin raised his glass above his head. “Here’s to my parents having loads of bread cuz, without their bread, we’d have no toast. Down the rat hole and out the piss hole, as my old man used to say.”
Bernard shook loose-lipped as he swallowed the last of the bourbon on the back of his tongue. “I don’t recall Mr. Shaffer ever stating that to you, sir.”
“He didn’t. I was talking about my real father. He was a son-of-a-bitch too!”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Master Poots.”
“It’s all good. At least I knew what kind of a person the fucker was.” Daylin sloppily poured two more shots and stuck a cigar in his mouth.
Bernard nodded compassionately and took a cigar from the open box on the tub's edge. He ran it under his nose several times and released a satisfied breath of air. “These would require a guillotine and a flame, Master Poots.”
“I got us covered!” Daylin clipped the tips, ran a stick match down the wall, and lit both cigars. He poured two more shots and kicked his legs onto the tub’s edge. “Hey, I have a question for you, Bernie boy!”
“Very well-”
“Are androids even able to get drunk?”
“I'm unsure, sir Daylin. Perhaps I could find the answer by referring to my circuit board.” Bernard raised his glass and joined in Daylin’s laughter.
Daylin’s expression abruptly morphed into a satisfied grin.“Wait! Rewind a sec! What did you just say?”
“I believe I said if I refer to my circuit…”
“No, before that.”
Bernard stared at Daylin, bewildered. “I don’t recall?”
“You said my name. You said Daylin!”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to…”
“Don’t be sorry, you fuckin’ broken down, drunkin’ android! I loved it!”
“Very well…”
“Very well, what!” Daylin leaned in closer. “Say it, Benard! Say my name! I need to hear it again, loud and clear.”
“Very well.” Bernard smiled and gestured for Daylin to refill his glass. It’s a big step for a fuckin’ broken-down, drunkin’ android, sir.”
“I’m sure it is, but don’t regress on me now!”
“Okay, give me a moment.” Bernard shot back his bourbon. D-Daylin!”
“Ha! I knew you had it in you!”
Bernard stretched out his arm for another refill.
“Damn, you better take it slower, my man, and at some point, you need to get out of that tub. I ain’t taken the rap for your drunkin’ demise.” Daylin put his feet back on the tub's edge and blew a puff of cigar smoke into the air. “Welcome to Daylin’s world, Bernard. I think you’re going to like it here.”
“Thank you, sir. Oh, pardon mwah, Daylin. But what about that little something-something you were going to tell me about?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” Daylin held up the bottle of bourbon and looked in Bernard's direction.
“I don’t mind if I do.”
“That’s my boy! Now for that little somethin’-somethin’.”
End of part 1
Part 2
“First of all, I’d like to say I’m sorry for calling you an android.”
“It’s okay, Daylin, but do you think I’m that proper that people would mistake me for a robot?”
“You’re stuffy as fuck, Bernard, but they wouldn’t think you were a robot if they could see you now.”
“Here, here! Bernard raised his shot glass and clinked it against Daylin’s glass.”
“Here’s to being human, Bernard!”
“Yes, here’s to being human! Sir, may I request something of you?”
“What’s up, Bernie boy?”
“Could you leave the bathing area so I may retire from the jacuzzi? It seems I’m beginning to shrivel in all the sought-after places of my anatomy.”
“You Braggin?”
“No, sir, I’m worried about my package breaking off and floating to the surface if I don’t get out of this bath.”
“Ha! I’m hearing a slight slur in your words, Bernard!”
“Yes, perhaps you are, but would you please–”
“Are you shooing me away, Bernard?”
“Yes, most encouragingly, Sir.”
“Alright, alright! I’ll meet you in the living room so we can finish this talk. Then I’ll tell you about that little somthin’-somethin’. Daylin held the bottle up to gaze at the level of bourbon. “Hmm, looks like we have some work to do, Bernie boy!”
Daylin pushed the bathroom door shut with his foot, juggling the cigars, shot glasses, and bourbon to the living room coffee table.
“I’m sorry I took so long, Daylin.”
“Shit, Bernard, I thought you may actually have lost your junk! I was about to send the seamstress team in there to sew your belongings back on.”
“Yes, well, thank you for thinking about me in such a mending way, but in reality, I was retrieving a photo I thought you may be interested in seeing.”
Daylin took the photo. “Who’s the guy and the baby, Bernie boy?” Daylin held the picture to the light. “It kind of looks like…”
“That, sir, is you with Mr. Shaffer.”
“But he didn’t adopt me until I was nine.”
“Correct, sir. This picture was taken when things were better between him and your mother.”
“Bernard, you better snap out of your drunken fucking stooper and tell me what the fuck is going on!”
“Mr. and Mrs. Shaffer are your grandparents, sir.”
“Fuck you, Bernard! Don’t make a joke out of this. You’re hitting a nerve with me.” Daylin pushed the photo to Bernard.
“I assure you I wouldn’t do that to you, sir.”
“But I thought my mom was Shaffer’s secretary.”
“Secretary, Sir?”
“Yeah, Shaffer knocked Mom up. I figured he adopted me to shut me up!”
“To shut you up, sir? I don’t understand.”
"Yeah, You know, to save his rep! His name.”
“May I ask where you acquired this information, Daylin?”
“Yeah, my old man told me in one of those drug-induced father-to-son screaming matches. He said mom screwed Shaffer and got pregnant with me.”
“I’m sorry, Daylin, but none of that is true…”
“So, what is the truth, Bernard? I was nine when he told me that, and the next thing ya know, the fucker is dead of an overdose right in front of me, and I’m being adopted by this rich dude named Shaffer." Daylin poured another shot and leaned against the backrest of the couch. “Now you’re telling me these people are my grandparents? Why didn't they tell me?”
“I feel bad that you had to live with that, sir, but Mr. and Mrs. Shaffer are your grandparents. It wasn't my place to agree or disagree with whether they told you or not. At least not verbally, sir. They were distraught over the loss of your mother. They tried to save her and your father many times from their addictions.”
“Well, they all lost that fucking battle, didn’t they?”
Bernard paused and proceeded with a calming voice. “You have loving grandparents, Daylin. You could make a beautiful life with them if you chose to try.”
“Yeah, blah, blah fucking blah!”
“Or, perhaps you’re too much like your parents, sir.”
Daylin sat up on the edge of the couch and leaned in. "Fuck you, Bernard. I'm nothing like them. You know what I am, Bernard? I’m–”
“You’re what, sir?”
“I’m not big on admitting this, but I’m afraid, god damn it! I’m afraid!”
Bernard gazed into his lap. “I found admitting your fear quite brave, sir.”
Daylin stood and spun with his arms extended. “Look at all this, Bernard! My mother had all this money at her fingertips. Why the fuck did she have to raise me on Chicago’s Southside?”
“Life is full of chances, sir, but choices are either right or wrong.”
Daylin plopped back on the couch. “You’re a wise man, Bernard. Ya know, I think about going back there all the time! Why Bernard?”
“I wish I had all the answers for you, sir, but I don’t.”
“I have to face it, Bernard. I was prepped for a disastrous life? Choices were never an option for me.”
Bernard stood, gathered the bourbon bottle and cigars, and returned them to their proper places. He rinsed the shot glasses, placed them upside down on the bar top, and turned to Daylin. “You have a choice now, sir.”
Part 1
According to Daylin Poots, there’s nothing to be envied about an adopted sixteen-year-old boy being raised in a multi-million dollar house, especially if it’s tucked secludedly away in the Florida Everglades miles from anything or anyone he had an interest in.
Mixed among the fifteen prissy cats who ate from crystal goblets were the human-robotic servants whom he was sure stood in separate corners of the estate all day waiting to perform their duties if called upon.
The rebuttals of Daylin’s outward obstinance toward his unwanted lifestyle are voiced daily by his adopted parents: ‘Why do you always look so unhappy, Daylin? Most people would give their right arm to have a fraction of what you have, Daylin. Perhaps you should remember where you came from, Daylin.’ The words most replied in the boy’s unsettling vociferousness are the words “Blah, blah, fucking blah!”
It wasn't that he was ungrateful, but being raised precariously on Chicago’s South Side until age twelve definitely influenced his rebellious behavior. Was he wastefully brilliant, contentiously savvy, and patently streetwise? There was no doubt from anyone who knew him from the South Side. They also knew that Daylin Poots would be hell-bent on having no part of his adopted glam and glitter unless it was on his terms.
“Your bath is drawn, Master Poots?”
“Fuck Bernard! My name is Daylin!”
“Very well–”
“Say it, Bernard!”
“Are you almost done with your television game, Master Poots?”
Daylin casually looked in Bernard's direction. “God damn it, BERNARD, say my fucking name.”
“Your bath is drawn. I’m sure I’ll have to adjust the temperature now that so much time has passed.”
“Fuck you, Bernard!” Daylin tossed his gaming controller to the foot of his bed, bunched a pillow under his arm, and stared at Bernard with his mouth agape.
“Is something wrong, Master Poots?”
“Tell me, Bernard, how long have you been a servant in this fucking dump?”
“Well, if you’re referring to my term of employment at the Shaffer estate, it will be twenty years next month.”
“Twenty years, and in those twenty years, have you ever broken the employment rules, Bernard?”
“I can’t say that I have, Sir.”
Daylin slid off the bed, put his hands on Bernard's shoulders, and guided him into the bathroom. “I want you to get in the tub, Bernard!”
“Sir?”
“You heard me, Bernard.”
“But, that would be highly unorthodox. I don’t have permission to…”
“Permission to what? Permission to take a fucking bath? I’m giving you permission, Bernard! There’s no one here but you and me. My stuffy Baboon-assed parents are on vaca’ somewhere in this stupid fucking world. So, I say it’s your turn to relax, and you can start by taking a fucking bath!”
“But master Poots, I, I,…” Bernard dropped his shoulders and peered into the empty Jacuzzi bathtub. He looked back at Daylin.
“Go ahead, Bernard, live a little, you goddamn android.”
“Sir! I have never in my twenty years…”
“Bernard, just get in the fucking tub! I’ll be right back.”
An unassertive grin raised Bernard’s left cheek.
A few minutes later, Daylin pushed open the bathroom door with his foot, juggling a bottle of Old Rip Van Winkle Bourbon, two shot glasses, and a box of Cohiba Cuban Cigars.
“Well, look at you in that tub! Bubbles and all! You’re officially a rebel, Bernard.”
“Yes, but I’m very uncomfortable, Master Poots. This is highly irregular. Your father’s going to find out about…”
“Father shamather! He ain’t a father, he’s a mantelpiece, him and his trophy wife, they’re just something else I need to brush off.”
“But, sir, I'm sure they did adopt you with all good intentions.”
“Oh, you’re sure, are you? What do you know about me, Bernard?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Tell me one thing you know about me as a person.”
“My job is to take care of your needs. I was instructed never to probe into your history, sir.”
“And why do you think you were told that, Bernard? Didn’t that set off any red flags for you?”
“Red flags, sir?”
“Yeah, unanswered questions, inquiring minds, that sort of stuff.”
“It’s not etiquette to question direct instructions, Master Poots.”
“Oh, blah blah fucking blah! Aren’t you fed up with being their fucking android? Bernard, do this, Bernard, do that!”
“Not at all, sir. The Shaffers treat me well.”
“That’s Bullshit, and you know it! Or maybe you don’t!”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Well, you’re gonna learn today, Bernard.” Daylin picked up the bottle of bourbon and poured the two shots, overflowing both onto the tub's edge. I’m gonna tell you a little somethin’ somethin' about your employers, but first, a toast. Go ahead, pick up the glass.”
“Sir, I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable about engaging in this behavior….”
“I know you already said that, now, don’t be fucking rude, Bernard. I’m about to make a toast.”
“Very well, sir.” Bernard picked up the glass and looked at Daylin sheepishly.
“Thank you!” Daylin raised his glass above his head. “Here’s to my parents having loads of bread cuz, without their bread, we’d have no toast. Down the rat hole and out the piss hole, as my old man used to say.”
Bernard shook loose-lipped as he swallowed the last of the bourbon on the back of his tongue. “I don’t recall Mr. Shaffer ever stating that to you, sir.”
“He didn’t. I was talking about my real father. He was a son-of-a-bitch too!”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Master Poots.”
“It’s all good. At least I knew what kind of a person the fucker was.” Daylin sloppily poured two more shots and stuck a cigar in his mouth.
Bernard nodded compassionately and took a cigar from the open box on the tub's edge. He ran it under his nose several times and released a satisfied breath of air. “These would require a guillotine and a flame, Master Poots.”
“I got us covered!” Daylin clipped the tips, ran a stick match down the wall, and lit both cigars. He poured two more shots and kicked his legs onto the tub’s edge. “Hey, I have a question for you, Bernie boy!”
“Very well-”
“Are androids even able to get drunk?”
“I'm unsure, sir Daylin. Perhaps I could find the answer by referring to my circuit board.” Bernard raised his glass and joined in Daylin’s laughter.
Daylin’s expression abruptly morphed into a satisfied grin.“Wait! Rewind a sec! What did you just say?”
“I believe I said if I refer to my circuit…”
“No, before that.”
Bernard stared at Daylin, bewildered. “I don’t recall?”
“You said my name. You said Daylin!”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to…”
“Don’t be sorry, you fuckin’ broken down, drunkin’ android! I loved it!”
“Very well…”
“Very well, what!” Daylin leaned in closer. “Say it, Benard! Say my name! I need to hear it again, loud and clear.”
“Very well.” Bernard smiled and gestured for Daylin to refill his glass. It’s a big step for a fuckin’ broken-down, drunkin’ android, sir.”
“I’m sure it is, but don’t regress on me now!”
“Okay, give me a moment.” Bernard shot back his bourbon. D-Daylin!”
“Ha! I knew you had it in you!”
Bernard stretched out his arm for another refill.
“Damn, you better take it slower, my man, and at some point, you need to get out of that tub. I ain’t taken the rap for your drunkin’ demise.” Daylin put his feet back on the tub's edge and blew a puff of cigar smoke into the air. “Welcome to Daylin’s world, Bernard. I think you’re going to like it here.”
“Thank you, sir. Oh, pardon mwah, Daylin. But what about that little something-something you were going to tell me about?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” Daylin held up the bottle of bourbon and looked in Bernard's direction.
“I don’t mind if I do.”
“That’s my boy! Now for that little somethin’-somethin’.”
End of part 1
Part 2
“First of all, I’d like to say I’m sorry for calling you an android.”
“It’s okay, Daylin, but do you think I’m that proper that people would mistake me for a robot?”
“You’re stuffy as fuck, Bernard, but they wouldn’t think you were a robot if they could see you now.”
“Here, here! Bernard raised his shot glass and clinked it against Daylin’s glass.”
“Here’s to being human, Bernard!”
“Yes, here’s to being human! Sir, may I request something of you?”
“What’s up, Bernie boy?”
“Could you leave the bathing area so I may retire from the jacuzzi? It seems I’m beginning to shrivel in all the sought-after places of my anatomy.”
“You Braggin?”
“No, sir, I’m worried about my package breaking off and floating to the surface if I don’t get out of this bath.”
“Ha! I’m hearing a slight slur in your words, Bernard!”
“Yes, perhaps you are, but would you please–”
“Are you shooing me away, Bernard?”
“Yes, most encouragingly, Sir.”
“Alright, alright! I’ll meet you in the living room so we can finish this talk. Then I’ll tell you about that little somthin’-somethin’. Daylin held the bottle up to gaze at the level of bourbon. “Hmm, looks like we have some work to do, Bernie boy!”
Daylin pushed the bathroom door shut with his foot, juggling the cigars, shot glasses, and bourbon to the living room coffee table.
“I’m sorry I took so long, Daylin.”
“Shit, Bernard, I thought you may actually have lost your junk! I was about to send the seamstress team in there to sew your belongings back on.”
“Yes, well, thank you for thinking about me in such a mending way, but in reality, I was retrieving a photo I thought you may be interested in seeing.”
Daylin took the photo. “Who’s the guy and the baby, Bernie boy?” Daylin held the picture to the light. “It kind of looks like…”
“That, sir, is you with Mr. Shaffer.”
“But he didn’t adopt me until I was nine.”
“Correct, sir. This picture was taken when things were better between him and your mother.”
“Bernard, you better snap out of your drunken fucking stooper and tell me what the fuck is going on!”
“Mr. and Mrs. Shaffer are your grandparents, sir.”
“Fuck you, Bernard! Don’t make a joke out of this. You’re hitting a nerve with me.” Daylin pushed the photo to Bernard.
“I assure you I wouldn’t do that to you, sir.”
“But I thought my mom was Shaffer’s secretary.”
“Secretary, Sir?”
“Yeah, Shaffer knocked Mom up. I figured he adopted me to shut me up!”
“To shut you up, sir? I don’t understand.”
"Yeah, You know, to save his rep! His name.”
“May I ask where you acquired this information, Daylin?”
“Yeah, my old man told me in one of those drug-induced father-to-son screaming matches. He said mom screwed Shaffer and got pregnant with me.”
“I’m sorry, Daylin, but none of that is true…”
“So, what is the truth, Bernard? I was nine when he told me that, and the next thing ya know, the fucker is dead of an overdose right in front of me, and I’m being adopted by this rich dude named Shaffer." Daylin poured another shot and leaned against the backrest of the couch. “Now you’re telling me these people are my grandparents? Why didn't they tell me?”
“I feel bad that you had to live with that, sir, but Mr. and Mrs. Shaffer are your grandparents. It wasn't my place to agree or disagree with whether they told you or not. At least not verbally, sir. They were distraught over the loss of your mother. They tried to save her and your father many times from their addictions.”
“Well, they all lost that fucking battle, didn’t they?”
Bernard paused and proceeded with a calming voice. “You have loving grandparents, Daylin. You could make a beautiful life with them if you chose to try.”
“Yeah, blah, blah fucking blah!”
“Or, perhaps you’re too much like your parents, sir.”
Daylin sat up on the edge of the couch and leaned in. "Fuck you, Bernard. I'm nothing like them. You know what I am, Bernard? I’m–”
“You’re what, sir?”
“I’m not big on admitting this, but I’m afraid, god damn it! I’m afraid!”
Bernard gazed into his lap. “I found admitting your fear quite brave, sir.”
Daylin stood and spun with his arms extended. “Look at all this, Bernard! My mother had all this money at her fingertips. Why the fuck did she have to raise me on Chicago’s Southside?”
“Life is full of chances, sir, but choices are either right or wrong.”
Daylin plopped back on the couch. “You’re a wise man, Bernard. Ya know, I think about going back there all the time! Why Bernard?”
“I wish I had all the answers for you, sir, but I don’t.”
“I have to face it, Bernard. I was prepped for a disastrous life? Choices were never an option for me.”
Bernard stood, gathered the bourbon bottle and cigars, and returned them to their proper places. He rinsed the shot glasses, placed them upside down on the bar top, and turned to Daylin. “You have a choice now, sir.”
Hello everyone! I'm posting this story in its entirety because it's been so long. I landed myself in the hospital. All is well for now! I had a bit of a heart-scare and fainting episode. I will promote this as I do more reviews. I hope you all enjoy this conclusion. Love you all!
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