Rabbid Guy

The Twenty-First Century

The next morning was a Sunday, so he slept in until he could sit still no longer. He had only today before going back to school on Monday, so he owed it to himself to make the most of it.

In the corner of his room by an outlet was his camcorder charging. He briefly opened it up to see if it unplugged itself, but it hadn't. It had charged all through the night so he wouldn't have to worry.

In his stairwell he could hear the snapping clink of the old lightswitch going on and off. At the bottom of the stairs his dad was flickering in the lights to get his attention.
"One moment!" Jerry said before going back into his room. He grabbed his camcorder and met his dad at the bottom of the steps.

"Was work OK? I didn't see you come home," his dad signed.
Jean Speaker had been deaf ever since he was a toddler to hearing parents. He communicated almost exclusively through signs, even if his late parents had tried to get him to speak all his life.
"It was whatever.." Jerry dismissed it, "Some brute tried to break down the wall."
"Tell them to use the door next time," his dad said.
"I will," Jerry smiled.
"It's a little while before I have to go to work. Would you walk into town with me?" his dad asked.
"Sure. Do you want to go sled? I think the snow's good enough to make a ramp with. I was going to do it yesterday but.. You know," Jerry said.
You can sled, but I have to stay dry for work," his dad said.
"Would you want to sled when you get off work?" Jerry asked, almost on his way to the basement where the sleds were.
"If I have the energy I'll see what I can do," his dad looked tired already.
"Maybe I'll make you some coffee.." Jerry trailed off, going down into the unfinished basement to get his sled.

He brought one sled: a long orange plastic one with string to pull it with, and got on his winter wear from low hooks by the door.

Outside Jerry and his father walked alongside the freshly plowed road, the town visible down the hill and through glittering pines. Some parts were steep, so Jerry had to wait for his father to catch up. He never worried about the man slipping, as his boots were built for these conditions and the majority of the decline was forgiving even for an older man like him.

They walked into downtown, a lot of the buildings were abandoned waiting for demolition, but since nobody had bothered to buy them in the first place they stood still empty. Alongside dying factories were much smaller lively staples of business. The three good local restaurants with very few differences besides the owners, the vintage toys and gifts shop, the supermarket and fast food places, the thrift store, and at the very center of the land rot was the ice rink, which miraculously stayed open every year despite the small population. Further beyond at the edge of town was the library, where Jerry knew his mom was.

Jerry and his dad passed two people eating at a fast food chain. The two were not local, as he and everyone else could always tell. The men were verminators like at Jerry's work. A revolving door of private soldiers who used to be government only, but were private and government sponsored now. It was common to find them lazing about in town, supposedly on the hunt for more than a bite to eat. They weren't police and never arrested anyone or solved conflicts, so Jerry didn't understand why they even bothered. Part of the town's taxes helped pay for verminators to guard them (something adults often complained about).

Maybe it was just how the money flowed because of his job. Their unique criminals were processed and locked up in the verminator headquarters using Jerry's expertise, so it was only convenient they were given jobs watching over the town too. As much as people complained about verminators, nobody ever considered having them leave for real. Whatever they did that was so important was probably something he'd only understand when he was older.

"Do you know him?" His dad asked.
"No.. Just thinking.." Jerry said.

They finally approached the top of a sledding hill made up of a large lot between buildings. Sled trails of different types already marked the area. Jerry handed his camera to his dad for safekeeping and placed his sled down. Across from him climbing up the slope were four year old twin boys Michael and Rodney Brown, their steps clumsy and their jackets, scarves and hats suffocatingly puffy. Jerry smiled. Unlike some of his peers he still enjoyed the company of little kids. He waved at them.