Disclaimer: Magneto and The Hulk belong to Marvel. All other characters are my own creation. No infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this story.
By Randirogue
George Fairburn let in the spine tingling noise of the steel shop when he opened the door to let himself in. Mr. Bostal cringed at the noise. After all these years he still cringed every time that door was opened during operating hours. Holed up in his office doing paperwork and other administrative duties, the racket of the steel shop had become a low buzz most of the time. He hated paperwork, being a hands-on kind of guy that he was, but he hated that grating noise from the shop more.
"Sit down, George," Mr. Bostal said as he gestured to the old squeaky chair on the other side of his pea-green metal desk. "I got… news to tell you."
"Certainly sir," George said excitedly. He was, as it's been said, grinning from ear to ear.
Being called up to Mr. Bostal's office generally was a mixed emotions sort of thing. The office gave a break from the bone rattling sound of the shop. The sound was something a person never really got used to or rid of. The first shock of noise of the morning or after lunch always struck deep, straight to the joints, and in their sleep, the vibration seemed to seep out from their bones to hum the bed the length of their body. The office also had it's own air conditioner. It wasn't powerful, but the vent was right by the visitor's chair, a courtesy Mr. Bostal probably wouldn't ever admit to doing purposely, and that cool air felt like a dip in some iced tea after hours down in the shop. Those were two things a person looked forward to about the office. In balance, though, most times, it wasn't generally a good reason that brought a person inside the office. Complaints came more frequent than commendation; pink slips were more common than promotions.
But promotions did occur.
"It's about the junior engineer position, right?" George asked. George wasn't the bubbly type; working in the shop made a person as tough and hard as the steel they worked with often. Yet, under the right circumstances, bubbles could form on the surface of the most durable metal. Like everything else, and as all the workers could attest too, even steel could bend under the right pressure. It had its melting point and it's boiling point.
Mr. Bostal looked away. "Yeah, it is."
"Well… go on, say it. Stop dragging out the suspense. I'm not a fan of those detective novels you read all the time."
Mr. Bostal leaned forward, bracing himself on his beefy forearms. He made himself face George. It was the least he could do.
"Who?" George's smile was gone.
Sigh. "Jack Kipfer."
A strange coincidence occurred then. Some play of echoes made the grinding sound of from one of the machines below rise up above the rest of the background buzz in time with the back and forth shifting of Jack's jaw behind his tight pressed lips.
"I'm sorry, George," Mr. Bostal said. "It isn't that you don't deserve it. You do deserve it. It was a tough choice to be made and I wasn't the only one with a say in it."
"Who did your vote go for?"
"You have to admit he's perfect for this place, George. He's got skill and talent and we couldn't just ignore that. We'd be idiots if we overlooked what he can do for us."
"What his mutation can do for you! Go on, say it! He's a mutant. A stinking, rotten, manipulating, underhanded, job-stealing mutant!"
George didn't slam the door when he stormed out of Mr. Bostal's office. He just let the bone rattling, spine tingling sounds of the steel shop linger on and on and on.
"I ain't never getting out of here," George mumbled to himself.
Abilene took great care making Jack's lunch every day and Jack appreciated every one of those lunches. Today he had homemade potato salad and a sandwich from last night's roast pork. He drank the mason jar of apple juice she included even though he didn't like it. She wanted him healthy and he didn't have the heart to dump it out. Still, he washed the taste away with several gulps of coffee from the break room.
He saved his piece of cornbread for last. That was his favorite part. Sure it tasted delicious, but that wasn't the reason his sister never forgot to give him some in his packed lunch. It was her persistent way to encourage him that not all hope was lost. He knew better, of course. The bank wouldn't give him the loan no matter how good his credit was nor how much money he made. He was sure she'd see his promotion as a sign towards getting that loan, and thus, a notch closer to accomplishing his dream. But he knew better, he knew the promotion was just really a sign that he'd never be getting out of the steel business.
The cornbread was significant to his goal, a symbol of it in the most shining way. More than anything he wanted to own his own farm. For as long as he could remember, he envisioned acres of green, green stalks of corn growing tall and towering over him. He was little when he first had the dream, and then the corn stalks did tower over him. He knew better, of course, that it wouldn't be quite that big a difference in height, but that image always stuck with him.
His best friend from school was Cole Chinder, the son of a small and modest farmer. They used to go play hide and seek in all those rows of corn. At the peak of ripeness the air would be thick with corn silk flurries and those leafy stalks would block the sun out. And the smell… he'd never forget the smell. A little pungent from the fertilizer and pesticides, but underneath, the warm, golden sent of the ripe corn never failed to penetrate him.
It wasn't just the corn that attracted him either. It was the entire social workings of the family. The way they would all plant seed together at the beginning of the season. The water fights and mud fights that so often occurred. They way everyone toiled together to make those stalks reach the peak of perfection and then share in the pain of plucking them all out at harvest time. Sure they had some clunky mechanical contraption that sputtered dark smoke that made everyone cough and gag when the engine fouled up, but the kids were indulged by the adults to aid the initial harvesting by hand picking a row or two of the corn. The stuff the kids picked is what they ate for their harvest meal most times. Sore and scraped fingers would shuck the corn of its husks and silk lining. They all were as tired and achy as everyone else from the day's work, but still the pure rapturous joy that permeated the ordeal was always what lingered on afterward. The bandaging of torn up fingers faded into the background compared to the laughs, the singing, the scents, and the tastes that made up the family harvest dinner. The camaraderie lodged into him more wholly than the vibration of the steel shop ever could. In a way, it was the only barrier that kept his dreams at night from being nightmares of a dark, scraping, hellishly hot lifetime in the steel company.
The cornbread summed up that dream in a most effective way and Abilene knew it through and through. Despite the contrary facts, she always held fast to the hope that the bank would one day approve Jack's loan request so he could start that farm. She was perfectly aware of the discrimination working against him. Jack's mutation was well known to everyone in those parts, just about. She was just that optimistic and hopeful. Jack's dream included her, her husband, her three-year-old boy, and her and Jack's mother as well. It was a good dream, a reasonable dream, and a dream that had latched onto her as well. She wasn't about to let him give it up.
Jack refilled his coffee and as was routine, Cole passed Jack his own piece of cornbread. This time there was a candle stuck into the cornbread and lit. Jack cracked a smile.
Cole sang, "For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow!"
Jack laughed heartily. "That's enough, already, Cole," he said, and then licked two fingers and snuffed out the candle flame.
"Gonna be more than just that when we get home tonight," Cole said.
"You already told Abilene, didn't you?"
"Sure did." Cole's smile near split his face in two. "First thing I did when the whistle rang out for lunch. She cheered so loud she woke Dale up from his nap."
"Hahaha! Serves you two right, especially her."
Cole chuckled lightly with him. "I know. Our boy's a rambunctious little squirt when his nap's cut short."
"Wonder where he got it from?"
"Don't look at me," Cole said.
"Oh, I'm looking at you, all right."
Cole's smile lit his eyes with machismo pride. "Like father, like son."
"Don't I know it!" Jack plucked the candle out of the cornbread. "You got me into so much trouble, growing up. Still do!" He mock glared at Cole. "I know you were the one that suggested me for the promotion to Mr. Bostal."
"No suggestion needed, really," Cole admitted. "You were a shoe in for it. You had to know that." And I want the farm as much as you do.
That last part went unspoken as always. Cole's family farm was hit real hard during the big drought ten years ago. They were a poor family. A big, poor family, eight kids, two aunts, four cousins, all residing and living off of one tiny farm. They lived harvest to harvest, and when the drought destroyed that year's harvest, it devastated them. They couldn't pay the mortgage and the bank was unforgiving. The whole family scattered. Cole had originally left too. He and Jack kept in touch through mail and Cole visited every couple of summers. It was quickly easy to see he visited for more than just his childhood friend Jack. Cole proposed to Abilene right after he graduated high school and they got married a year later, when Abilene graduated as well.
George's fist smashed the cornbread flat. "It was my job!"
Jack and Cole both flinched back. The break room quieted instantly. This confrontation wasn't a surprise in itself, Jack was known for his temper, but that didn't make the abrupt violence any less startling to the witnesses.
Cole started to stand up. He was always protective of Jack. A placating kick to Cole's boot under the table and Jack stilled him for the moment.
Jack squarely met George's heated eyes and said, "I told Mr. Bostal that, George. Junior engineer, me? You've got seven years on me in this place. You're the one with all the community college courses under him. You've been working for this job a good long while. Everyone knows how eager you are to get away from your family's farm. You're smart, ambitious, and hard working. You deserved the job."
George's anger was melting away, even though he didn't want it to. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair! He was boiling up inside and he needed to let it out. He wanted to let it out on Jack, who had his unfair advantage with that mutant ability of his. Mutant! He was a stinking mutant! It wasn't right!
Jack continued, "Me? I'm just good with my hands. Some folks got a green thumb around these parts, I just got metallic one, so to say. I got a knack with working with metals."
"Knack!?" There's a topic he could sink his talons of anger into. "You're a mutant! People like you are gonna ruin everything for the rest of us!"
"You're right," Jack agreed again. "It is because I'm a mutant. I can do things with metal in a matter of seconds that you, a dozen other guys, and a whole shop of machines can't do in a day. Personally, I think I'd be better on the production line than in the engineering department."
Cole piped in then. "Stop blaming him, George. You know it ain't his fault. Everyone here knows that Jack tried to turn the job down. Mr. Bostal threatened to fire him if he didn't take it. Big boys up top were coming down hard on him. You got a beef about this, take it to them."
"Stay outta this, Cole." To Jack, George continued. "I've seen your type on the news. People like that Magneto. You're all no good. You're all working your powers to hurt hard working, decent folk like myself. Everything you said was true, and still you got the job. Why is it, huh? You're good at shaping metals, that's it, so you say. I think you got powers over thought too. That's what convinced them. Shaping metal ain't reason enough to get you in engineering. Not at all. Any reasonable man can see that. I think you been working to influence all their thoughts. Little by little. And I'm gonna prove it too. nobody round here gonna ever trust you again once I do. Nobody."
"I don't have no mind powers, George," Jack countered.
Jack's own anger was finally starting to build up. He'd been fighting to defend himself since the winter before the drought. That's when his powers first showed up. Nothing special or traumatic coincided with the discovery of his powers. And at that point, not many people had heard much about the mutant menace. Didn't take long for people to put it together though. And since most of the information that filtered to his town involved mutants bent on taking over everything, doing cruel and destructive, rather evil things, well, people started being real hesitant and suspicious of Jack. Sure small towns take care of their own, and sure he'd never done any harm to anyone, but they all were waiting for it, and just in case, they weren't going to let him climb too high. A safety measure, if you will. The boy had power already, success would only grant him more of it. What would the sole mutant in the area do if he got too much? And on that note, careful not to hold him down too hard either. What would the mutant do if he got too angry? The Hulk wasn't a mutant like Magneto was, but with images of both in their heads, they played safe with Jack as best they knew how.
Jack had too much pride to cry out, I just want to be treated like everyone else! But many a time growing up and to that day, he had wanted to do just that.
"If I had mind powers, George, then how come I can't get the bank to approve that loan I want? I know you know I've been turned down more than a dozen times. Your cousin is the head of loans there, so I know you know! Life ain't fair, any way you cut it, George. I know you're angry and feel cheated. I know you do 'cause I feel the same way. You're just too self-centered and pig-headed to see it. You want the job, George, then here's a suggestion. You convince your cousin to approve the loan that I deserve, that I've earned, that I would have if I weren't a mutant! You do that and the job's all yours. I never wanted it."
"Sure, Jack, I believe that." The sarcasm was as acidic as the jealousy eating up George's gut. "Who wants to be a farmer? The best job in this whole town is the engineering department. Everyone knows that."
"No, George," Jack said with a tired sigh. "That's what you think. Plenty of folks want nothing more than a simple life as a farmer. And until you understand that, until you and your cousin and the rest of this place really take a look at me without first seeing the big green monster and that magnet guy and all those other horrors the news loves to terrorize people with, then we're gonna be stuck with just what we're stuck with. Me in your job, and you trying to get away from the farm life that I want."
"I ain't stupid, Jack!" George yelled as he shoved Jack. "I'm on to you!"
"That's enough!"
Mr. Bostal's voice cut through the room. It was a rare occasion that he came down into the shop, and the other workers knew when to get when the getting was good. The break room cleared quickly.
"You too, Cole," Mr. Bostal said, "Get on out of here."
Cole gave a nod of encouragement to Jack before he did as the boss told him.
"You better watch that temper of your, George, before it gets you fired," Mr. Bostal warned. "Be hard to get an engineering job around these parts if we won't have ya."
George backed off, but if it were possible, steam would be visibly whistling from his ears. Coincidentally, the whistle signaling the end of the lunch break went off right then. Jack began gathering the remains of his ruined lunch. Mr. Bostal's hand on his shoulder hindered his cleaning up the smashed cornbread.
"Go on home, Jack. Report to the engineering department on Monday… unless you get your loan between now and then." A pointed look to George. "It wasn't just his power that got him the promotion, George. Sure, it was a big part. The boys at the top see dollar signs over a guy who can work metal like he does. It's not just cost efficient, but it gets them in good with publicity and stuff if marketed the right way."
"Word gets out about him and this company is gonna die out, Mr. Bostal. Nobody likes a mutant. Proof is all over the news."
"That mouth of yours is gonna keep you down in the shop more than any special power with metal ever would, George. You think on that while you're working the steel press the rest of the week."
"The steel press?! That's where the rookies work!"
"So be it. Maybe you'll use that brain of yours to think on things while you're working that lever up and down, up and down, up and down for the next three days."
That time, George did slam the door when he left. On the floor with the shop as it was, the bone rattling, spine tingling racket of the shop penetrated the thin walls of the break room like there weren't any walls at all.
"And you," Mr. Bostal said to Jack. "You better learn to appreciate what you already got. A lot of people would like that job of yours. Engineering pays well enough that you may not need that loan at all. "
"And then I just gotta convince people to let me buy the land. You know everyone here don't want me doing too well."
"It's not all about you being a mutant, Jack. Damn, boy, you're just as pigheaded as George is sometimes. I can't believe you haven't figured out why you really keep being turned down for that loan. You're right that it's not because of your credit or income or any stuff like that. It's plain and simple jealousy. Two doses of it too. George's cousin was chasing after your sister since you all were kids, first off. He's punishing Cole and Abilene by refusing the loan. And on top of that, he wanted to be a sculptor, but the boy ain't got an ounce of ability with his hands. He's envious of what you can do and he can't. You only see the one side of that. But it ain't the working the metal he envies, it's the designs you make that hates… because he knows he can't come up with that stuff even if he did have the hands for it. And it's those very designs that got the engineering department asking after you."
Jack sank back into his seat. "I know," he said, confessing. "I know all that. It's just… It's not fair. I want that farm so badly and it seems I'm doomed never to have it, and George there is handed it and yet, he shoves it aside like it's a pile of garbage. It's not fair."
"We all got our own unfair disadvantages… and advantages, as well. Take stock in what you got. There isn't only one way to be happy."
May 16, 2004
Thank you for indulging me by reading.