The F Word

by CraftyNotepad

Growing up is never easy. Sometimes what you need isn't advice, it's perspective. An ongoing exploration about what they don't teach us in school. Chapter 11: We pick up where we left our favorite couple, in the clutches of the mall!

9. Truth Is, This Is As Good As It Gets

Disclaimer: I neither own Phil of the Future, nor understand why this exceptional property isn't being further developed outside of our circle of storytellers.

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The F-Word – Chapter Nine –

"Truth Is, This Is As Good As It Gets"

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Uggh," escaped a grunt as Phil fell backward, landing on his butt. He had been pulling the cobbled-together Wizrd in its beat up wagon down the tunnel that he had just had it generate between the back of Keely's bathroom sink's cupboard, through the wall and through the back of her bedroom dresser and into it's bottom drawer. The wagon's front axle squeaked as if it had been used for years, instead of hours; that squirrel had done a number on it, from it's impact, to clogging the toy axle with dirt. The wagon wasn't on it's last legs; it was just annoying it's wobble and whining. He had had enough of it's cacophony, he had had enough of tunnels, he had had enough of -- the Wizrd's display lights -- his eyes adjust to their dim illumination -- other than some odd socks, the drawer was empty. Perfect. This was his world now, empty and without support. Alone, truly stranded in a backward age with primitives. He shook it off.

"No, that's Dad talking. Sorry Dad, that's just not me. I've got Keely. This isn't a barren space; it's a blank canvas, for Keely and me. Deep breath time. Okay, first things first, I'll start with the floor, no, the ceiling. It doesn't have one, yet."

Two-inch tall Phil stretches over the top of the control panel and activates the Wizrd. Part of a lone sock becomes a ceiling that seals off the drawer, turning it into a closed box, except for the new tunnel. Next, the remainder of the sock is used to add a layer of Sorbothane® sound proofing on the walls, floor and ceiling. Roughing out a floor plan in his mind, he adds plumbing -- seamless tubing actually, it wouldn't be right to call it piping -- for fresh and waste water, with their connections running down the base of the tunnel and tapping into the bathroom sink's fresh water line and just past the S trap for the fouled water. Electrical was equally easy to siphon off a little of the juice from the Teslow's electrical system. Wirings race around the walls and across the floor like they are being unrolled from invisible reels; adding a mid-21st Century transformer the size of stick of chewing gum to complete the wiring job by making the power direct current and safe for use. Another thin coating of sound proofing to embed the pipes and wires. The ceiling still three inches above his head, with a touch of his Wizrd, he transforms its appearance to a holo blue sky, complete with popcorn-shaped clouds traveling lazily in a southwesterly direction, and the entire area is lit by the pseudo sky, immensely cheering up the space by way of light and opening up the space -- the sky's the limit.

"The floor?" Well, a wood base would be a good choice, and so with little more than that passing consideration, it simple is. Now, walls or a studio apartment look? If this is going to be my world for the next few years, I'm going to want it to appear as big as possible. Time for another mid-21st Century design element: Chromotography dichroic colored panels levitate in midair separating the living areas. This would only be used in a three year old's room in 2121, but since Keely has never experienced it, I think that it will be a novel design element. "Is it me, or is it starting to get a little warm and stuffy in here?"

"It's not your imagination. There's no air flow, and using the Wizrd is putting out heat that is getting trapped in here," the Wizrd's Phil-sprite offered its two-cents.

Taking comfort in his own voice coming from the Wizrd, Phil answered back, "One ventilation system coming up, complete with random breezes." Zappidity -- zap, zap! "Better. That should deal with all the environmentals that the tunnel has to handle."

"So, you think that you're done now?" Mini-Phil inquired.

"Done? No. I wizrd up a floor over the tunnel's tubing, wiring and air ducting, and tops the tunnel off with firefly lighting throughout its length and a fake plumbing cap facade for the tunnel's outer door, but there's still plenty to do in here." I considered where to start next.

Working within the floating light panels, I'll start with the kitchen, directly opposite the tunnel at the other end of the drawer/room. A three-leaf clover best describes the workspace, surrounded by a semicircle of shoulder-height cabinets and major appliances. On the Sorbothane wall nearby, I flip up a few different choice scenes of exotic locations that Keels might enjoy. Finally, I settle on an empty Kansas wheat field.

Off to the right, I recreate our family's comfy couch. Keely's spent a lot of time on that couch with me: study buddies, movie nights, and quiet times when the folks had headed off to bed and Pim had just headed off somewhere into the night. I throw up a video wall opposite the couch; fine for movie nights, but with a little extra work -- there. Now, it's also a virtual window into Keely's bedroom, best view in the world. Mostly on a whim, a small stage is formed, rising just a half step above the floor, it'll be a fine place for my drums and her guitar. Another whim, and I whip up a phyble to serenade my love with some evenings, then a tasteful, clean-lined monolith. Kicking off a shoe, I slip the phyble over one foot and let the rest of it crawl up my left leg and swarm over my back and chest, forming strumable carbon nano-tube musical hoops in the process, with both of the reeds finally reaching my mouth. A quick ditty and I'm satisfied that it's in tune.

Shortly, I return from the wagon and gently place dad's bluegrass mouth harp on the monolith's summit. Weird. Dad's not dead, but I'm treating this moment like he is, like I'll never see him again, which I won't. Sitting on the couch, I try and shake that feeling, but realize that it's going to be with me for quite a while. It was a good decision to bring back the couch. I'm ready for a nap.

The Wizrd's sprite mocks, "Are you sure you have time to play perfectionist in each area?"

It's right. This has been the roughest, most draining twenty-four hours in my life. The couch feels so welcoming.

I awake after five hours of hard sleep to a household less than half done, and Keely will be here in just a few short hours. Worse, I'm out of ideas. Whatever inspiration I had, it left with the sandman. Keely's going to be here and first impressions are important, they say. I start decorating the outer walls with active scenes from around the world, places that I'd like to go visiting with Keely along with places that we've already shared. Then, there's the bedroom. I wizrd up several beds: different sizes, futons, heart shaped, futuristic, finally deciding on a Mexican Wedding Hammock. It looks like a spider web, slung from the ceiling, and suddenly I'm inspired. I zip back to the couch and add a lamp with a stand that looks like a paper clip bent and twisted like a crazy drinking straw. I add stools and wall decorations that look like fun advertising buttons and the like. I'm embracing my diminutive stature. Popsicle stick dining table, accompanied by twenty-second century snack tray hover-disks that approach when a hand reaches out.

To the wooden floor, I add rugs, artificial grass, sand, upholstered fabric, tile, even pebbles cover the floor, adding texture everywhere. Of course, the snack trays are still empty. Then, there's the bathroom to finish. Maybe I could decorate a wall with full-sized postage stamps and use a dime as a trivet on the table.

I prepare a meal for the two of us. I wanted to cook a real dinner for Keely, but there's no time and I've tried cooking before and it's harder than it looks. Sorry, Mom. I gained an appreciation for your difficulties in learning how to actually cook long ago. With no yummilizer, no spray food, I'm in for many more frustrating cooking experiences, but tonight, it's the Wizrd to the rescue. There, it's done. Just need to light candles. "Wine?"

"I would counsel against it. Do you think that Keely needs to be intoxicated?"

"No, certainly not."

"How about yourself? Do you need some 'liquid courage?'"

"No."

The sprite is really exhibiting an attitude of superiority, "Well, then, what's the point? Trying to act to some preconceived notion of what it means to act like a grown up, little man?" And with that, the Sprite's facial features morph from my own to Pim's. PIM!

Knowing where the tunnel was this morning, Keely knocks on the visible pipe cap, sending loud clanging sounds reverberating down the tunnel and through out the living area. At least the Sorbothane cancels out any echoing. Phil whispers to himself, "I better add a 'silent bell' to the tunnel to change the lighting in here." Kelly opens the tunnel's outer door.

Quick look around. Not finished, not yet right, not just ... what am I worried about? She's seen me living in a garage. A quick zap of the Wizrd and Keely's my size and coming down the tunnel.

"Hi."

"Hi." What was I worried about again?

"So, may I come in?"

"Sorry. Uh, no."

"What? Phil Diffy, if you -- what are you doing? Put me down right now! Eeeek!"

"Uh, no."

Keely stops struggling, giving in to tradition as Phil steps forward. It was silly of her to do so at the threshold.

Looking around, she takes in the view. The ceiling is higher than she had expected, and she hadn't expected the colored panes of light suspended magically in midair -- in place of the non-existent walls. She's reminded of the Pickford Exploratorium that she visited in fifth grade: lots of interesting things, but nothing really went together.

"So, you love it, right. Right?"

Keely bites her lip, but not her tongue when it comes to giving Phil her honest opinion about his layout. "So, this is a house of the 22nd Century?"

"No, if it was, then it would be much more laid out like a short ice cube tray with each person getting their own compartment. No, this is an eclectic mix of old and new, taking the best of each."

"Philly, I love you being here, but honestly, there are no transitions. I can appreciate eclectic, but are you serious about the thimble lamp shades and popsicle stick table? Were you really trying for the 'Tom Thumb meets the Walmart sales floor look?'"

"Sort of, but it's nothing that I'm married to. I just had trouble coming up with a theme by myself. Think you could rescue me?"

"It'll cost you a dance. Probably two."

On the stage, theirs is a slow dance, a close one, and Keely notices while they're dancing that she and Phil are the same size, courtesy of the Wizrd.

"Say, did you make me shorter or you taller?"

"It's all relative with scale, Hon. Does it matter?"

"Nope."

Now she's either going to call me her little man, or ask me what else the Wizrd can make bigger. Either way, she's going to give me an inferiority complex. She kisses me instead. I likes where this conversation is going.

"Kiss her, you idiot!"

"PHIL! Who was that?"

"Oh, that, that was 'Pim.'"

"But, but, bu ..."

Sighing, I tell her, "Come over here and I'll introduce you. 'Keely, meet Pim 2.0. Mini-Sis, let me introduce you to the love of my life.'"

"Phil, why would you --"

"I wouldn't. Pim would and she did. She rewrote the Wizrd's sprite with her own personality template. The result is an echo of Pim's personality. It still thinks that it's a Wizrd, and it will be pretty cooperative, but it'll have Pim's attitude toward new situations."

"Just new situations? How come?"

"This Wizrd doesn't have the memory, remember? Oh, there's a bit, but it rewrites over itself. Pim Junior, here, has the memory of a goldfish: about three minutes." I study Keely's concerned face as I spout off about this. "I guess that I could remove the current personality template and replace it with yours. Would you be more comfortable with that?"

"I like her just the way she is. It's like a little bit of Pim is still around."

Mini-Pim interacts, "I agree. Wait. Is that a short joke?"

"Okay, we'll keep her. To tell you the truth, I don't think that I have the heart to erase her. Keels, it's like they're all dead. I know that's crazy, but it ..." Keely holds me tight. I feel her love, her caring, her protection of me. Breathing, however, is tougher, so I move her through a light panel. When she opens her eyes, she squeals with shock and delight.

"Phil, you're lime green! I am, too!"

We continue our dance with every increasing speed as we dance through different panels, sometimes even just one of us, each time, the wavelengths of light reflecting off of us shift. Keely's mostly apricot at the moment, with a rainbow of shades coloring her left arm recording some of her near misses with the holo panes. She's giddy with laughter, and that pretty much blows away the dark clouds over my head. How does she do it so easily?

"So, you want to skip the rest of the place?"

"Not a chance. What's that I smell? You cooked?"

"One day. See, I just moved into the neighborhood and haven't gone grocery shopping yet ..."

"Where are my manners? I should have brought you over something to welcome you to my neighborhood. Although, it smells delicious all the same. I'm going to have to eat over here often."

I enjoy pulling out her chair, the way her eyes never leave mine. Enchiladas with a small salad topped with sliced strawberries and peaches make up the meal with a pitcher of cold water to wash it all down. We talk about her day, her mom's phone call at lunch, what her cat did this morning to her mother's slippers. She asks me about what will happen to Curtis in the future and I explain that he will be sent back to the past. His belly button could destabilize the world's economy. She laughs and I let it go. No need to tell her about the volcanic mudslide that will bury Curtis's tribe, preserving him, along with his Vanessa. Adding that his species will become extinct anyway wouldn't help, either. Keely tells me a nice story about her parents and their first place together -- a real hole in the wall. Keely's father was Mandy's one true love, never to be replaced. She had gotten everything that she wanted in life, a husband who became a good father, and their healthy little girl. It was their dream for the future to raise Keely and be happy together. It wasn't his fault that he died. Suddenly, Keely changes gears with an announcement.

"Blake Bastille! That was the first time I got to call you my boyfriend, even if it was to Neil Hackett."

At first, I'm lost, then, "I'm not -- I don't want to go through life as Blake Bastille." This is scary. I'm starting to think like Keely.

"No, not that. Philip Blake."

"Philip Blake? Phil Blake. Mr. Blake? Mr. and Mrs. Phil Blake." Keely's eyes light up. "I guess I could learn to live with that," I acquiesce with a semi-aloof expression. She doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the evening.

Keely finally collapses from exhaustion, pleasure, emotional drain – all of the above before ten o'clock. Lights are out, except for the pseudo quarter moon, but I can hear her breathing, sometimes even pleasantly sort of purring. While I was busy making plans for tonight, I hadn't considered the Keely-factor. Impulsive, no longer repressing her, well, anything, Keels took over the evening.

She started simply, just suggesting that we kick off our shoes and socks to watch a movie. Gotta admit, the new carpet did feel good between my toes. "Not enough," I caught her whisper.

She then declared tonight "topless movie night" and pulled my shirts over my head by their tails, almost scraping off my ears in the process. What could I do, but stare in shock, mouth aghast, while she grinned like a cheshire. This was Keely? This was Keely! A tilt of her head and a confident squint of those eyes spoke clearly on their own. They prodded me with, "Okay, Diffy, it's your turn. Come on!" When in Rome ... My thumbs had instincts of their own, slithering down her sides, then up under her blouse and raising the fabric up to her elbows when her lips appeared.

I must taste that mouth. Tastes of wintergreen candy from one of the floating trays, plus it's soft, and warm, and wet. This is sort of my turn at having her wear a blindfold. Mmmm ... and yet, now I want to find her eyes. Desire atop desire. Gotta be careful of her ears now. I wish Keely would stop wearing ear jewelry. She doesn't need it and I'm always afraid that I'm going to hurt her there, or hurt myself going after her lobes. Yet, if they make her happy, then I can tolerate them.

Keels giggles and starts channel surfing just like nothing has happened. Same old, same old. What happens next? Same old, same old. Asleep, resting on my chest, she's warm, both of us naked above the waist, her arms encircling me. Comfortable beyond words. Solace, nurturing, ... beyond words. Curious how without clothing our torsos just meld together as one. Right now it feels like one body with four entwined legs. One sleepy heart. Denim and soft warm skin, such dichotomy -- what a combination, yet it works. I allow my right palm to languish between Kee's exposed right side and her jean-covered hip topped off with a few voluntary strands of slightly wavy hair tickling the top of my hand. Does she know what these sensations are doing to me? Before she drifted off, she said that she didn't know if she wanted to gobble me up or just melt into me. Melt! That's it. It feels like we're melting together, blending into one person. I reach down and cup her cheeks to pull her closer.

If I try real hard, I can still taste her scent. While Keely was being all nonchalant, I noticed a new smell. What was it? Keely doesn't wear perfume. Flowers? Yes. Perfume? No. Never smelled anything like it before – then a word popped into my head: musk. I've heard it used to describe a woman's scent, "musky." That's got to be it. Thick, so thick and imposing that it crawls down my throat and threatens to block off my windpipe, suffocating me. Willing to pay its price, I inhaled it in deeper, welcoming its asphyxiating nature. Wondrous.

Last night's shower was fun. It was great. It was magnificent. We'll get around to y'know, you know, but we haven't even been officially dating long, a few months. We've only been engaged for a day – never even got to tell Dad and Mom, not even Pim. This is a special time, playing with each other, learning about touching one another. Exploring. I don't want to skip this. I want it all, because after going all the way, then what? There's so much to Keely. Sure, she knows my dreams and secrets and I know hers, but it's like our home here, we don't know yet what we're going to create together. Maybe "Pim-in-the-Wizrd" knows how long we'll be around together. Might be a little; might be a lot. Doesn't matter. I'm going to work to make certain that Keely never questions that I value every moment of us. It won't matter if lasts two seconds or a century; this is happiness. Right now, though ... I pull the afghan down from the back of the couch to cover her while I dream sweet dreams about her being in my future, our future.

But Keely stirs and drags herself back to consciousness. A moment to realize the setting, and a huge sigh follows, accompanied by a slow, intense hug. She's happy.

"M..m.mn-n."

"Sorry, I missed that."

She intensifies her grasp. "Mine. Mine-mine, all mine." There's her sigh again. Keely-cat is practically purring. Pure, undiluted contentment. Keely's content. Better than an "A plus" on a report card. Value beyond measure. My treasure.

"It's not enough, is it?"

"What's not enough, Keels?"

"Me."

I'm stunned. She's lost me again. I'll have to wait for the explanation ... now she's crying, her speech comes out as moans, sobs and gasps for air. Nothing comprehensible. I'm helpless. What happened?

"It'd, itt'll jusst be like before. Not ah-nuff. Can never be nuff."

"I – don't understand. What'll never be enough?"

"MEEEEE!" she wails from the pit of her being. No longer hugging me, she claws at the middle of my back and I wince.

Watching, listening, feeling her suffer, my heart is breaking. What changed? What did I do? Listen to her! I'm watching Keely die. All I can do is hold her tighter so she feels me refusing to let her be alone. This is my wordless counterpoint to an argument that I don't have the faintest idea about.

I feel her knees move up my legs; she's curling up into a fetal position, her arms start retreating from my back. This is not good. Despite my efforts, she rolls off the couch, landing on the braided throw rug. The crying is louder now and totally abandoned to whatever poison has snaked its way into her mind. I join her on the floor and surround her with my arms once more. Off me, Keels is exposed to me once again. Before the movie, it was arousing. Now, her nakedness only accentuates her frailty. What protects her? I rub her back, swarm over her cheeks and furrowed forehead with kisses. I start her rocking, and she joins in. A different response at last. Please, make this work.

Forever. Mathematicians are incorrect -- It can be measured. I've done it. Twenty-two minutes, eighteen seconds. That's how long it's been since she spoke. Forever.

"Sorry."

I don't know what to say. "Keely, talk to me."

"I'm so sorry, Phil. This isn't going to work, is it? I'm not going to be enough. This fantasy is a lie, just a beautiful, beautiful lie. I can't save you, save us. Years in here? It'll be just like before; you'll end up needing more friends than just me, but there's no one else, so you'll be miserable; we'll be petty and fight. Then we'll stop talking, then, then, nothing."

She says that as if it is a statement, but her eyes, her eyes plead with mine to tell her she is wrong. What can I say?

"You're right, Keely. One person just wouldn't be enough for me, not even my best friend. Not ever. Despite what we do to this place, it'll become a sensory deprivation chamber sporting a single contact, a prison with a solitary jailer. Or, you could be more."

She's taken aback. Now, time to drive out that poison.

"I'll need a best friend, a councilor, a playmate, confidante, back massager, consultant, food taster, reporter, dish dryer, remote control finder, fashion consultant, patient listener, art critic, puzzle-solver, editor, psychiatrist, lover, covers-stealing bedmate... in short, a wife-in-training – my fiance."

"It-it'll be crowded. I might have to get rid of a couple of pairs of shoes."

"That would be a sacrifice."

"Maybe Via could hold them for me, on trial, so we could all move in and keep you company?"

"Or maybe I could live in Vee's dresser, on trial, you know, so the shoes'd have more room?" She's going to hit me on my sore arm, I just know it.

I brace myself. Her face scrunches up, her fist balls, here's the pitch, she rabbit punches, pulling her fingered anvil short of contact. Tender kisses coat my bruised left bicep, so gentle. That's what all this was about, her fear of my being hurt, of our dissolving. I love this woman. She's going to give me a heart attack and kill me dead, but I love her. Tears continue to fall from her eyes, but even I know that these facial raindrops are different. So, this is what it's like, Dad? Chaos, confusion, and madness wrapped up with a heart so enormous that the real mystery of the Universe isn't about it's own origin, nor what comes after life, but essentially, how a woman's bosom could possibly contain such a finite heart filled with selfless, infinite compassion? Madness, Dad. Why didn't you warn me that total and utter madness is as good as it gets?

"Ask me again."

"What? I -- . Can we work, Phil? Can we make it work?"

I frown. "Not that, the other thing."

Three seconds. Keely's forever last three seconds. Enlightened, with some of her old Keely-confidence returning, she asks, "Will you marry me?"

"Only if it's forever, My Heart. Forever, and not a single tick less than eternity. I will not be shortchanged. Agreed?"

How long is forever? We're researching it now and we'll happily share the finding when we're done. Please, until then, respect the tiny, but heartfelt "Do Not Disturb" sign.

Forever

∞♥

To see the world in a grain of sand,

and to see heaven in a wild flower,

hold infinity in the palm of your hands,

and eternity in an hour.

-- William Blake

"Auguries of Innocence"

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Am I really done now?