The Elephant

A pit of shame welled up inside Dillon. He already knew how his parents would react to the news, but this wasn’t something that he could keep from them. Bracing himself, he went to the kitchen to find his mother first. Mrs. Berenger was getting the sauce ready for her husband’s favorite gator ribs before the start of the game.

“Dillon, what is it? I’m busy. Why aren’t you at the mill?” she asked without looking at him.

“They let me go, Ma.”

Shaking her head, Dillon’s mother turned her back on him to put the ribs in the oven. It seemed to him that she closed it with a little more force than normal.

“Go tell your father,” she ordered.

The interaction with his mother didn’t ease Dillon’s anxiousness for how his father would react. With a beer in his hand and several empty cans on the coffee table in front of him, Mr. Berenger sat comfortably reclined in his chair with the television close to full volume. Dillon maneuvered around the living room in order to approach his father from the front, taking special care not to block his view of the tv.

“The game is on, boy,” Mr. Berenger barked.

“I was fired today, dad.”

Dillon could see the fire ignite in his father’s eyes as he clumsily sat up.

“It wasn’t my fault, they…”

This made his father even more angry, and he shut his son up with a slap to the face.

“Listen to me, boy. You’re eighteen. You’ve graduated already. You’re supposed to be out of our house by now. What is wrong with you? Are you stupid or something? Do you want mommy and daddy to take care of you forever? Because that sure as hell isn’t going to happen. By your age I was married to your mom with you on the way, do you understand me?”

“Yes, dad.”

“Good, because I sure as hell don’t understand you. Your generation just doesn’t want to work for anything. I’ve had the same job for 20 years, breaking my back. I bought this house the day I proposed to your momma. Now, I’ve had enough of this. You’ve got until the end of summer to be an adult and get out of our house or we’re kicking you out.”

“Yes, dad.”

“Lazy little bastard. Thinks mommy and daddy will waste their lives on him,” his father whispered under his breath, turning back to the television.

Dillon retreated out of the living room, knowing well enough to look like he’d just been scolded, and left out the back door. It was an exceptionally warm and sunny afternoon for November in Pensacola, but the breeze from the bay kept Dillon from sweating too much in his long-sleeve work shirt. It was a short drive to the zoo, where he bypassed the admissions counter with his year-long pass and headed directly to the elephant exhibit.

There were three of them altogether, eating hay out of the hanging baskets when he arrived. Each one slowly, carefully, managed their way around the feeding stations with their ears drooping and their sad eyes focused on their meal. Despite their size, the animals couldn’t look any less menacing. Children gathered around, dragging their parents along and pointing with excitement. Dillon stood in the back of the small viewing area, watching and waiting.

When he arrived back home, his father was passed out in the exact same spot Dillon had left him several hours ago with the television still blaring, but Dillon and his mother had learned to never mess with the tv while Mr. Berenger was watching it. The final football game had just finished, and the sound of the late-night news permeated throughout the house. Immigrants, corruption, diversity, war, and artificial intelligence were all topics of discussion for the first segment.

Dillon went straight to his bedroom and collapsed onto his bed. He knew that if his father ever saw him crying that he would beat the tears out of him, but he doubted that his father would leave the living room until morning. With the lights on, Dillon entered a state of detachment and let the exhaustion carry him off to sleep.

*

His heart hurt when he jolted awake in the early morning. It was the same dream he had been having for months and Dillon had reached the point of just living with the momentary terror, even though he had tried desperately to make them stop in the beginning. Unable to go back to sleep, he decided to show his parents how serious he was about finding work and went to the kitchen table (where the family computer was stationed) to look for job openings.

Mrs. Berenger was the next to begin their day, performing her ritual of making Mr. Berenger breakfast before work. She assumed Dillon was busy and went about her duty with minimal acknowledgment of his presence. Shortly after the bacon started sizzling, Mr. Berenger took his place at the table. Dillon and his mother could tell it was going to be a rough day.

“Is there any extra?” Dillon asked after Mrs. Berenger sat down.

“Oh, no,” she replied, “sorry, I’m not used to you being up this early.”

Mr. Berenger started to wake up after a few sips of coffee and noticed that his son was with them.

“You kids can’t stay off your damn social media,” he said with a mouth full of eggs, gesturing to the computer with his fork, “If you put as much effort into anything other than playing around online, you might make something of yourself. You know there’s an actual world out here, right? These damn computers are killing society. The liberals are using them track all of us and control us after we stop thinking for ourselves. That’s real, boy. They’re taking away our guns so that no one can fight back, but I’m not letting them control me, ever.”

“Yes, dad.”

Mr. Berenger finished his breakfast and, before leaving, called Dillon over to him.

“Listen, son. I know I was tough on you, but me and your ma want wants best for you and if that means being tough then we’re gonna be tough, you understand? Now, do what you’re supposed to today and no messing around. Love ya, son.”

“Yes, dad. Love you, too.”

After his father left, Dillon went back to the computer and posted a question on his social media account. Several hours later, there was a reply. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed the number he had in his contacts list.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” his friend, Jake, answered.

“Hey, it’s good. Thank you for responding to my post. You said you know somewhere that’s hiring?”

“Yeah, I was actually just promoted to landscaping manager, so I get to bring in pretty much anybody I want depending on the background check. The job is tough. It’s early mornings, being outside in the sun all day, and a lot of physically demanding stuff, but as long as you’re clean we can have you starting in about a week or two.”

Dillon held back his excitement. There was still one obstacle that would impact whether he could accept the offer.

“Thanks, man,” he said, “the job is in Tallahassee, right? Do you know any good places to stay out there?”

Jake told him that he was in luck. His roommate would be moving out at the end of the month, leaving an open spot for Dillon to move into. He couldn’t believe how perfectly everything worked out and thanked Jake profusely for all that he was doing for him. They ended the call and Dillon decided to tell both his parents that night when his father returned.

Mr. Berenger was never this late. Sometimes he would stop at the store or run an errand on the way home, however he was usually starving and hurried back to his wife’s cooking. Dillon anxiously looked out the window. Mrs. Berenger, unhappy that the food was getting cold, called her husband’s cell phone only to be sent straight to voicemail. They both sat on the couch and wondered how long they should wait before getting too worried when there was a loud knock on the front door.

Two police officers solemnly introduced themselves to Mrs. Berenger before one of them explained what was happening.

“We’re sorry, ma’am, there’s been an accident…”

Dillon listened in the background, unable to accept the bombardment of information being heaped upon him. Drove off a bridge? How? Why? The officers told the family that they were still gathering information, but witnesses said he was driving erratically before going over. They apologized one more time and left the family to anguish in their newly gained grief. When Dillon was finally able to sleep, the nightmare came to him more vividly than he had ever experienced.

*

Details of his father’s final day streamed in over the next few days. The news reported that Roger Berenger, thirty-six, of Pensacola, had a blood alcohol concentration of .24 when he went over the railing on Pensacola Bay Bridge (and thank goodness no one else was harmed). The husband and father of one had reportedly lost his job earlier in the day. Police are investigating this as an accident and do not suspect foul play. If you or anyone you know is experiencing symptoms of depression, please reach out to the phone number listed on the screen.

The wake took place at the Berenger household the next weekend with some of Mr. Berenger’s coworkers in attendance. They told stories, some funny, some sentimental, while Dillon accepted the condolences of extended family members. The construction workers took their small group outside for a quick smoke while Dillon pretended not to eavesdrop. There, the mood switched to loosely constrained anger.

“It was that damn company that did it. They think they’re so smart and making things better, but they’re destroying people’s lives. How long before everyone is out of the job and we let computers do everything? Roger would still be alive if he didn’t get replaced by those machines from hell,” the man speaking had introduced himself to Dillon earlier as Kevin and said he was one of his father’s good work buddies, “did you know that they’ve already had issues? Up in Asheville. One of them malfunctioned and drove into the middle of the highway. I think people are still in the hospital. This AI stuff has gone too far. To hell with Packyderm and everyone who works for them.”

Packyderm. Dillon felt a pain in his chest and suddenly struggled to breathe. He excused himself to his room and typed the company name into his phone. They were an artificial intelligence company that specialized in construction equipment, specifically the transportation of dirt, concrete, and other heavy debris. Their logo – an elephant with an excavator arm and claw in the place of a trunk. For an instance, the room spun too quickly for Dillon to handle, and he fainted onto his bed.

Dillon recognized the darkness. He felt confined, and in his confinement, completely vulnerable. There was movement in the distance. As it approached, the first thing Dillon could see was its tusks, massive and sharp. The angry eyes transfixed on his own. Each step reverberated throughout Dillon’s being, turning into a constant tremor as the elephant began to charge. With nowhere to escape, Dillon watched in horror until the last thing he saw was a tusk thrusting towards his face.

His mother asked him if he was okay when she entered the bedroom to find Dillon breathing heavily. He nodded. The rest of the day was a blur for him as his thoughts were elsewhere. The other funeral attendees noticed his lack of presence, but it was understandable to them. They couldn’t fathom how he would be affected or might react to the loss of his father.

*

Dillon didn’t take the job in Tallahassee. He had told his friend, who was sympathetic, that he needed some time and that he didn’t want to leave his mother by herself under the circumstances. This was partially true. The anger inside of him had begun to manifest itself into a plan and there were people that still needed to face justice for what had happened to his father.

He left in the middle of the night, driving north on mostly empty roads. When he reached his destination, the sun was beginning to rise over the business buildings in downtown Huntsville and Dillon parked his car in the garage across from Packyderm headquarters. Gradually, more cars filed in before the start of the workday. It was time.

The structure went up in a storm of fire as Dillon ran to a safe distance to watch. He had done his best to swiftly block the exits before leaving the building, but as each floor became engulfed, a small stream of people had managed to escape. By the time the fire department had arrived, anybody who remained in the building would have already been lost. As the screams and flames subsided, Dillon returned to his car and began the long drive home. He was taken into custody before he could get past Birmingham.

At trial, Dillon did not apologize or show remorse for the eighty-four lives lost, but he was disappointed that the CEO was not one of them, ensuring that Packyderm would live on. There was more than enough video evidence and witness testimony for the jury to convict Dillon of every crime committed. The judge passed the sentence that Dillon Berenger would be executed by the state of Alabama.

Twelve years passed of Dillon living in Holman Correctional Facility. Twelve years of prison fights, twelve years of awful food, and twelve years of the same dream over and over and over again until his date of death was set. On September 1, just after his last meal of gator ribs, Dillon sat on his bed staring through the jail cell bars as one prison guard approached to escort him to the execution chamber. He was a large man, not particularly fit, but definitely strong, though Dillon was more concentrated on what the man was wearing. It became clearer as the turnkey marched closer - an old crimson hat - and Dillon reactively cowered in the back of the cell. Centered in the middle of this hat was the head of an angry elephant.