The Globe

The Globe

written by: Diane Polte

 

Peter Facey was 14 years old, it was the first day of school, and he had the worst case of acne that anyone had ever seen. When he walked to school, he wore a bag over his head so he wouldn’t scare the animals.

Peter liked school. He liked learning about things. It took his mind off his face. His favorite subject was The History of Food. Peter liked this course because, as anyone will tell you, 14-year-old boys loved to be grossed out. He couldn’t understand how anyone could eat an animal. Pictures of beef, turkey breast, and chicken legs made him queasy. How anyone could ever think to eat an egg was a mystery to him. But what really grossed him out was the photos of slimy things like lasagna, pizza, and okra. Peter was very grateful that he lived in the post-food era.

On the first day of school, the robot teacher took attendance. She made eye contact with each student to imprint names with visuals. When she got to Peter, she said “Pizza Facey.” The class roared with laughter, shouting “Pizza Facey! Pizza Facey!” Enraged, Peter turned to his classmates and shouted, “Suck my nose!”

“Can I get that with extra cheese?” someone shouted.

“I’ll have pepperoni on mine!” someone else shouted.

The class was now totally out of control with laughing and hooting. Hearing the commotion, the principal robot entered the room and asked the teacher robot what all the fuss was about.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I was taking attendance and when I said this boy’s name everyone started shouting.”

“Well, let me see the boy.” He read the attendance sheet, then looked at Peter and said, “Pizza Facey.”

The class erupted in hoots and hollers.

When the Board of Education had bought this education model robot, they opted not to purchase the sense of humor chip as a cost-saving measure, so neither of the robots understood what all the noise was about.

At a loss, the Principal could only say, “The next person who laughs will be removed.” That seemed to settle everyone down, and the teacher robot avoided addressing Peter for the rest of the day.

***

Peter was humiliated, and later that evening his grandfather found him in his room, crying.

“Grasshopper, what is troubling you?” his grandfather asked.

Peter had no idea what a grasshopper was, or even what grass was, for that matter, but his grandfather spoke the word with such tenderness that Peter always felt loved when he said it.

“Everyone in the class called me Pizza Facey and laughed at me, and the teacher did nothing to stop it,” Peter complained through his tears.

“I see,” Grandfather said. “And what did you do when they laughed at you?”

“I yelled back, of course.”

“And what happened then?” Grandfather asked.

“Well, they laughed harder. It was awful.”

“So, reacting to their taunts make things worse for you?” Grandfather reasoned.

“I guess so,” Peter responded. “I never thought of it that way.”

“What can you try doing next time that is different from reacting?”

“I could walk away?”

“Excellent, Grasshopper! That is the correct answer. Resistance is futile.”

Peter practiced not responding. It was difficult and did not reduce the pain, but it did shorten the torment when he did not provide a reaction.

***

And then, at last! On March 15, Peter turned 15 and was eligible to sign up for the Sylvan Races. He arose early on April 1 and was first in line when the Town Hall doors opened. He rushed up to the third floor and entered his name in the race drawing kiosk.

The races were held on the first day of every month. It was a national holiday, so everyone came. On the morning of race day, the ten contestants that the grand computer had randomly selected were announced. They had six months to prepare.

The winner of the race was awarded The Globe, which was kept until it was passed to the winner of the next race. People swore The Globe had magical healing powers. Men who had toothaches claimed that the pain went away on the first day they held The Globe. Old ladies with creaky knees said they felt young again after one week. Colicky babies were cooing within the hour.

Of course old ladies with creaky knees and colicky babies could not win a race, so every month one of the runners was randomly designated as a stand-in for another randomly selected Complainer. If that runner won, The Globe was awarded to the Complainer. As a conciliation prize, the stand-in was eligible to enter the lottery for the next race. Everybody, except perhaps the winner who was actually a loser, thought this was a fair and grand way to even the playing field.

At 11 am, the names of the winners who would run in October were randomly selected. Peter, along with 127 other contestants, prayed that their name would be chosen. And, Peter was the eighth name announced! His grandfather and grandmother and mother and father all hugged him, and everyone cheered and jumped around.

After the 10 contestants had been selected, the computer randomly selected who would be the stand-in. Ten contestants prayed that their name would not be chosen. The winner/loser was contestant number 9.

This year, the Grand Computer had an announcement: “It has come to my attention that the stand-in racers have not competed fairly. We have calculated that runners are not sufficiently motivated to win if someone else, no matter how worthy, will benefit from the effort. To rectify this glitch, it has been decided that, effective for the race on October 1, if the stand-in is the winner, they will automatically be entered in the last race of the year where no stand-ins will be designated.”

People had difficulty understanding this line of reasoning but decided that if the Grand Computer had declared it, it must be right and good, and so they cheered.

At 2 pm the race began. Ten competitors, six boys and four girls, lined up at the start line. Peter thought that it was unfair that girls raced against boys who always seemed to have the advantage. But, as his grandmother always said, ‘Life is unfair’. Peter accepted this adage and was thankful that he was not a 15-year-old girl with corrosive acne.

At the sound of a loud PING! the race began. The racers ran a mile, punched a card, then ran back. The first one to cross the line at the end was the winner.

Peter didn’t particularly care who won, but he did enjoy the presentation ceremony. The winner stood on a grand stage festooned with green flags shaped like leaves. Everyone thought this was a strange and beautiful emblem.

The Grand Marshal robot announced the winner’s name and presented The Globe, which he held high so everyone could see and cheer heartily. Without passing The Globe to the winner, he carefully placed it in a heavily padded bag which he then handed to the winner.

Everyone sang Hail to the Machine.

When the song was finished, the Master of Ceremonies said, “Let no harm come to the Globe. If it is returned broken or dead, the possessor will be executed.”

“And rightly so!” the crowd responded.

And the award ceremony was ended.

***

Peter arose early the next morning and walked a mile to the sands. His grandmother had told him that the sands, in her time, were called the beach. She said that the beach was soft and yellow and that people would lie on blankets in the sun and would turn brown or sometimes red under a blue sky.

Peter could not understand why anyone would want to turn red. He could also not understand what the sun or blue sky was. The only sky he had ever known was grey. Sometimes dark grey, sometimes light grey, but usually medium grey. Grandmother explained that light grey was almost a sort of blue color.

Once or twice when the sky was a very light grey, Peter saw a fuzzy light in the sky. Grandmother explained that this was the sun, and that was the last straw for him. He could not believe there was a ball of fire above the clouds and decided that grandmother must be perseverating, as old people sometimes do.

On the morning of his first training run, he removed his shoes. His bare feet sank into the sands which were grainy and brown, like very small chocolate ball bearings. He ran for half a mile then doubled over trying to catch his breath. Feeling discouraged, he walked home in time for lunch. Grandmother and grandfather were already seated at the table.

“What I wouldn’t give to taste a juicy hamburger again.” Grandfather moaned.

“On a sesame seed roll with lettuce and tomato and just a dab of mayo.” Grandmother chimed in.

They gazed into space with that far-away look they sometimes got. Together they sighed and opened their foil packets of perfectly balanced and measured synthetic powder.

Peter could not understand their mood. Every week the family received their allotment of food. One pack each for three meals a day, seven days a week. You just had to pick a pack that was either chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry, add water, and you had a meal.

“I miss your cooking.” Grandfather said to grandmother. “This stuff tastes like wallpaper paste.”

Peter had no idea what wallpaper paste was. He just shrugged his shoulders and hoped he would never be like that when he got old.

As the months went by, Peter’s acne got worse, which he didn’t think was possible. He was desperate to win The Globe, and so he ran every morning, increasing his distance each time. By the end of September, his lungs had expanded. His chest was bigger, and his calf and thigh muscles were well toned. If it wasn’t for his face, Peter would be a handsome lad.

***

At last, October 1 arrived, and Peter found himself at the starting line. Next to him was a classmate who whispered to him, ‘Give up now, Pizza Facey.’ On the other side was a girl with very long legs.

Moments before the PING, his classmate whispered, “Spider Girl should give up too.”

And the race was off.

At the halfway point, Spider Girl punched her card first, followed by Peter and his classmate, who punched within seconds of each other. Halfway into the return lap, Spider Girl lost her momentum, and Peter and the classmate were neck and neck. They were within a few yards of the finish line, and a clear winner could not be determined.

Over the cheering crowd, Peter could hear his grandfather shouting, ‘Run, Grasshopper, run!!’

And so, Peter did.

When the photo finish was produced, Peter had won by a nose, or more accurately by the biggest pimple that had ever decorated his nose.

When the award ceremony was completed, Peter and his family made their way home. Alone in his room, he carefully removed The Globe from the carrying pouch and set it on the desk next to his bed.

***

When he returned The Globe on November 1, the only mark on Peter’s face was a small birthmark in the shape of a heart under his left eye.

The Master of Ceremonies carefully removed The Globe from the padded pouch and placed it on the table under the leaf flags. A very pale ray of light briefly illuminated the terrarium inside the Globe.

It was the only living green thing left on the planet.