So, at around 119,000 words, I realized Mason Fowlkes was a pivotal cast member with a relatable story. Oops. Time to shuffle chapters and fill in backstory. It's therapy, for both of us. Maroli Tango, in progress.
Community Resources was headquartered on Residential Deck 5 (RD-5). Day care. Classrooms. Crafts center. Fitness center. Jump Ball court. Thrift Exchange. Library. Meeting rooms. Etcetera.
There resided the Family Services department, under the direction of the distinguished Anye Samudri elder Brian Lama, no relation to Dalai Lama, although possessing similar bearing and rectitude.
At 11:10 AM, Mr. Lama shambled into Meeting Room 3 to find Mason Fowlkes, Erin Fowlkes, Mason’s co-worker Sheila, Chester the maroli, Colonel Theodore Clarke, Brandon Lopez, Carmen Benequista, Russell and Nancy Torrance, and Pascal the maroli, discussing Chester’s narrow escape from disaster.
Sheila explained the outcome by saying, “We only have a couple of guys who know how to solve problems the old-fashioned way. Mason’s one of them.”
Nancy Torrance asked, “Is that how he got hired into your department?”
“It’s ostensibly vocational rehab. Didn’t know anything about him. Would have taken him no matter what.” Sheila cracked a smile. “The thing we noticed was that he’s short, skinny and strong.”
The meeting was informal. Everyone stayed on their feet. The maroli Chester and Pascal helped themselves to flexi-straws and juice boxes, retiring to a corner for a gossip fest.
Carmen Benequista introduced herself to Mason’s co-worker Sheila, saying, “If I was Anye, I’d want to be Iravat.”
Sheila replied, “There’s a line in a famous opera about the Change. The hero tells the villain Vikara: ‘If I must become my hairy ancestor, at least let me be Iravat.’”
Brian Lama gave Carmen a toothy grin. “You’re not too bad-looking the way you are.”
Carmen batted eyelashes. “I thought Samudri were supposed to be fierce.”
“That was a long time ago.” Brian nodded at Nancy Torrance. “May I inquire as to your connection with our young man?”
Nancy dragged Mason alongside her. “When his sister Erin started first grade, the parents told him he had to take over as primary caregiver. He was eleven, didn’t like the idea, and tried to wiggle out by pretending to be inadequate to the task.”
Mason said, “I was too dumb to realize I wasn’t being mistreated.”
“You’re too kind to your parents.” She looped arms with him. “His mother came to my office, said her son must be ADHD because he can’t follow instructions, and asked me to prescribe drugs.”
Mason rocked his head. “You never told me that part.”
“I couldn’t, but do you remember what I did tell you, right out of the gate?”
He nodded. “That I had no power, and the person who’d get hurt the worst would be Erin.”
Brian took Mason’s other side. “You’re a social worker?”
“Clinical psychologist, on contract to the school system. Mason was semi-regular in my office until August last year.” Nancy patted Mason on the back. “I’ve been replaced. We can be friends now, okay?”
Mason sighed. “Thank you for everything you did for me. I cannot tell you what a difference it made.”
Brian lifted his chin at her. “First day we met, I said, ‘Listen up, kid. We’re going to get you away from your parents for a while.’”
Nancy thumped Brian on the shoulder. “Good for you. Just what he needed.”
Colonel Clarke elbowed his way in. “So, Brian, what are we doing?”
Brian fixed Ted Clarke with a solemn stare. “I’m turning him loose, and you’re promising to continue my good work.”
Clarke gripped his hand. “Not a problem. We got this.”
John Dyer Writes 
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