Next Door Data

Next Door Data

  by Les W Kuzyk

  cover photo by Dragana Malic

  ***My speculative climate novel Pinatubo II published 4 November 2015.***

  Copyright 2014 Les W Kuzyk

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  Next Door Data

  Calvin noticed a new trailer in the campsite next door as he eased the family vehicle in beside their tent. After a great day at the beach they were sticky-hot and not a little worn. Leila looked over knowingly—that young couple tent camping out of their truck last night were gone. This trailer stretched out all along the gravel drive surrounded by a spillover of unloaded trappings and flashing a factory-fresh Spirit of the Wild logo. A 4-wheel-drive guarded the front, and squinting through the branches Calvin could glimpse mud-grabber tires below a full four-door cab.

  They opened the doors of their Tes-2.

  The noise reverberated hard and they froze. He sagged, glancing at his wife’s deepening frown. They couldn’t take off again—their daughters both needed a shower. The hot breeze wafted through, draining the last of the solar-cooled air from their e-car. At least the walk to the shower house would be through tree shade, and away from the noise. Yet, why should they be scheduling their time away from campsite? Leila told the girls what to take as they tumbled slowly out.

  The hammering of more than one small engine resounded across the campground. Two others distinctly echoed in the distance, but this noise-maker was right next door. No birds, no children’s laughter, all drowned out by the irritating drone of a power generator. Calvin stared hard—the trailer was sealed shut. The campers enclosed no doubt enjoyed a full range of electric devices, insulated from the outdoor racket they kept around back.

  At first he tried ignoring the clamour, as he flung the towels over the line to dry. He could wait on that moment when peace would return. Wasn’t that what people came camping for? Peace and quiet out in the soundscape of nature. He felt his jaw clench. Yet that family—he could see their juvenile bicycles—would be sitting about in conditioned air and any other home amenity they might have plugged in. Could be running a clothes dryer for Christ’s sakes. A true wilderness experience. Why not bring your lawnmower out camping, and cut grass all day—the chatter in his head was incessant. He gritted his teeth.

  As he lit the propane stove and threw burgers on to sizzle, ideas began lining up as they were wont to in his mind. He could be cutting firewood with his chainsaw, that howl might penetrate their camper wall. Wire cutters. Spray paint—a message on the trailer’s side—Thanks for the racket, asshole! But, he had no spray bomb, or wire cutters, or chainsaw, they were all at home in the garage. Recall of the think tank cut in, reminding him to process the emotional first, to allow positive ideas to emerge. He forced a smile as he waved at his wife and daughters walking off down the trail. They would have a little respite over at the shower building—that was good. He watched other children riding by on bicycles, oblivious it seemed to the noise. Enculturated, they would term that in social science. Was that good? Generators were for emergencies. Was this an emergency? It could certainly be associated. The emergency developing around his recent research. The impending climate change crisis.

  He flipped the burgers.

  These people were inefficiently generating power to support their back home lifestyle. As if unaware, as if uncaring at all of their own children. And at a campground where you and your children came out to experience nature. That kind of nonresponsive attitude combined with the lifestyle it denoted was what disproportionately caused climate change. Simply put, a lifestyle of higher consumption translated into a more changed climate. So he was stuck in awareness of a problem that no one wanted to talk about, even campers out here. He could not escape his research data now, and likely wouldn’t for the rest of his life.

  He fumed as they sat to eat, forcing jokes out for his daughters. He could laugh, but with effort. They chomped at their burgers like true burger-monsters, with monster ketchup and just a little mix of fairy pickles. The neighbour, thank god, hit the switch part way through their meal and their local soundscape found relief. The more distant generators kept running, but thankfully not as close. After a marshmallow roast, he helped Leila tickle the two girls into their sleeping bags, and strap on their LED headlamps for undercover reading. His laugh relaxed, almost becoming genuine.

  As the sun sank, the final generator fell silent and the last reverberation drained from his head. He looked at Leila across the picnic table, sighing. At long last! Official quiet hours she pointed at her watch. Ten PM, the sign said. So there were rules of sorts and at least people paid attention to those. Like laws, like regulations, like social agreements. The evening birds sang out clear, and a squirrel chattered from high in a tree as the air cooled ever so slightly with the sunset.

  He sat musing, poking at the fire with a stick. Recent lifestyle research would not leave him alone now, how this way of living just could not continue—he was never free of these thoughts any more. He had come to realize he could no longer keep his analytical mind from seeing the data. Wherever he looked, all data. Never mind the changing weather events and his guesses at how extreme they rated. Right here he could estimate the planet consumed by each trailer, and each monster truck needed to pull that trailer. Those huge baby boomer motor homes were another noticeable artifact. His sustainability research had also filled him in on his daughters’ future, and that future was looking bleaker as each year passed. Society continued to nonchalantly treat their world with a business as usual outlook. The belief in a limitless planet had been proven repeatedly to be so false. Which left him now so aware, so fully aware. An awareness he often wished he never had, one that brought along with anger alternating depression and fear. Hope filtered through, the odd time.