THAT DAY

Our house is getting owner-evicted. We're poor, so landlords don't want to rent to us. But as artists, we know how to live on very little; if we pool our savings we have enough to BUY a house--even here in San Francisco. Sounds crazy, but it's that or surrender to the yuppie flood and move out. I was born here, and I won't just let them drive me out.

So today our house-buying group toured a place in the Mission District. Three floors with three bedrooms each, for $400,000. The basement has an art studio and huge storage area that was once a livable fourth flat, and could be again. Not a pretty house but solid; the owners are contractors, repaired it themselves. None of us LOVE it, but we can turn it into a co-op housing about ten people.

We discuss it over dinner. Make an offer? Three vote yes, but Ron panics, backs out of our group! He's even afraid to passively invest so he has the option to move in later. Doesn't believe our calculations, thinks we'll go broke. Months of hunting wasted! We passed up some nice houses that were ideal for just three, but too small for the four of us. Even if the bank okays a smaller loan for just three of us, prices have risen by now--thanks to the delay, we may not be able to buy any home at all. I'd be mad at Ron, but he looks gray, sick, drained. A slave of doubt, fear, inertia. He's teaching me a lesson. I gave him what I could--lent him the book Your Money or your Life, worked out the numbers showing a mortgage is cheaper than rent for him now--and rents are rising. If he can't face it, what more can I do? I feel sorry for him--trapped by fear.

But when our agent Danita hears the bad news, here reaction astonishes me. She laughs and says "This is GOOD. Now you know exactly where you stand: the three of you are serious, you're the ones committed to buying. And your criteria are clear. Sure, the bank loves Ron, but you're perfectly viable without him."

THAT NIGHT

I have an office job in a corporate headquarters. One of my co-workers is a real pessimist. His motto is "You just don't realize how violent and brutal people are." When we fail to agree, he decides it's up to him to prove it. To us all.

So he goes on a murderous rampage through the building--sneak attacks leaving many injured, at least one dead... and so cleverly done that we KNOW it's him but have no legal evidence at all. The cops question him, but can't touch him. He shows up the next day as usual for work.

We're reluctant, but not suicidal--quietly, we all take to traveling in groups, and watching our backs, and carrying odd little items that can be used as weapons: screwdrivers, drill bits, sharp pens. People at work will adapt to anything!

That afternoon he hovers around me, his eyes mocking me silently: "You're next." I won't let that happen. He's larger, stronger. So I must use surprise. I look scared and edge away... then turn and leap on him, and stab him with a drill-bit! He dies bloodily.

And comes back to life.

So I kill him again: a stab to the heart with a ballpoint pen! Mightier than...

But he revives again.

At last, I methodically take him apart with a screwdriver. Not too bloody a task: he's more a mechanical collection of bones and pulleys than a man, and now, by his third death, he's pretty well bloodless. Drained!

Since his body's disassembled--hell, pulverized!--we just sweep up and bury the bits of him. Scattered, so he won't be able to reassemble, even over decades. We really don't trust Mr. Pessimism to stay dead!

A corporate vice-president sails through and asks about him, and we all say truthfully, "Oh, him? He transferred out."

Out of this life!

NOTES ON WAKING UP

• Pessimistic killer = Ron's doubts killing our housing hopes.
• Untraceable crimes = did Ron feel we made him go along with us all these months? Clearly the stress has been gnawing at him--was he showing anger by sabotaging us passively, or was it just his own fears?
• Killer wants to convince us EVERYONE'S scary = Ron's fears? Or MY OWN expectations of brutality betrayal etc--learned from how they locked up and tortured my uncle, and then again from being the school outcast, runt, and punching bag.
• He's like a robot, I methodically disassemble his head = negativity's a robotic habit for me. I must methodically break up my thought patterns!

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