Car Number Eight

Brought to you by Lemgo

Bob: Folks, if you're just tuning in, we are in Car Number Eight with Mallory. Not off to a great start, albeit not surprising considering last night. 

Mo: That’s right, Bob, last night was certainly one for the books, and—what's that? They’re telling me we have footage. Let’s cut to that right now, to the shot of Mallory on the patio, with not one, but TWO drinks in hand. 

Bob: Double-fisting they call that. 

Mo: Double-fisting indeed, and can we get a closeup on the eyes? The squinted lids. The nodding head. And just look at that stance. 

Bob: Classic sway. 

Mo: Classic. And how about that slurred speech? Barely can make out the babble, but the producers are confirming that Mallory is in fact saying, “Come here often?” Let’s pan out to see who the lucky fellow is and—OH!

Bob: Oh is right, Mo! We’ve all heard of beer goggles, but how about beer blindfolds because, for the listening folks out there, we hate to break it to you, but the object of our dear Mallory’s desire is a tree. 

Mo: A Paperbark Maple, in fact, Bob, and based on the results of Mallory's Threshold Test, she is going to regret THAT in the morning. 

Bob: As old Bagheera would say, it is morning now, Baloo…And here’s Mallory with the eye rub. The fluttering of the eyelids. Ut-oh. Looks like somebody’s eyes are crusted shut. My mother used to say we had sleep in our eyes. Did your mother used to say that, Mo? 

Mo: Our mother called it goobers.

Bob: Goobers, huh? Well, eating that blue box of theater candy will never be quite the same now, but we'll forgive you this time, Mo, haha, alright folks, grab your bag of Twizzlers or a bowl of Jiffy Pop because Mallory is BACK in action with one foot on the floor. Now the other. Her head turning from side to side. 

Mo: She’s taking in her surroundings. The narrow room. The patterned wallpaper. 

Bob: There’s the second eye rub. The attempt to stand, but—TOO FAST, and she’s DOWN, back down on the edge of the bed with her head cradled in her hands. 

Mo: Right now, Bob, what Mallory is experiencing is both physical and psychological. Her brain is screaming, Water! But is at the same time, also sort of shaming her with these little images, these faded snapshots if you will, from the night before. 

Bob: Reminds me of those...whaddayacallems, those, those, those…View-Masters! You remember those little red cameras, don't you, Mo? With the circle reels and the pull-down jobby.  

Mo: Well, Bob, it’s funny you put it that way because you’re exactly right; what’s knocking around in Mallory’s noggin this morning is snippets. Stereograms if you will, no bigger than a postage stamp. Can we pull up a handful of those? Here’s Slide One with double shots at the bar. Slide Two: A trip to the ATM. 

Bob: Ut-oh. Lookie there. What she’s left on the table. 

Mo: Exactly right, Bob. Her purse. Her drink. Both unattended. 

Bob: A big no-no. 

Mo: A big no-no indeed. And like clockwork, here comes Guy in Slide Three. Mid-twenties. Nice upper build. Could up his reps on the leg press machine, but couldn’t we all? 

Bob: We could. 

Mo: Overall he’s ranging a seven, maybe an eight, but—Oh boy. Wait a sec. Do you see that, Bob? 

Bob: Eesh. 

Mo: My thought exactly. Can we get a closeup on those socks with sandals? Can we get a split shot of Mallory as she processes this slide? 

Bob: The look on her face just says it all. 

Mo: It really does, Bob. This sort of wince as Mallory is remembering. Remembering Socks with Sandals escorting her to his car. Opening the passenger door. 

Bob: Not good.

Mo: Not good at all—But WAIT! Here's Slide Four with a possible reversal.

Bob: And still not a pretty picture. We're seeing chunks of spaghetti. Peaches possibly, just SMOTHERING that rear tire. And is that splatter on the socks?

Mo: It is, Bob, and a good reminder for all of us why socks with sandals is never a good idea. Onto Slide Five, and this one is just black. Slide Six: black. Slide Seven: black again.

Bob: We're in Car Eight with Mallory. Here come her eyebrows with the furrow. Here’s the, Hey…This isn’t my flat pillow. Here’s the, These aren’t my red satin sheets. The widening of the eyes. Mouth forming an O as she notices the lump under the topsheet! The sandals on the floor! The socks on the feet!

Mo: What Mallory is feeling right now, Bob, is panic. And the question is, what will she do with that adrenaline that is just beating against the inner walls of her veins? Will she use it to her advantage? Will she—

Bob: Oh! A table corner to the jawbone. Cover my biscuits in gravy, that has GOT to hurt. 

Mo: Let’s talk about the rest of her face. The mascara streaks running both down to her chin and, somehow, up to her hairline? The misshapen tank top. The missing pants. 

Bob: MALLORY, back on her feet again. Arms out and legs widened to the surfboard stance.  

Mo: The folks at home have got to be just shaking their fists right now. 

Bob: Mallory with the deer in headlights gawk as her eyes lock on Camera 1, Camera 2, Camera 3…Camera 4, and now to the monitor that is mounted on the center wall. And you know what that means, Mo? 

Mo: That’s right, Bob. Folks, what should Mallory do next? YOU. MUST. CHOOSE! Should she: 

A) Find a hiding spot before Socks with Sandals wakes up! 

B) Look through the bedside drawer. What’s this guy all about anyhow?

VOTE NOW!

Bob: While we're waiting for the results, this is Bob Banal, reminding you to give your loved ones the gift of release. Give them Lemgo. 

Mo: Thanks, Bob. Let’s go to the monitor in Car Number Eight for the results. 

RESULTS

A) Get out before Socks with Sandals wakes up! - 13%

B) Look through the bedside drawer for clues. What’s this guy all about anyhow? - 87%

Bob: Just an overwhelming majority on that one, Mo. 

Mo: Overwhelming, as is the look on Mallory’s face as she is just trying to get the gears turning, trying to process the results, the situation, the location…

Bob: An all-around WTF moment. 

Mo: On so many levels, Bob, and the BIGGER question here is, will she be able to move on? 

Bob: Mallory, making her way to the silver door on the far end of the car. Jiggling the handle. Now an about-face, and sprinting to the door at the other end of Car Eight to jiggle that handle.

Mo: Bob, she is hung over, she is confused. 

Bob: Disoriented. 

Mo: Disoriented to the point that she is not considering her surroundings, not registering the rumble beneath her feet. The clickety-clack. The choo-choo—

Bob: Folks, if you're just joining us, we are in Car Number Eight with Mallory. 

Mo: Mallory Renee Gibson, age twenty-three. English major.

Bob: Drinking minor.

Mo: Exactly right, Bob, and that’s the situation these young folks are finding themselves in these days. Not dealing with the emotions. Not facing the problems head-on, which is really what it's all about for Mallory right here, right now, and my fingers are just CROSSED that she will be able to get BACK on the right track, pun intended.

Bob: And will you look at that folks, Mallory's ears have just perked up, and she has just heard it. That little toot-toot from the train whistle has finally made it's way into her earlobe.

Mo: Ear canal, technically. 

Bob: Ear canal technically, and now her hands are feeling out the white device around her neck. Twisting the matching cuff around her wrist. Feeling for a clasp and not finding one. Mouthing the words, “What the...”

Mo: What’s interesting, Bob, is that we haven’t heard from Socks with Sandals. And the question that has got to be running through everyone’s mind right now is, why? 

Bob: MALLORY, running to the windows. Flinging the curtains aside. 

Mo: The look of realization on her face right now, as everything is just whizzing past. The cluster of Eastern White Pines. The yellow barn. The body of water. 

Bob: Mallory, banging her fists on the windows. Leaning into the pane for a scream.

Mo: That’s annealed glass, Bob. Resistant to impact. Reinforced. Laminated. 

Bob: Soundproof. 

Mo: Soundproof, Bob, which again, to point back to the lump under the sheets.

Bob: And there goes the flashing red on her wrist cuff, and you know what that means…

Mo: This is gonna hurt. 

Bob: Mallory, clutching the neck device. Dropping to her knees…Mouth ajar…And...the neck device is deadened and the wrist cuff is silent, and two more minutes has been added to the clock. Mallory up again. On her feet and inching toward the bed.

Mo: Look, Bob, she is desperate. A million questions are just pounding against her cranium. How did she get here. When is this train going to stop. And what is with this neck shocker and wrist thingy. She is clawing for answers, even if it means confronting Socks with Sandals... 

Bob: Mallory, peeling back the sheet. There’s Socks with Sandals, and—ut-oh, folks. This does not look good. 

Mo: It does not indeed, and in fact, along with Mallory, my own head is shaking from side to side right now, because Mallory is not going to get any help from this guy.

Bob: Not without a defibrillator she’s not—and there goes the end of another two minutes. The wrist cuff, flashing red. Another jolt to the neck, and OH—Mallory is ON HER KNEES again and this time, rolling onto her side. 

Mo: Her instinct is going to be to just lay there. To lie there? To lay there. And just sort of, curl up into the fetal position, but what she really needs to do right now is to dig deep. 

Bob: Mallory’s eyes back up to the screen. Now glancing at the drawer. Now darting to the screen. Back to the drawer. 

Mo: The folks at home have got to be just holding their breath.

Bob: She’s UP! She’s on her FEET! She’s SCRAMBLING to the bedside table! She’s OPENING the drawer! 

Mo: Truly, Bob, my heart is just smiling for her at this very moment. 

Bob: She’s looking inside the drawer. Can we get a close-up on the contents? A cell phone. A receipt. Folks, if you’re just tuning in, this is Mallory Gibson. Car Number Eight, and our producers are telling me that we have another poll. Mo?

Mo: Alright, folks, What should Mallory do next? YOU. MUST. CHOOSE! Should she: 

A) Pick up the cell phone.  

B) Eat the receipt. 

VOTE NOW!

Bob: This poll brought to you by Lemgo. Helping your loved ones let go of the past.

RESULTS 

A) Pick up the cell phone. - 74%

B) Eat the receipt. - 26%

Bob: Mallory, reaching for the cell phone. Pausing. Grasping the neck device. Glancing back at the monitor, quite possibly acknowledging the results as she picks up the cell phone. 

Mo: The question here is, will this hunk of metal be of any use?

Bob: Mallory, holding the phone in the air. Taking the phone to the window, holding it up to the glass.

Mo: There go the pine trees again. The yellow barn. 

Bob: The phone is ON THE FLOOR and Mallory is banging on the window, folks. She is banging and mouthing the word, Help! Help! 

Mo: A disappointment, for sure, but what Mallory is overlooking in this instant is the fact that she did NOT get a zap to the neck, she did NOT curl up on the floor, and once she is able to just take a deep breath and hone her focus where it needs to be, on the here, on the now, this will certainly come as a relief.

Bob: Speaking of the here and now, here is the sound of that familiar humming, and now up through the slot on the table here comes our first tray. 

Mo: What awaits under that lid, is the question of the moment, but the bigger question that all of us are wondering, and just hoping for Mallory’s sake that the answer will be yes, is will she will take the help that is being offered?

Bob: Mallory, glancing at the monitor again.

Mo: She's looking for reassurance, asking for approval, and this has just been a recurring theme throughout Mallory's life.  

Bob: Mallory with the fingers wrapping around the lid handle. Elbow pivoting to the side. And there's the steam from the plate.

Mo: This is exactly the break Mallory needed, Bob. The NOURISHMENT to replenish her body, the comfort to ease her mind. 

Bob: She’s raising the glass to her lips. Hesitating at first, but now swallowing the orange beverage. Some pulp. Picking up the fork and shoveling bits of scrambled eggs into her mouth.

Mo: Mallory's favorite, we're being told.

Bob: And Oh—there is that BRACELET again with the red flashing, and TIME. IS. UP. And down goes the tray right back through that handy dandy slot.

Mo: A shame, Bob. 

Bob: Folks, if you’re just joining us, we are in Car Number Eight with Mallory. There's that humming sound again...The slot on the table has reopened, and what appears to be a cream pie has risen to the top. And whaddya know, Mo, it’s that time again. 

Mo: That’s right, folks, What should Mallory do next? YOU. MUST. CHOOSE! Should she: 

A) Get the receipt from the drawer. 

B) Get a pie in the face.

VOTE NOW!

Bob: Butter my bread, that was QUICK, too quick in fact, for a word from our sponsor, but hey, when the heart knows it knows. 

RESULTS 

A) Get the receipt from the drawer. 1%

B) Get a pie in the face. 99%

Bob: Mallory, on her feet again. Headed for Camera 3. Waving her hands at the camera. Now at the screen. Mouthing the word, Help. And Oh—there goes the wrist alarm, and here comes the neck zap. 

Mo: The big elephant in the room, Bob, is how long can Mallory sustain this behavior?

Bob: A wet spot forming on the crotch of her underwear, and she is crawling now. Crawling back to the bedside drawer. Reaching for the receipt. Reaching, but not making it. There goes the red wrist alarm followed by a second zap. But WAIT—Mallory is limping her way BACK to the dining table. Pulling herself UP. Her head is wobbling like a dashboard figurine, her arms wavering like sizzling bacon, but she is GOING for it, she IS, she has PUSHED her face into the pie, and with that, there goes the click of the deadbolts as they unlock, signaling the end of this round. 

Are you stuck in the past? Reliving painful memories that you can’t seem to let go of? Let Lemgo throw those unwanted moments to the wind so you can live your better life. Lemgo. It’s time to move on.  

Bob: Welcome back, folks, we are in Car Number Eight with Mallory, who has just noticed the doors on either end of Car Number Eight sliding open. Mallory, on her feet again, and skidding to a stop in front of the door to Car Number Seven. Her head is to the glass. Hands cupped around her temples. From our POV cam, we can see the back of a head in Car Number Seven. The back of a head, a crew cut, looks like, and Mallory is turning around...bringing both arms to her chest...looking up and to the left. What’s happening here, Mo? 

Mo: Well, Bob, the glance to the upper left indicates the brain recalling a memory. And her heart rate has really picked up as well. Bottom line? She knows this guy and she knows him well. The question is, how?  

Bob: Mallory, smoothing her hair. Using the corner of her shirt to wipe the mascara from under her eyes. Knocking on the window. Now banging on the window, trying to get the head to turn, but it will not. Mallory, mouthing that word again. Help! Help! And to no avail. 

Mo: It’s that annealed glass again, Bob. Soundproof. Scratch proof.

Bob: Mallory-proof. 

Mo: Haha, that’s exactly right, Bob. And the look of disappointment is just radiating like whiskey from her every pore as she is coming to the realization that once again, she will not be heard.

Bob: Arms back to the sides now as she makes her way back through Car Number Eight. Past Socks with Sandals. Past the dining table. To the pane on Car Number Nine. Another back of a head to stare at, this one with long hair.

Mo: Call me old-fashioned, but could this be a lady?

Bob: Mallory, lifting her fist to the pane. Stopping short as the head turns to the side, offering a profile view. Mallory, covering her face with her hands. Ducking down quickly. Sitting with her back against the door. 

Mo: She’s got her knees to her chest, Bob, and she is rocking slightly. Something about this woman in Car Number Nine is just not sitting right, and let’s talk about her heart rate for a moment, just off the charts now. Wait a sec. Okay, the producers are telling me we have some audio on file. Let's hear that now.

A phone ringing. 

Woman 1: Hello?

Woman 2: Is Mallory there? 

Woman 1: This is Mallory.

Woman 2: Quit calling my BOYFRIEND, Mallory. Quit CALLING him. Quit TEXTING him. Quit STALKI—

Dial tone. 

Bob: Mallory, closing her eyes and covering her ears as that loop is replaying again and again.

Mo: Okay folks, you know what time it is. What should Mallory do next? YOU. MUST. CHOOSE! Should she:

A) Move on to Car Number Seven (Him). 

B) Move on to Car Number Nine (Her). 

VOTE NOW!

Bob: This poll brought to you by Lemgo. Moving your loved ones forward one foot at a time.

RESULTS

A) Move on to Car Number Seven (Him). - 48%

B) Move on to Car Number Nine (Her). - 52%

Bob: And theeere’s that sound again. The second deadbolt unlocking now, and the door to Car Number Nine sliding open behind Mallory’s back, and there goes Mallory tumbling backward into Car Number Nine with the door closing and locking behind her.