A Man Named Marty

Everything in Pleasantville is as it should be. The sidewalks are perfect squares, the windows never have streaks, the houses all look the same, and each closet is the exact replica of the next. Your career is decided for you, your car is delivered to your drive, even your house is assigned. The sun comes up, the sun goes down, and each day that passes between is exactly as it is meant to be. Everything here is perfectly… pleasant.

My name is Marty Perkins and I live at house number 24 on Sun Lane. My yard is the same shade of green as house number 23 and house number 25. It’s the same shade of green as all 100 yards in Pleasantville. The town was a tiny patch of perfection misplaced in the center of a long, vast desert.

My eyes flickered open to see the same 3-blade fan as always. It was whirring away lazily above me. Sun was creeping in through the white tulle curtains. It was 7 A.M. and I was already hungry. I yawned, squishing my eyes shut, as I sat up and swung my legs over the bed.

Each morning was the same: I woke up in my orange pajamas and went downstairs to eat breakfast before I left for my daily activities. On Sundays and Wednesdays breakfast was eggs, bacon, and toast. Mondays and Thursdays were omelets and fruit. The other days were cereal. Today was Sunday.

My eyes slowly fluttered open to see black pajamas cascading down my legs. I gasped audibly, jerking and falling off of the bed. I clawed at the satin as if it was poison consuming my flesh. Quickly I slipped out of the drawers and tore off the button-up, sending black buttons clattering across the hard floor.

I slid back against the wall, huddling around myself with ragged breath and a dreadfully fast heartbeat, and stared at the pile of dark cloth.

Dark. Like death, like filth. Dark like a bad omen or an unlucky cloud. I felt light-headed.

Suddenly, a ding echoed through the house and startled another yelp from me. I stared at the pajamas laying lifelessly a few feet from my naked body. Another ding rang out and my gaze jerked up toward the front of the house.

“Mr. Perkins!” a muffled voice called. “Mr. Perkins, it’s Madison. Are you okay, Marty,” they persisted.

I scrambled to my feet and yanked the accordion closet doors so hard that they nearly came off track. In my closet hung all identical outfits in black as well.

“What,” I breathed as I furrowed my brow in fear and confusion. “No, no, no, no. What’s happening, this isn’t right. Something’s not right,” I whispered. I angrily tore back and forth through the array of black cable knit sweaters.

“Mr. Perkins, Delby Madison here. Is everything alright?” the voice called louder.

Again my attention snapped toward the front of the house, as if I could see through the walls. I could hear my heart drumming away in my ears.

I tripped into the bathroom and snagged a towel from the rack to wrap around myself, then raced to the front door praying that the lie I was cooking up on the spot was convincing enough.

Without pausing, I yanked the door open a few inches, tucking my body behind it.

On the other side was a translucently pale man with pinkish lips. His saucer eyes were like deep vats of oil staring back at me under a creased brow. His dark hair was slicked over to the side in a flat single-ply of greasiness.

“Mr. Madison, what a surprise,” I breathed, trying to calm my anxiety. “Marty, where are your clothes?” Delby asked. I blinked a few times. “You’ve caught me in the middle of a shower,” I lied. Delby inspected for a moment before saying, “Your hair is dry.”

The sweat in my palm was making it increasingly difficult to hold the doorknob as tight.

“In the middle of getting into the shower, I mean,” I stumbled over the words. Delby’s dark eyes darted away as his expression changed. “Right, well, I’m here to do your monthly inspection,” he explained matter-of-factly.

“I was last month’s inspection,” I rebutted. Delby’s porcelain face crunched in disdain. “And you’re this month’s as well,” he enunciated each word deliberately.

Realizing I couldn’t avoid this, I nodded quickly and opened the door further. “Sure, sure, yeah,” I stuttered, “I just need to finish my shower so I’m on time for today.” Delby nodded. His hair stayed put as if it was painted on top of his head. His crisp blue suit lay against his tiny frame without a single crease or stray string. “That’s fine, I can do this while you do that,” he said as he pulled a pad of paper from his thin briefcase.

I scurried back into the bedroom and practically slammed the door. The pile of sin still lay in the floor like a corpse. I scooped them up hesitantly as if they would burst into flames at any moment. Quickly, I dove into the bathroom and kicked the door shut.

I flipped the water on in the shower and turned circles in the small bathroom. There was a white pedestal sink, a mirror, a toilet, a shower, and a towel rack. There were no hiding spots. I turned around and around, my world quietly imploding.

Suddenly my gaze fell on the towels: The six remaining ones were rolled and slid into a vertically mounted rack. I ripped one off the wall and unrolled it. Carefully, I folded the pants until they lay flush on the towel in the floor, then I quickly twisted the towel back into it’s original roll.

I could hear Delby clamoring through the small house. In no time he would be in my bedroom, needing to look in the bathroom, and I didn’t have a change of clothes.

I ripped a second towel from the rack and did the same for the dastardly button-up. I stuffed both of them back into the rack.

I smiled for just a moment, a quick tug of the corners of my mouth. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it would be fine. After all, inspectors didn’t open closets or cabinets. They just ensured the quality of your furniture and house structure, and they made sure you didn’t have any pets. They couldn’t have anything out of place.

They certainly couldn’t have whatever was going on in my house.

I heard a knock at the bedroom door and froze. Beads of sweat formed. I yanked the shower door open and yelled, “Just a minute,” as I twirled in the water twice and shut it off. I wrapped myself in my towel again and opened the bathroom door. Delby had already came into the bedroom as was looking closely at the pillowcases.

“Oh, what’s this,” he said quietly. My skin prickled under the cold water beads as I stood silently locked on him. He leaned in another inch and then stood up and looked at me. I stared at him. His dark eyes didn’t blink.

“How long has your blanket had that hole in it?” Delby asked without moving. “Hole?” I murmured in confusion. Delby looked down at the pale blue comforter for a moment. “Yes, this little hole,” he finally said as he stared down at it. “O…oh, I don’t know, I guess,” I replied emptily. My head was spinning, my heart was still racing, and I couldn’t tell if I was covered in shower water or sweat.

“Don’t hesitate to report these things, Marty. I know you’ve only been here six months, but a report is never a burden,” Delby said as his finger gently poked at the blanket. “I’ll have a new one mailed to you today,” he added flatly.

I watched him as he glared down at the blanket for too many seconds. His gaze flickered to me again. He walked toward me in a quiet saunter, his oily eyes darting between mine as he approached. His skin was that of a sick Victorian child and he smelled like paper and cheap cologne. I blinked slowly, gazing down at him. He looked beyond me, into the bathroom, scanning the tiny area twice. He stepped back.

“Well, Mr. Perkins, I do believe that everything is in order… Save for that mess of a comforter. But we will get that taken care of,” Delby said slowly as he surveyed the bedroom once more. “I guess I’ll be on my way,” he added.

Delby took only three steps before turning around quickly. His eyes ran up and down me once before his mouth creased downward. “Mr. Perkins, I encourage you to remember that there is a schedule to keep here. Get dressed,” he said clearly. I nodded quickly, clutching tighter at the towel.

That had worked. Nobody knew that I’d woken up in the pajamas of doom, and Delby Madison didn’t know that they there hidden in my towels just two feet away from him. I had pulled it off. My heart began to beat slower, becoming a tired, heavy thud inside my chest. I could feel my lungs unclench and the sweat begin to dry on my forehead.

Delby’s shoe made a small clack and he stopped slowly. His gaze lowered as he moved his foot and bent down to retrieve something from the ground. He returned to his rigid posture without turning to face me. Seconds felt like lifetimes as the silence grew to be deafening.

“Delby, is something wrong?” I asked. He remained facing away for a few more seconds before he slowly turned to face me. His slick, dark eyes locked onto me like a predator’s on prey, calculating and almost hungry. My skin grew cold under his glare. Neither of us spoke as we stared at one another.

“I don’t know, Marty,” Delby said and he raised his hand. “You tell me,” he whispered as his eyes fell to the object he was holding.

Between his thumb and index fingers was a tiny, black button.

His gaze flickered back to me before mine returned to him. Sheer terror crawled down my veins. There was no way out of this situation or this house. I sad trapped, naked at that. I stared at the tiny button as Delby’s gaze burned holes through me. It was so ordinary yet so atrociously placed in a world it didn’t belong in.

Just like me.