T.DOGS
First final paper...the teacher didn't like it...darkish/gray humor...
The Dangers of Graduate Studies
Enter Mark Phillips, a graduate student, a self-proclaimed genius, a man on a mission and a misguided fool. The place he entered was the office of Agueda Matthews, his advisor, where he found her slumped over her work. Matthews worked hard, she enjoyed it; she honestly lived for it. She was a simple woman, with simple needs: peace, quiet and a competent assistant.
“Mrs. Matthews!” interrupted Phillips.
The older woman sighed, abandoning her work station or the moment. She knew that if she didn’t give him her complete attention, the man would never leave. “How may I help you Mark?”
“I need a more challenging thesis subject, ”he started “the subject that was suggested to me has been researched and written about before, five years ago at this very university as a matter of fact! ”
Matthews slid down onto a chair, knowing a long and tedious discussion was about to take place. Phillips was well known among the faculty members, with his perfect grades and numerous studies. He assisted many of the college’s professors with their lectures and research and of course, he was involved in at least five different community service organizations. These qualities made the professors constantly vie for use of his abilities sometimes using methods that would not be fair in a bar fight. Phillips knew it; it was this knowledge that made him so incredibly unbearable to Matthews, who had to deal with him constantly.
“I believe that as an essential member of this college, I deserve a ground breaking paper. We both know that I am the only graduate student talented enough to bring this college into the spotlight.” ended Phillips.
It was most likely this sentence that broke Matthews; in her mind she stabbed him repeatedly with a ruler. In reality, she opened her mouth and destroyed the rest of his life: “Here’s a topic that might interest you…”
~~
Phillips ran to his shared-not for long if he had a say in it-office. There he found the most undeserving of his so-called rivals, John Peters, who was sleeping in that annoyingly unambitious way that only he could manage. Phillips took great pleasure in slamming the door and startling the other man out of his sleep. Peters looked around and blinked stupidly before realizing that Phillips was there. He picked up his glasses and placed them on his nose, but then took them back off when he realized that he had slept on them and they were now quite crooked.
“Hey dude, how’s it going?” he mumbled while taking on the daunting task of straightening his glasses.
“I’m going to change our world and shake its foundations,” Phillips explained, “My thesis is going to be so ground breaking that they won’t be able to find the fragments. This thesis-”
“Is kick ass then?” interrupted Peters absentmindedly, completely engrossed with his glasses, “Congrats.”
Phillips stopped talking, and glared at Peters who remained oblivious to the atmosphere in the room. Phillips had this recurring nightmare in which he and Peters ended up with their names linked to each other for all times like so much Marsh and Cope. He shuddered and muttered a under his breath as he picked up his belongings. The last thing he heard as he left the room was a soft gasp and the sharp crack of glasses breaking in half.
~~
A month later Phillips was on a plane heading towards Spain, to “Find the origins of the Vascos of Spain”. His thesis was not going the way he had planned. The university library had literally nothing on the Vascos . There was a book listed on the library catalogue about them, but it had been checked out.
“Fifteen-frickin’-years-ago!” he had exclaimed upon finding out, much to the librarian’s displeasure.
He asked around but there was no record of who took the book or why. That’s when he decided to go straight to the source.
**
The college had held a little bash commemorating the foundation of the university. At the event, faculty had asked him to go up to the podium and say a few words. At the announcement of his thesis subject and upcoming trip there was silence. As one, the professors in attendance turned accusing eyes towards Matthews, who shrugged and downed the contents of her wine glass. The rest of the night was a blur of handshakes and good luck wishes for Phillips. As they said their goodbyes, the professors gave him a look of pity, which he mistook for respect. That was when he decided he had made the right choice.
**
He felt travelling to Spain wasn’t a bad idea; it gave his paper a romantic background, going into a foreign country fraught with danger. Well, not exactly fraught per se, but Phillips was sure that it was at least more dangerous than where he was from.
~~
Some hours later, too many, if you asked Phillips, he arrived at one of the international airports in Madrid. After spending a ridiculous amount of hours in customs-really, how was he a threat?- he began his search for the man who the university had recommended. When he finally found the sign with his name written on it, spelled wrong, he realized that someone had lied to him.
“Welcome to Spain? I am Luke Henries?” This wasn’t a Luke Henries at all; this was a small nervous-looking Spanish middle-aged man. “It is a pleasure meeting you? If you come I will take you to the place that was arranged for you?” A Lucas maybe, but no Luke. Phillips plastered his work smile and shook the man’s hand. But, as they left the airport, he couldn’t help but wonder why the man spoke in questions.
~~
For the next few days Phillips decided to do the tourist thing and file it under ‘local background’ for his research. Before he knew it, three weeks of utter madness had passed and he hadn’t touched a paper that wasn’t a phone number or a bar receipt. One day he woke up with the worst hangover yet and decided that enough was enough. That night he gathered his materials and decided to start with the most obvious choice for his research.
“Henries?! Henries! I’m in the living room! I need to speak to you,” he shouted as he took a seat by the window. He peeked through the curtains and saw nothing but fog. He imagined that there were people out there lost and confused, and the little light that streamed from the crack he made in the curtain was their only hope of finding their way. To him, it represented the power that his knowledge and education he allowed him to wield over the simple masses that milled around outside; they see only what he allowed them to see and be thankful for it.
“Yes Mr Phillips? There was something you needed?”
Phillips jumped as Henries, once more, ninja-ed himself to appear beside him. He’d swear the man did it on purpose. He also had a way of saying “mister” that made it obvious that he was using the conjunction. Without a period.
“Sit. First, I want you to arrange transport to Pais Vasco for week after next. Also I need you to answer some que- Where are you going?”
“To arrange transport? Sir said that?”
“No, I mean yes, but not now.”
“Not first then?”
“No, not first. First-Sit Down!-First, answer some questions, then arrange transport.”
Honestly, to Henries, this man made no sense. Why would he say first when he did not mean first but second? Is this that slang thing that those young people use?
“Henries! Are you listening?”
“Yes?”
“Talk clearly so that you can be recorded, understood?”
“Understood?”
Phillips clicked on his recorder and sat back. “State your name and where you are from.”
“My name is Luke Henries? I am from Zaragoza? We are called maños?”
“That’s nice. I heard you had some descendant that was from Pais Vasco?”
“She was my great-great-great-great grandmother? She disappeared after having my great-great-great grandfather?”
“So then you should have some knowledge of the place, tell me everything you know.”
“The people there? They are aliens?”
“Haha, funny.” said Phillips rolling his eyes.
“Why?”
Silence fell between the two men and neither made a move to help it up. Phillips couldn’t help but wonder why the man before him wasn’t laughing; the statement he had made was so ridiculous it should be laughed at. Henries looked at the man before him and wondered exactly what he had agreed to in the first place, what exactly was this Phillips man planning.
“Why would you say that?” they both knew what he was asking about.
“Because it is the truth.”
~~
Phillips thinks he’s doing something wrong. Part of how he had envisioned his thesis being created was by collecting oral histories. He thought that by showing how little the people that lived beside the Vascos knew, it would make his findings all the more remarkable. The problem was that no one took him seriously. They obviously didn’t know who he was; otherwise, they would most definitely be more cooperative. So far, all he had gotten was the most ridiculous, far-fetched stories of who the Vascos were and where they came from. He was in the room formerly known as the living room, now known as the office, with a glass of brandy dangling from his hand. He was the very portrait of a wretched man cursed by the stupidity and jealousy of those around him. At least that was how he saw himself; to Henries, who poked his head into the room every so often, Phillips looked like a picture he had seen somewhere-probably online- of a primadonna. The way he was splayed across the sofa with his head thrown back over the armrest and an arm over his eyes, Henries could have sworn he had seen it somewhere. This was probably going to bother him all day.
Henries had already left by the time Phillips gathered the strength to sit up. He sighed as he pulled the recorder out of his bag and placed it on the table. After staring it down, willing it to play something different that what he knew to be there, he pressed play.
“My name is Monica de Cabeza.” A with murmuring in the back ground. “The Vascos? Well, my great-great grandmother heard this from a person who lived in Cantabria, that person’s ancestor was there when they appeared.” Murmuring. ”I don’t know when! They just appeared. Like I was saying, the ancestor saw them come and they were huge bats that were carrying wolves meanwhile they flew in the sky- What? ” Murmur. “Everyone knows that the Vascos are werewolves and vampires. Like I was going, when they woke the next morning the town of the Vascos were already there and….”
Phillips growled and pressed fast forward.
“-Juan de las Casas.” Murmur. “The Vascos are descendants of the lost city of Atlantis. They swam to the Peninsula and then flew up the Cantrabric Mountain Range. ” Murmur. “No, no they just say that they can’t fly but they are liars.”
Fast forward
“-Matadero.”Murmur. “Vascos eh? Well when I was in school we all learned that they were the descendants of the Aztecs or Incans…or was it the Mayans. Juana! What was it again?!”
Another voice came out. “What?”
“The Vascos?!”
“What?”
“You know that thing! The thing with-”
Fast forward.
“Like the corn women of North American Native American People, you know the ones from there? Or maybe like the Greek or Roman Titans that are from there you know? They totally sprung out of the ground. Like the-”
Fast forward.
“-Vesuvius exploded-
Fast forward
“-Egyptian priests with the power to see the future, ran away during the whole Anthony Cleopatra thing…” Murmurr. “Well…they traveled back in time also-”
“The sons and daughters of Hercules, they were born from his testicles that were cut off by Icarus; but it was okay because they grew back larger, more powerful and in greater quantities-!”
Fast forward
“Dinosaur eggs…-” Sobs.
He reached over and stopped the tape. Placing his now empty glass on the floor, he picked up the sheaf of papers that Henries had gotten from the National library. This was all the information that they had on the Vascos. Would someone please explain to him why he only had five sheets of paper in his hands? And why were they all one sided? He skimmed through the paper and found out that a brief summary would consist of how San Juan de Compostela did his utmost to go around Pais Vasco without touching it during his evangelization of Spain, that they have been trying to become their own country as soon as they had been informed they were now part of Spain (thus the formation of ETA), and that they have their own mysterious made up language, Erudski (which explains why ETA is called ETA and not Euskadi Ta Askatasuna). It turned out their language is not genealogically linked to any other language on the planet (the alien theory made its way into his head at this point), and they are thought to have some sort of connection to some Europeans from the Mesolithic period. Phillips sat back and thought about maybe getting drunk; for some reason he couldn’t get the thought of Hercules’ privates being so hydra-like.
~~
The following weekend, Phillips and Henries were on a bus heading towards the border of Pais Vasco. It had been 8AM when they had left yesterday, it was 8AM once more. Phillips wanted off. Henries had insisted that a bus was the best and safest way to get there; Phillips found that to be true when he was unceremoniously ordered out of the bus by some large men with equally large guns. After they were back in the safety of the bus and moving at a acceptable speed, Phillips complained loudly to Henries about how in this country they allowed such treatment to the respectable people who visited; he was still in Spain, why should he have to be manhandled (searched) or have his privacy invaded (his passport was checked). Henries gave him a look that said “Really? Really?!” and softly remarked about how Phillips was right, that they had no reason to check the people who were going into a terrorist location of their free will. The rest of the ride was enjoyably silent.
~~
They stopped in Bilbao for a few days and went to the Gugenheim. Phillips couldn’t help but wonder, if they’re only three in the world then why one in Pais Vasco? When he asked, Henries he gave him a look and after a minute just shrugged.
~~
Phillips found that the Vascos talk even less about themselves than the rest of the Spain did. Than the rest of the world did, even. Phillips was in trouble. Where did Henries wander off to anyways?
~~
What the hell is wrong with these people?! Where the hell is Henries?!
~~
Cell phone:
First new message BEEP “-Yo dude it’s Peters, how’s your kick ass thesisis going?-coming? whatever along? I was calling because I wasss…no I am drunk cuzremember that proprosal-pro-po-sal? The one I ‘skedd you to join three no wait….yeah three or was it five yeah…five years ago. Hum? What was I sayin’? Hello? Oh yeah it’s the machine well- ” End of first new message.
Second new message BEEP “Yeah so I submitted it and I got a six-digit grant! Man, dude isn’t that fucking awesome?! Woah I need to throw up… ” End of new messages BEEP
~~
Phillips was being very quiet.
~~
First new message BEEP “Hello, this is Henries?” Crashing in the background. “Luke Henries, Mr Mark Phillips’ assistant in Spain?” A roar.”Mrs Matthews, I believe he has gone- as the young people would say- batshit. Please conn-beepbeepbeep.” End of new messages BEEP
“Oh Crap.”
~~
Exit Mark Phillips, a broken man, a quiet man, a wiser man, from a gate at the International Airport. He had no mission, he was lost; it felt like it had been years when it had actually only been eight months.
“Dude over here!” It was Peters. He seemed so much bigger than Mark remembered. Yes, he was just Mark now. “Hah, you look like crap,” he said in his usual absentminded manner. They got into Peters’ car and it was a quiet ride; awkward for Mark and just quiet for Peters. When they finally got to Mark’s apartment, Peters drove off, without a backward glance at the man who stood on the side of the road looking at him, and regretting it all.
~~
Henries scanned the international newspaper article that he had found online.
Graduate Student Found Missing
Mark Phillips has been missing for the past week and a half.
He was last seen by a peer of his same college, Mr. John Peters
Who picked him up from the airport. If anyone has any
Information about Phillips please….
Henries sat back with a sigh. He wasn’t surprised; eventually, they’ll find the body or what remained of it, call it a suicide and then move on. It was ridiculous how easily deceived people were . He looked back at the article.
“How can one be missing if they are found? Honestly, the English language makes no sense.”