Circa Tempore: The Artificial Organic
Copyright© 2026 by E. B. Redfield
Chapter 19
March 20th 2012
“Did you remember your tie?”
Marcus panicked, undid his seatbelt, and turned around into the back seat to rummage through his dufflel bag.
“Hey!” His mom scolded, “No way, turn around and pull that seatbelt back on!” He felt his tie in the bag and breathed a sigh of relief, then complied with his mother’s request.
“Got it,” he told her, clicking the seat belt back in place.
“Ok, sure, but next time how bout you try to use your memory first?” She advised, her eyes glued to the road and the heavy traffic of the evening. “I mean if you didn’t have it, we could always buy you a new one.”
Marcus grinned, tapping his feet excitedly as they drove to the airport, where he would board a plane with the rest of his class and fly to New York City for the National High School Vocal Jazz competition. His school had qualified for the first time in three years, and he’d been eagerly anticipating the trip for weeks.
“What days do you sing, again?” his mom asked, “I want to make sure I have the times right for everyone that’s coming out.”
“Monday night at seven thirty, and Tuesday night at six,” he replied with a grin, “And then Wednesday, after we win, we’ll sing again for the awards ceremony.”
“Well look at you, all confident,” his mom laughed lightly, “That’s what I want to see. I’m so proud of you, baby. I know how hard you worked for this, and we’re all excited for you. Now, Auntie Jacquie might be late, it’s a two-hour drive for her; and I think Grandma Rose has permission to leave the home, too. Everyone’s so excited to cheer you on and support you, hun.”
“Is dad coming with you?” Marcus asked, trying his best to sound indifferent about the answer. His mom’s glance over at him said he had failed at this.
“I ... I don’t know, hun,” she replied, “I talked to him about it this morning ... and I think he’s got too much going on at the credit union. Your granddad’s retirement is making things difficult right now,” he sagged in his seat and turned to the window.
“Sure,” he muttered, “Yeah, that’s why.”
“Oh, Marc,” his mom said softly, “It ain’t that way. Your father wants to support you, you know? He just ... he had a rough time of it with your grandad when he was your age ... and he’s still learning how to be better than that. He told me he wants to be there, though and I believe him. After all, jazz is his favorite music, so hearing you sing it is a joy for him.”
“Yeah, but you the one who always says that, not him,” Marcus countered.
“I know ... and I know how that must feel to you,” His mother replied. They stopped at a red light and she glanced over at him, “Some of us learn different than others, baby, and some of us teach different too. Your dad’s worried about teaching you all the wrong things his dad taught him ... and I don’t think he’s paying much mind to what he may be teaching you instead, but he’s trying, Marc. That’s the important part.”
“Sometimes I don’t even think we’re related,” Marcus said, looking in the mirror in the sunflap. He frowned, poking at his nose. The nose that looked more like his dad’s every day and betrayed the very statement he’d just made.
“You two are more alike than you think, love,” his mom replied warmly, “As much as that may pain you to hear. He has a lot of the same passion and imagination that you do, and his grandad and your grandad did all they could to stomp it out of him. He’s doing his best to not let that happen to you.”
“I dunno, it just feels like he hates me sometimes,” Marcus said, feeling tears in his eyes and fighting to stuff them away.
“No, baby,” his mom assured him gently, “I think that he’s having a hard time with the idea that you get the chances that he didn’t get when he was young. And that can be a bitter pill to swallow. But I know that he loves you as much as I do. In time, I think you’ll see it, too.”
The light turned green, and they pulled out into the intersection. Marcus looked over at his mom and saw the tears in her eyes ... but also the Ford Escalade that had run the red light.
Whiteness in his vision, spots appearing and disappearing, loud crunching noises, pain in his neck and a hot wetness dripping down his head, a stinging sensation in his arms. He shook his head and opened his eyes but couldn’t make sense of the world. It was upside down, and the smell of acrid smoke seared his nosrtils. He looked over in a daze, his mother was seated next to him, her left arm caught in the steering wheel, and her right arm dangling up to the roof of the car. The deployed airbag blocked her face from his view.
“Mom?” he croaked, reaching out to shake her arm. She didn’t respond or open her eyes, “Mom! Mom, we gotta get out! We gotta go!” She wasn’t responding, and Marcus’ heart skipped a beat as he realized that he couldn’t tell if she was breathing. The passenger door suddenly opened and a large man crouched down next to him.
“Kid! Kid, you ok?!” he asked.
“My mom!” Marcus cried, “My mom ain’t breathing! Please, help my mom!” He heard the man yell at someone else to get the driver’s door open, and Marcus felt himself being pulled out of the car awkwardly. He was helped to his feet by the large man.
“We called 911!” the man assured Marcus, but Marcus pushed past him and approached his mother, who at this point had been carefully set down a good distance from the crunched car. Another man was performing CPR.
“Is she gonna be ok?” Marcus pleaded of anyone in the surrounding crowd. He was met with scared looks. Sirens wailed somewhere behind him, and he prayed the ambulance would arrive in time. He glanced over and saw the Escalade, its front caved in ... and the man who had been driving it was sitting on the ground next to it, dazed. One of the women who had checked on him walked over to the crowd around Marcus and his mother.
“He’s not hurt ... but he’s so drunk he doesn’t even know what just happened,” the woman said to another in the crowd.
Marcus knelt at her side stared at his mother as the ambulance pulled up.
“Please, please God...” he whispered, grabbing her hand.
January 16th, 3008
Craig stepped out of the utility room and glanced around. Glyph sat by their charger, staring longingly out the windshield at another ITSTU across the lot. Craig approached and tapped them on the shoulder, startling them. They gave him a tired smile.
“Good morning,” he said, walking over to get himself a coffee.
“It’s just after one in the afternoon,” Glyph corrected him, though not unkindly, “But greetings to you as well. Could you get me a cup?”
“Thought you didn’t like coffee,” Craig commented as he filled a mug for them.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.