Lines over Stripes
- 21 minutes read - 4358 wordsJacksie
Poppy always helped him with homework. Now, though, Jack watched as his grandfather reread the assignment. He was always excited to help with homework.
Poppy smiled slightly, lowering the paper and turning it around. “You know which stripe to color, Jacksie?”
Jack nodded.
“Go get your pencils.”
Running over to the closet by the door, Jack pulled his backpack down from the peg to the floor and unzipped the smaller pocket. Grabbing his colored pencils, he ran back to the dining room table.
Poppy pushed the paper in front of him. “You color, I’ll talk. We can fill in the answers after.”
“Thanks, Poppy,” Jack said, beginning to color the blue stripe in the middle of the flag.
“Your, um,” Poppy breathed in deeply, “teacher, wants us to discuss the flag and what it means.”
Jack nodded, and continued coloring.
“You’ve seen the flag all over, did they talk about it in class?”
Shaking his head, Jack looked up. “Not really. Starting to learn, that’s why they said to ask our parents.”
Poppy pursed his lips, nodding. “So, why is one stripe blue?”
Thinking for a moment, Jack bit the end of his pencil and said, “’Cause it’s important?”
“Right. Right, it’s important. Um, they say it is there to keep order, to stop chaos.”
“Chaos?”
“Um, chaos is confusion, disorder, disruption, or at least the appearance of such.” Poppy stood up and walked over to the counter next to the stove. “So, right now, this spaghetti is in the box, all lined up, straight, orderly. But, after we cook it for dinner and see it on the plate, it will be curled, knotted, swirling around the plate, that is chaos compared to what it is now. Make sense?”
“Yes, Poppy.”
“So, the blue line keeps order, divides the chaos, keeps it at bay. The black and white stripes are order.”
“Like spaghetti before it’s cooked?”
“Exactly,” Poppy said, pointing to him. “The stars in the night sky represent chaos.”
“But, they do not look chaotic.”
Poppy smiled. Not like he smiled before, not forced. He smiled like Poppy smiled. “No, they do not. But, they represent chaos none the less. When you look up at the night sky, it is hard to find order in the stars, right?”
“Right,” Jack agreed.
“Over time, we sometimes find order, make up shapes we see among the stars. But, um, forget that. The point is that the stars represent chaos, and the blue line is protecting the order from the chaos. That is what the flag means.”
“Why blue?”
“Another good question. It has to do with the color of police uniforms. Or, it did. I mean, it is sometimes still used for uniforms, just not as often these days. It represents the police.”
“The good guys?”
“Um,” Poppy said, standing to return the spaghetti box to the counter. “Yes,” he finished, looking out the windows. “Like in the movies.”
“One of the questions asks what the blue means.”
“Right, not police, the answer is ‘justice.’”
“Why ‘justice?’”
“Because that’s the answer.”
Jackie
“Poppy, can you stop calling me ‘Jacksie?’ I’m in high school.”
“Can you stop calling me Poppy?” his grandfather asked, with a lopsided smile. “What’s wrong with Jacksie? I’ve always called you that, since before you could walk.”
“It’s a little kid’s name,” he complained, taking a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“Oh, big man in your uniform are you?”
Jack looked down at his pressed shirt and pants, then at his boots sitting by the door.
“What are the blue stripes on your arm for?” Poppy asked.
Looking down at the two angled stripes, he responded, “I’m a Junior now, one strip for each year of service completed.”
Poppy nodded. “You spend a lot of time at school, only come home for dinner and bed.”
“I started on the drill team, we work hard after school to achieve precision. But, tonight, I’ll be home early. I need your help with a school project.”
“Something I should prepare for?”
“Nah, nothing like that. Just looking for stories from before the Order. Part of a report I need to write.”
Poppy finished his coffee, turned around and washed the cup before placing it in the drying rack. “You want a ride to school?” he asked without turning back.
“No thanks, I’m going to start running, have to shape up.”
“Shape up? You’re in better physical condition than anyone your age I see walking around.”
“Have to be the best.”
“Do your best, is my advice,” his grandfather replied. “What makes you think you have to be the best?”
“Need to help maintain order, both within myself and for our country.”
“Who said that?”
“Commander Hughes. He is the one that got me on the drill team. Teaches the “History of Chaos and Order” class I am taking. Really good guy.”
“Never heard of him.”
Jack cleaned up the rest of the eggs, chewing and swallowing quickly. “Speaking of which, ever heard of “Scyllable?”
“Of course, syllables, what you count in poems, or people used to long ago.”
“No, with a ‘c,’ the person.”
Poppy turned around. “Yeah, I read the news, some ghost we have been hunting since around the time you were born.”
“A champion of chaos, a terrorist.”
“When was the last time this terrorist ever hurt anyone?”
“We just started learning about how she rose up against the Order, began the chaos that almost ripped our nation apart. We know she’s around, writing messages and poems, her name or figure found in graffiti defacing our buildings, and people do die from bombs and riots.”
“How do you know this Scyllable is behind it all?”
“We are told she is.”
Poppy nodded. “Be careful believing what you do not see with your own eyes, what you do not hear with your own ears. Not saying she is some Saint or anything, but maybe both sides are using her?”
“How so?”
“Well, the Order uses her for fear, and the rebels use her for inspiration. Yet, no one seems to be able to find her. It has been this way your entire life.”
Jack thought for a moment. “Maybe. Like I said, I just started learning about her.”
“Well, then I have some schoolwork for you.”
“Schoolwork?”
“Yeah, you want my help with homework. I am giving you some work to do at school, before I help you this evening.”
“Okay?”
“Go to the school library, and look up ‘Scylla,’ your ‘Scyllable’ without the last three letters. It will give us something else to talk about tonight.”
Jack rushed over to the door and started lacing up his boots. “Will do. Have to run.”
“Literally,” Poppy responded.
Jack smiled.
“Love you, Jackie.”
“Jackie?”
“Sounds a bit less kiddish, figured I throw you a bone.”
“Thanks, Poppy,” Jack said, disappearing through the door.
The day at school passed and Jack returned home to the smell of tomato sauce and herbs surrounding him as he closed the door. He took off his boots, and found Poppy in the kitchen stirring a pot of sauce.
“Hey Poppy, what’s for dinner?”
“Lasagna, just finishing up the sauce.”
Jack’s favorite, and Poppy knew it. He had taught Jack how to make it, starting with the sauce from scratch. It meant Poppy had been at it for most of the day. “Smells amazing.”
“Yeah, but,” Poppy looked over at Jack, “I’m sure you don’t. Clean up and then let’s talk.”
After taking a shower, Jack came back downstairs to find Poppy in the middle of layering the lasagna. “Been some time since ya did lasagna.”
“Had a lot of free time today. So, what ya learn about ‘Scylla?’”
“Between Scylla and Charybdis.”
“Ah yes, the old idiom. And, who was Scylla?”
“Some variations in the story, but basically a monster to be feared who lived along a channel of water, opposite of Charybdis.”
“A monster that was perhaps once a beautiful nymph, the water in which she bathed poisoned.”
“I read something like that, yes.”
“Well, now at least you understand where the ghost’s name originated,” Poppy said, looking up from his lasagna labors. “So, you said you wanted to hear about the world before the Order?”
“Yeah, we were encouraged to speak with our families about it.”
“Okay. So, there’s the obvious. Like some others around your age, the riots and unrest caused the deaths of your parents, either directly or indirectly. Too many died, on both sides, as the country tore itself apart. You’ve heard all this, right?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah, the chaos.”
“I’m guessing that I am supposed to tell you stories about how horrible it was, how things are so much better now. But, I’m not really a big fan of focusing on the bad. If you don’t mind, I’ll go back a bit further, before the so-called chaos, if that is okay?”
“Sure, Pops.”
“Pops?”
Jack smiled. “Yeah, if you are going to start calling me Jackie, I figured I can call you ‘Pops!’”
“Your father used to call me that,” Poppy said, shaking his head. “Anyway, before the Order, before the chaos, the world had its problems, it always has. But, our country was supposedly one of the better ones, at least to live in. We had plenty of food and jobs, you could go to supermarkets filled with foods from all over the world, and pick what you wanted.”
“We have supermarkets now.”
“Yeah, but there was a lot more variety then, and the food was reasonably priced. There was enough to go around, even if, sadly, people still suffered from hunger. As I said, it was not perfect, but there was abundance. A lot of people now get very bland, very cheap food from the government. Everything back then just tasted better.”
“Like your lasagna?”
Poppy nodded, smiling. “The world has changed, that’s for certain. The most noticeable thing, however, was the sheer number of cars. This is probably the story you should tell. The roads were clogged with cars. Everyone had a car, most families had two, or maybe even more. Now, most people cannot even afford a single car and, thankfully, public transportation is much better. But, it would amaze you to see the cars.”
“We have seen some videos, it was crazy, everyone driving, choking the planet, not a good time.”
“Yeah,” Poppy said, shaking his head. “If that is all you see, then yes, the bad is there. But, there was also a freedom to it for a long time, you could hit the road and just drive. Hell, you could drive clear across the country if you wanted, see the whole thing. Didn’t even cost that much.”
Jack pursed his lips. “That sounds cool, still the traffic.”
“Well, the traffic was during certain times of day and usually around the cities. Outside of that, it was nice to drive. With that said, decent public transportation would have been a nice option, as well.”
“That gives me enough to write about, thanks Pops.”
Poppy nodded. “Maybe you’ll let me read it sometime.”
“The paper?”
“Anything you write, school work, whatever. You know, your mother used to write.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, she was really good at it, too.”
“Okay, I’ll let you see when I’m done.”
“Thanks, kiddo.”
Jack
“Hey, Pops,” Jack said, running up the stairs to embrace his waiting grandfather.
“Good to see you, Jack. Glad you are back home for a bit.”
Jack sniffed loudly. “What’s that I smell, did you make lasagna?”
Poppy laughed.
“Good to be home,” Jack said, giving him one last tight hug before stepping back to look at him. “How are things?”
“Good, good. But, let’s get inside before this old man gets too cold.”
“Sure thing,” Jack said, picking up his duffel.
Walking into the kitchen, his grandfather announced. “Dinner ready in about 30, do me a favor and take a shower, get out that uniform, don’t need the smell of travel interrupting our dinner.”
Jack started for the stairs, “Sure thing, Pop.”
After he was done, Jack came back down as his grandfather was pulling the lasagna out of the oven. He went over the cabinets and pulled out plates and glasses, grabbing some silverware from a drawer to finish the setting the table. Looking around, he didn’t see any napkins, so he grabbed a paper towel and ripped it in half for them to split.
Poppy served dinner and sat down to eat, asking, “Tell me about the last year?”
“I wrote quite often!” Jack said, stalling while he began savoring the home-cooked meal.
“I know what you wrote, I want to know what you didn’t write!”
Jack smiled. “Well, it’s been good, mostly.”
“Alright, well, start with the good and we can get to the rest later.”
Jack nodded, finishing the bite in his mouth. “Well, boot camp went well, met some good people, some of them became good friends. Lost track of most of them when I made Elite, ‘cept for Danny, we made it in together.”
His grandfather’s face remained still. “You didn’t mention that in the letters.”
“Now allowed, in case someone reads it.”
“You the boys they call ‘punishers?’”
Jack nodded. “Yeah.”
“You know why?”
“Someone has to take responsibility for order, Pops. Do what is necessary.”
Poppy took a bite of lasagna and chewed it slowly, staring at him. “Necessary. You mean a little chaos?”
“Confined chaos, is what we are taught. Make sure it does not impinge upon order.”
“Keep it hidden?”
Jack agreed, “Something like that.”
“You know where the skull comes from?”
“Of course, we watched the movies.”
“Those have been changed, a bit different from the originals,” Poppy said, wiping his mouth.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, the originals were all about someone becoming and outlaw in order to commit vengeance. They were all about chaos.”
“He was helping the police, maybe a little extreme, but helping them out.”
“Jack. I’m telling you, those aren’t the originals, they were edited. Even the creator of the character in the comics was against the symbol being used by police, against them wearing the skull with a blue line, the patch on the arm of your uniform.”
Jack shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“The name of the comic book author was Gerry Conway. I saw the original movies, many times, they were popular when I was younger.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Why’d I make you look up ‘Scylla’ when you were younger?”
Jack lowered his head. “To understand origins.”
“It’s important to understand where things came from, how their meanings have changed. That skull was used by the Punisher to strike fear into the wicked. Now, it strikes fear into everyone.”
“Without that fear, how is order maintained?”
Poppy pursed his lips and shifted his head from side to side. “Fear can do that, sure, it can motivate. But, it really can affect the motivations of a people. Some of the most prosperous moments ever experienced by human beings were born of freedom, when the vast majority of people were able to take care of themselves and their families.”
“The same freedom enabled the greed that burned it all down.”
“There was some of that, as well. But, it’s hard to explain it to someone who never experienced it. Sure, there were some fears, but life was not fear. The law, the police helped. Hell, some of them even walked with protesters in some places, made sure the entire process was kept safe. People had a voice and were free to scream and shout if they wanted to, if they needed to. Can you imagine that?”
“It scares me.”
“Because you were taught to be scared by it, because you never experienced freedom.”
“Pops,” Jack said, “You’re starting to sound a lot like Scyllable.”
“They still after that old ghost?”
“That ghost has been more active this last year than usual. And, more aware of when things are happening, even having exposed some of the things we have done to keep order. Not very smart, if you ask me.”
“Why’s that?” Poppy asked, looking up from his plate.
“More exposure. At some point, Scyllable will slip up, and then the war will be over.”
His grandfather laughed. “You think killing a ghost will stop a movement of people wanting to be free?”
“Now, you are starting to sound like an old man we arrested last week.”
“How so?”
“Basically what you said, people want to be free. He had tons of paraphernalia. It’s strange seeing the things that people kept from the chaos.”
“What if it was not the chaos they were clinging to, but the freedom?”
“Poppy, come on.”
“What?”
“I did see an American flag.”
“Red, white, and blue?” his grandfather asked.
Jack nodded. “We had to burn it, with everything else.”
“The old man?”
“Refused to leave, burned with it all, house on top of him.”
“And, what did your ghost have to say about that?”
“Not sure she knows of it, don’t think she mentioned it.”
“What do you do, Jack? You one of the people that burned that house down?”
Jack shook his head, finishing the last of his lasagna. “No. I’m on the intelligence side.”
“The side searching for the ghost?”
He nodded. “Not just the ghost, but anything that might cause chaos.”
“And, how close are you to catching your ghost?”
Jack stood up, pickup up his plate, and moved over retrieving his grandfather’s plate. “Pretty close.” Carrying them over to the sink, he began running the water to wash the dishes. “You have any stories for me, Pops?”
“Stories?” his grandfather asked, not turning around.
“Yeah, about my parents?”
Poppy nodded a few times before realizing Jack was not looking at him. “Yeah, I have a story for you.”
“Okay, let me finish up.” After a few of minutes, Jack had the dishes clean up and the leftover lasagna was cooling on the counter. “Want something to drink?”
“Sure, your choice.”
“Great, ‘cause I got you something.” Running upstairs, Jack returned with a bottle of whiskey.
“Now, that’s a treat,” his grandfather exclaimed.
Grabbing two glasses, he put them down on the table, poured generously, and sat down. “To order,” Jack said, raising his glass.
“To chaos,” his grandfather said, tapping his glass with his own.
Jack frowned.
“What? You cannot have one without the other! All light casts a shadow.”
Jack drank, “So they say.”
“Alright,” Poppy said, rubbing his hands together. “I need to tell you a story about your parents. Now, this isn’t going to be easy, for either of us, but I am getting old and it needs to be told. It is the origin story, your origin story.”
Jack reached out and poured himself another drink. “I thought my mother died giving birth to me?”
“It was a little more involved. I never told this story to anyone. Some others witnessed it, might even still be a photograph or two of it around. Your mother was pregnant, and you came about a week early. We were not ready for you, but rushed into the car. Your father was driving, and your mother and I were in the backseat. I remember it being hot out, but your mother was still wearing her bathrobe, since the house had been air conditioned.”
Listening intently, Jack took another sip, sitting up straight.
“We were rushing to get to the hospital, but the streets were jammed, even though it was getting late.”
“Protests.”
“Yeah, there were a lot of protests. Your father tried to avoid them, but everything was moving. When the cars had space, they moved. The people roamed the streets. The police were setup to protect different places and buildings, but people had begun to burn things, including police cars. Your father made his way down an alleyway, and somehow, shortly after, we ended up in between the police and the protesters. Out of no where, a police SUV slammed into our car.”
“Why?”
Poppy shook his head. “I don’t know, I guess we weren’t supposed to be there. We were all stunned. Your mother was crying. Then we heard a gunshot, saw a hole in the windshield of the police car. A few seconds later, all hell broke loose, gunshots rung out pelting the car. I grabbed your mother and tried to cover her, holding her down. We were both shot, me twice.”
Jack remembered the scars on Poppy’s arms, asking about them when he was a kid. “Not from the war?” he asked, remembering what his grandfather had told him previously.
“No, not from the war. From that night.”
“And, my father?”
“He was dead, shot dozens of times. Not only had the cops in the car started shooting, but so had some of the cops from the line they had formed in front of the building. The next thing we heard was barking, all around the car, police dogs. Then we heard a crying. You had been born.”
“I was born in that car?”
Poppy nodded. “Yeah. I tried to to help your mother, but was shot again at close range and told not to move. The protesters then started yelling at the police, who pulled out their injured comrades and retreated. Your crying stopped, and I looked over to find your mother breastfeeding you, blood running down her side from the gunshot wound in her arm. She had already taken the belt from the robe and bandaged it as best she could. But, I was stuck, I couldn’t move, the life draining from me.”
Jack poured his grandfather a little more whiskey.
He nodded, taking a sip, his hands trembling a little. “Your mother then opened the door, facing the protesters. She stepped out, the robe slipping off of her. The roar of the crowd abated, but something even more remarkable happened. The dogs stopped barking. I remember the last one, barking at my door, just stopped, and then ran away. Your mother stood there, nude, breastfeeding you, before the crowds of protesters, with dogs surrounding her, blood dripping down her arm and side.”
“What did she do?”
Poppy took a deep breath. “She became a symbol. I don’t think it was her intention. She was trying to get you to the hospital. Walking around the car, she approached my window, which had been shot out, like most of the windows in the car. She told me she was going to the hospital, that she had named you after your father. Then she walked toward the police. As she walked away, I saw the dogs guarding her, it was the strangest thing. When she got to their lines, police handlers attempted to retrieve the dogs, to no avail, and police lines split, letting her through. And, then, the protesters charged.”
“The chaos?”
“It was chaos. Somewhere in the middle of it, some of the protesters found your father and I. They removed me and applied first aid, and the next thing I knew I was in the hospital. I left that hospital with you, your mother did not. She had also been shot in the side, no one even knew it, given all the blood. By the time she had walked to the hospital, only a few blocks away, surrounded by those dogs, a couple of police following closely behind, it was too late.”
“I have read versions of this story.”
His grandfather looked up from his glass. “Really? Where?”
“From the intelligence I gather. People tell the stories, some draw pictures of her. I just never knew.”
“That it was your mother?”
Jack nodded. “Some of those pictures are entitled, ‘Scyllable.’ It’s why we track the story.”
Poppy sighed. “You don’t know how hard it’s been.”
“What?”
“Lying to you, Jacksie. Like most people, your parents were not for chaos, but they were also not keen on the idea of order that those in charge were trying to instill. Your mother had written some articles taking a firm stance against the laws being passed, but she was no villain.”
Jack swallowed the last of his glass. “Why did you start writing?”
“For her. For your father. For everyone caught between that didn’t want so-called order at the expense of their rights, but couldn’t fight for one reason or another until it was too late.”
Jack shook his head. “You lead a revolution, Poppy!”
“I lead nothing. All I do is write. Both sides make more of my words than are there”, he said, swallowing the last of his whiskey.
“If I found you, it’s only a matter of time until someone else does.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. I have not even been doing this very long.”
“Well, no one had figured it out before. Without knowing me, do you think you ever would have?”
Jack looked down at his hands, tapping the wooden table around the sides of his glass.
“Look, Jacksie. I am old, I don’t have much longer. I can feel it. I needed you to know who your parents were, who I am.”
Jack softly pounded his fist on the table. “Why?”
“’Cause that’s all there is, sharing yourself with those you love. At your age, there is always a mission, a plan, and adventure, something to keep you occupied. At my age, I just want you to get to know me, get to know your parents.”
Jack looked up. “Why?”
Poppy shrugged. “A wise person would suggest it provides the possibility of imortality. Either way, in the basement you will find every picture your father ever took, every word your mother ever wrote, ever word I ever wrote. It is a history, not just of our family, but how our country changed. Spend some time down there, then make a decision.”
“A decision?”
“It’s your choice. Either preserve it, or burn it.”
“And, if I burn it?” Jack said, looking his grandfather in the eyes.
“Then at least you know the origin of our,” Poppy said, stopping for a moment to make sure he was looking right at Jack. “Our Order.”