The Loser, the
Flapper and Rugila,
King of the Huns – Part One
by Don Drewniak
Nineteen year
old Mervin Molson was one of life’s
perpetual losers. He was slightly less than five
pounds at birth and was cursed with a large hook
nose. He was the smallest kid in his kindergarten
class and one of the smallest boys throughout his
school days. This, combined with his appearance
and his name (he was often called Merv the Perv),
made him a ripe target for bullies until he
dropped out of high school the day he turned
sixteen.
An only child,
his mother deserted him when he was seven. His
father, who paid little attention to his son
except to curse him for his poor grades, blamed
Mervin for losing his wife. As a result, Mervin
was more often than not left to fend for himself
as the father, a good-looking, well-built man,
moved from one woman to another.
When Mervin
told his father that he left school, he was given
less than a hour to pack up his belongings and
leave their home. Tears filling his eyes, he
dragged two large and battered suitcases along
sidewalks and streets until he reached the home
of the one person who had been kind to him, his
recently widowed grandmother, Phyllis Spaulding.
She welcomed him into the house when, still in
tears, he told her what had happened.
Grandma
Spaulding was his maternal grandmother who had
little use for her daughter after she deserted
Mervin and rarely spoke to her son-in-law.
“Mervin,
bring your suitcases into the spare bedroom,
unpack and take a hot shower. I’ll fix you a
nice hot supper.” She gave him a hug and
said, “Welcome to your new home.”
He wept until
not a tear was left to fall. His dinner of steak,
mashed potatoes and broccoli was the first hot
meal he had eaten in months. Meal finished,
Grandma Phyllis taught him how to play cribbage.
That took up most of the evening.
Grandma was a
librarian at the town library that was
conveniently located six blocks away from her
apartment. She worked five days a week on a
rotating schedule. Evenings were reserved for
cribbage, television and Netflix.
Mervin passed
away most of Grandma’s days at work by
surfing the Web and playing games on her laptop.
After three
wasted months, his conscience got the better of
him and he began to search for a job. He secured
a part time one as a stock boy and floor sweeper
at a local supermarket. Mervin was fired five
weeks later for chronically arriving late to work.
Another three months passed before he became a
dishwasher and cleanup boy at a greasy spoon
restaurant. From then on, he went through cycles
of spending months messing with the laptop and
finding a new menial job that never lasted more
than a few months.
Mervin
eventually ran out of job prospects. He began
walking to the library and escorting Grandma home.
Four months from his twentieth birthday and on a
walk home, she asked, “Mervin, the next time
you come to walk home with me, why don’t you
come a couple hours early and go into the library?
You could pick out a good book and take it to the
reading room.”
He had no
choice but to promise that he would do so. Three
days later, he chose Robert Heinlein’s 1961
Stranger in a Strange Land. As to why, there was
something about the title that intrigued him and
caused him to speculate what it would be like to
start a new life in a new land. Little did he
know.
Days passed
into weeks and weeks until he stumbled upon a
computer page containing a photo of a flapper
taken in the 1920s. It was love at first sight.
Unfortunately for Mervin, there was no
accompanying name or any other information
relative to the photo.
Thus began his
search. He read a lengthy post about flappers on Wikipedia,
watched clip after clip about the “Roaring
20s” via YouTube and scanned the internet
looking for another photo of his flapper.
Following
nearly a month of futility, he found her name
– Ruby Beatrice Corbyn. That was it. No
record of her birth. No record of her death.
Nothing.
His haunting
fascination with the phantom flapper carried over
into dreams – dreams in which he traveled
back to the 20s in a time machine. It was on the
last of these nights that he awoke as the first
rays of the morning sun filtered through his
bedroom windows. It was his twentieth birthday.
A voice, the
sweet voice of a young woman, beckoned him to
take a walk in the woods that began at the end of
the town’s main road a little over one mile
from Grandma’s apartment.
Possessed, he
dressed and quietly made his way to the woods
where he continued walking guided by that same
voice. Mervin came to an abrupt stop fifteen
minutes later. In the distance was what appeared
to be a small patch of fog. Cautiously
approaching it, he saw the outline of a black
cube that appeared to be a couple feet taller
than he was. His pulse quickened as he saw a
slightly opened door. The voice urged him to
enter the cube. He did. The door closed behind
him.
Although he
was blanketed in near total darkness, he felt no
fear. He made his way to a small source of light
on the back wall. It was a rectangular ivory
colored button no more than one inch high and six
inches wide. Printed on it was “R.B.C. -
1924.”
Mervin couldn't
contain his emotions. “A time machine! A
time machine! It's taking me to Ruby!”
He pressed the
button and next found himself standing in front
of a door in a dimly lit hallway. It was the only
door in sight in a hallway that seemed to have no
end in either direction. Printed in large white
letters on the black door were the letters R.B.C.
Ruby!
He pulled open
the door and tentatively stepped into total
darkness as the door slammed shut and he heard
the faint click of a lock. His bravery faltered
as panic swept over him. Lights flashed on.
Blinded at first, his sight slowly returned. He
was in a room that looked to be about twenty-feet
wide and thirty-feet in length. The floor, the
ceiling and four sides were all black. Backed up
against the far wall were two king size beds.
Sitting on the end of the bed to the left were
two of the heaviest women he had ever seen.
My god,
they must weigh four hundred pounds each!
Sitting on the
other bed was a woman who was even heavier.
Must be
five hundred pounds!
Mervin knew
they were older than he was, but he had no idea
if they were in their thirties, forties or
fifties. All three were wearing enormous white t-shirts
with two lines of black printing:
Ringling
Brothers
Circus - 1924
The only other
pieces of clothing were parachute-sized black
panties. Minutes passed as he seemed to be frozen
in place as they stared at him.
Finally, the
heaviest of the three spoke, “Here’s
our man, ladies. Get him!”
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