Thursday
Alone in an otherwise empty field, David stood. He felt a breeze against his cheeks and eyelids. Looking around he saw nothing but tall grass bending under the weight of the wind. The sun was warm, bright. Closing his eyes, he focused on the heat on his skin, the cool of the air, the soft waving of the grass against his pant legs. With his hands open he let the grass lick his palms. Eyes still closed, he inhaled slowly and deeply. A smile stretched itself across his face before he exhaled. But that smile shrank when he heard a low, distant rumble. Sounds like a train. Opening his eyes and looking all around he saw nothing but hills and the tall, pliable grass. Yet, the rumble remained, even intensified. Looking up he saw a shining cross. Oh, it's an airplane. There must be a landing strip around here somewhere. As he watched the plane, it grew larger in his eyes and the rumble grew ever louder. He looked on with rapt attention at this marvel of human ingenuity.
Still gazing upward, he cocked his head and furrowed his brow the closer the plane came. The nose! David's eyes opened wide and his hands shook violently as he watched the plane descend. He looked around briefly before trying to run in the opposite trajectory of the plane. His pulse quickened as he pushed through the tall grass which seemed to grab at his legs. All the while, his eyes were fixed on the plane as it came closer and closer. He kicked his legs out in front of him as hard as he could, but the grass was strong and unyielding. What started as a low rumble had mutated into a roar of increasing pitch. His legs were exhausted now and the planes screech deafening. He looked for a way to move but found nothing but lush, green grass. When he looked up again, he found the plane bearing down on him, glowing like lightning. Paralyzed, except for his trembling hands, David fell face first into the grass and inhaled sharply and saw nothing but darkness.
Registering a muffled scratching noise, he scrambled to locate it. David's heart pounded, and he nearly hyperventilated before he managed to squirm out of his bed-sheet cocoon. He found the morning's light had leaked into his room through the blinds, and there again was the scratching. Chest still thumping, David scooted out of bed and opened the door to find Bosun and Mortimer run off to the kitchen. The doorframe found itself square in the middle of David's back as he leaned and slid down. Seated, he held his head in his still unsteady hands and breathed slowly, methodically. In. Out. In. Out. In the darkness of his palms, he found the plane and immediately lifted his head and opened his eyes. He took in the morning with a deep breath of air, a breath laced with pine sap and sweat. Propping his own legs up under him, David stood, and steadied himself against the door frame before shuffling over to his bed.
It was tangled mess. As he separated the sheets from the comforter, he discovered a large, dark spot on the bed and immediately felt around the surface of his shorts. A cold wetness pressed itself into the soft skin around his blisters. Jaw firmly clenched, David leaned his face over the bed and opened his nostrils. Only a couple of inches away, he sniffed, and realized he smelled nothing. Yet still he leaned over the bed, closer still until the tip of his nose touched the spot. After a slow and steady breath, he still smelled nothing. It's sweat. The thought lingered as David unwound the sheets and tossed them roughshod over the bed. Pausing for a moment, he unfolded the sheets again, exposing as much of the spot as he could before adjusting the blinds.
On the way to the shower, David stepped out of his clothes, all the while fighting thoughts about the dream he just had. Instead, he tried to focus on finding an acceptable temperature for showering. When he found it, he stepped into the tub only to lean as far away as possible from the steaming water. Cursing quietly, he reached around the stream, his body pressed against the tile wall, and nudged the knob with tips of his fingers.
After a brief soak, David shampooed his hair. Shampooing was always first, ever since childhood. It was a necessary first step so he could condition his hair, which took some time. At some point early in his life, he heard it was better for the hair and scalp to leave conditioner on as long as possible, or at least the longer the better. He had no idea if it were true or not, but being that habits are hard to break, even those as innocuous as hygiene, he did it anyway. It's not going to hurt, right? So, why not? He considered the possibility that too much conditioner for too long could be a bad thing, but the why wasn't immediately obvious to him. Forgetting the thought, he carried on washing the rest of his body. Before long, his mind began to wander. First, he remembered the dream, the grass and the plane. Then the envelope popped into his mind. You're washing your body, he told himself before rinsing his skin.
After he shut off the spigot, he sloughed off as much water as he could with his hands before reaching for a pair of towels. With one towel he dried his body and wrapped it around his waist. With the second, he dried his hair but halted suddenly. David fingered his scalp, clenched his jaw, tossed the towel over the rack, and stepped back into the tub. There he stuck his head under the spigot and soaked his hair thorougly. And only when the slick sensation of the conditioner was gone did he shut it off and dry his hair with the other towel. At first, he attempted to avoid the parts of the towel that touched the conditioner, but he gave up on that quickly.
Feeling clean, mostly dry, and a little irritated, David hung his towels and dressed himself for meditation. Having already sat and set the timer, he saw the bedroom door was open. He hesitated a moment, imagining the cats coming in and talking and rubbing against him. Standing, he shut the door and sat again.
A slow falling sensation caused David to squirm as he struggled to find the center of the cushion. He closed his eyes and visualized colored streams of air around him as it flowed into and out of his nostrils. As he breathed, he caught a hint of grass, and a moment later found the plane staring at him. Grass had grown up around his body, grasped at his thighs. Sitting up straight, he rocked for a moment before transforming the plane and grass back into air molecules. After another breath, he found the conditioner was still in his hair, the cats were scratching at the door, and the envelope was staring at him, and his palm was throbbing. The ring of his timer purged his mind and quickly he stood and stretched and went to the kitchen where he found the cats sitting by the pantry.
“I know, I know,” he said as he petted the cats and doled out scoops of dry food into their bowls. They purred and squeaked and climbed over each other as David placed the bowls on the tile floor. Standing upright, he took a banana and wrestled with the stem before putting the banana down and pulling a knife from a drawer. After slicing the base of the stem, he pealed the banana and broke off a large piece. He finished it with a couple more bites and poured a bowl of cereal and milk which he shoveled down his throat. Without pause, he rinsed out his bowl and placed it into the sink (which by now had amassed an impressive collection of rinsed yet unwashed dishes). David furrowed his brow and stacked the dishes such that they stood out from the sink. After work, he told himself on the way back to his room.
David changed quickly and was soon back in the kitchen where he gathered a bowl of stew and a can of soda pop into a paper grocery bag. This he placed next to his personal bag before he scanned the room for his wallet and keys. Oh, there they are, he thought after seeing them on the counter. Into his pockets they went, and he picked up his bags and looked around the living room. With a squint and a nod, he propelled himself out the front door, locking it as he went. When he reached the truck he found the cats sitting on the hood.
“Aw, guys,” David said as he pet them. One after the other, he held their little faces in his hands and rubbed their cheeks with his thumbs and kissed their heads and cracked a smile. “Okay, I have to go,” he said reaching out both arms under their bellies. Both jumped down at his touch, sat on the gravel, and watched as their human climbed into the big thing and drove off.
With his windows down, David crunched down the driveway and breathed the cool morning air. Grabbing the wheel to turn onto the main road, he felt the pressure against his palm, adjusted his grip. Taking the wheel with his other hand, David glanced at the blister and stroked it with the same hand's fingers.
Traffic was light, but this didn't prevent him from being delayed by stoplights. If he had to guess how many he caught since he left home, he'd say “three or four”. He would be correct, but he hazarded no such guess and pulled into the empty lot. His eyes turned immediately to a spot at the back of the lot into which he backed his truck. After parking, he climbed out of the truck and grabbed his two bags with his blistered hand. The absence of pain was noticeable, but the presence of pressure, numb though it was, convinced him to switch hands.
On the way to the front door, he eyed the blister, examining it from as many angles as his wrist allowed. Upon unlocking and entering the dark building, he flipped on the lights, and walked down the aisle to the kitchen where he deposited his food. Continuing to his office, he examined again the taut, raised tissue on his hand.
“Should be okay,” he said aloud.
“What should?” asked a female voice.
Startled, David put his hand down and looked up to find Catherine Peabody looking at him inquisitively. He felt warmth in his face and smiled sheepishly. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
“You all right?” she asked
“Yeah, fine. Just gotta get to work. Busy day and all that,” David hastily said as he stepped into his office, still sensing the heat in his cheeks.
“You'll have to tell me later.”
David was well into his office before his mind registered she was still speaking to him. Turning around, he looked at her through the half-open-but-slowly-shutting door. She raised an eyebrow at him before mostly disappearing behind the wooden door.
“Maybe,” he said half-smiling before turning to his desk.
David sat in his chair and powered up the computer. While he waited for it to come to life, he sorted through his inbox and worried for an instant about something needing his urgent attention. Good, just some forms to file. When he grabbed the last folder in the inbox, a knock came at the door.
”Come in,” David said. When the door opened a young, plump woman pushed a cart into the room. “Good morning, Beth.”
“Good morning, Mr. Masterson. Here's your mail,” she said taking from the top of the mail cart.
“Thank you, Beth. And it's okay to call me David. I know you're just temping, but you don't have to be formal,” he explained taking the stack.
“The agency told me I should call everyone Mister or Miss. They said it would make a good impression.”
David grinned. “I suppose so,” he said. “Mr. Masterson is fine too.”
“Thank you, Mr. Masterson,” she said as she backed out of the office, pulling the door mostly closed.
David, only now looking at the mail, noticed a manila envelope on the bottom of the stack. His eyes were wide as he dropped the mail onto the desk. After sorting, he threw the junk into the small recycle bin under his desk. The one new catalogue he added to a stack by the monitor. The orders and invoices went into their own pile away from the last item, the manila envelope. The conspicuous absence of a certain red, wax seal did not go unnoticed. Nevertheless, he held his breath as he opened it, pouring its contents on the desk before him. Another brochure. This one had paper clips on a few pages and a pale blue sticky note on the front which read in large, rounded letters:
“David, discuss Monday.
—Bill”
Over the years they worked together, David developed quite a rapport with Bill. David was a faithful, hard-working employee, qualities Bill apparently appreciated. Bill even came to trust David with personal matters, and David came not to mind being around Bill. David thought it was odd that Bill would trust him, an employee, so implicitly but figured the man just wanted someone to listen to him.
One day, troubled by marital issues, Bill came to David. David thought it was odd since he had not been married and wasn't sure he would ever marry. Nonetheless, David gave sound advice.
Bill and his wife, Sharon, were experiencing a particularly difficult stretch in their marriage, as David recalled. Bill showed up at David's office one morning looking particularly haggard. David, sensing Bill's distress, sat him down and asked him what was going on. Bill talked at length about how hard things had become, and how Sharon wasn't the woman he thought he married, and how he didn't really know what he wanted out of life anymore, or if he ever did and just told himself he did. David told Bill things he would tell anyone in that situation, things like, “You got married for a reason, don't give up on it just because it's hard now.” And “Life isn't so much about getting as giving.” And “I've known you a while, Bill. You're not the sort to just give up because of a rough patch in the road.”
Eventually, things turned around with Sharon. David surmised as much because Bill came to the branch one day stating so and thanked David profusely and offered to take him to a nice lunch. David replied “Thank you is enough, really. But I appreciate the offer.” Bill was reluctant to let it go at that, but he did let it go, and David appreciate that.
Having leaned the brochure with the sticky note against the computer monitor, David dropped the manila envelope in the recycle bin under the desk. He shifted his attention back to the other mail on his desk and signed, filed, and filled as appropriate. After each document he noticed the brochure. And he remembered the manila envelope in the bin under his desk. And he remembered the manila envelope at home. After filing the final document, he snatched up the brochure, stuffing it into the trop drawer of the desk where he was sure he wouldn't have to look at it until Monday. David watched the drawer cover the brochure, but when it closed completely, he noticed the manila envelope in the bin under his desk. Clenching his teeth, he reached under the desk and grabbed the basket. Standing hurriedly, he yanked the door open.
When he stepped out, David noticed a handful of the closest heads looking in his direction, most notably that of Catherine Peabody. When he passed her desk, she asked him in a hushed tone if everything was all right. David, who was moving at a brisk pace did not register Catherine's question until he was well beyond her desk. At which point he became increasingly cognizant of the heads of his co-workers that followed him through the office. Resolving not to look at them, he carried the basket to the other side of the office where two large bins were located. One read “Mixed Paper” while the other read “Glass/Plastic”. He opened the former and dumped the contents of his personal recycle bin into it.
On the way back, he noticed the heads were still following him, and his face felt warm. When he passed by Catherine's desk he leaned over, mouthed “It's nothing,” and waved a hand back and forth.
After returning the newly emptied can to its home, David sat back in his chair and grabbed the top of the stack of product catalogues. Usually, the catalogues didn't tell him anything new because the vendors provide letters explicitly notifying him of any new sales. On rare occasions, he discovered something special on his own. However unlikely, he set off to find another good deal. Yet, after only a few pages, David found himself glancing at the pictures, barely registering what he saw. Another page, a quick scan. Anything good? Nooope. Great. Next. He carried on until he wasn't even looking at the pages anymore. His head was sideways on the desk and he watched the edge of the pages as they fluttered by his nose. Now, he was brushing the thin, feathery sheets against the blister in his palm.
A shuffling of feet cracked into David's malaise, and he looked up. Lunch already? The clock on his computer confirmed his suspicion. Flapping the catalogue closed, he leaned back and eyed the upside-down blinds. The picnic tables were already visible in his mind's eye before he decided to observe the others at lunch.
This wasn't the first time he had done this. In fact, it was almost a weekly activity as most weeks had at least one slow day. As he did in previous weeks, David first peaked his head out his door and scanned the main office, craning his neck to see over the gray cubicle walls. Looks like everyone. Leaving the door to close on its own, David pulled his low file cabinet from under the desk and shoved it against the wall under the window. Taking a step back to assess the situation, he nodded and plopped into his desk chair. With his legs propped up on the file cabinet, he leaned against the wall and cracked the blinds. He found the others sitting down around the tables with their lunches. With a deep breath, David's arms dropped and shoulders relaxed, and for the first time since last night, the blister wasn't bothering him.
Absorbing the situation, he noted how the guys and girl didn't segregate; a sight which David determined was not uncommon. As they ate and talked and laughed, David scanned the faces and the backs of heads. He managed to inscribe most of their names over their heads, but Catherine was nowhere to be found. Where is she? Mildly bewildered, David took up a more systematic approach. Starting at the end of one picnic table, he looked up and down and around at each head for long, dark hair. Nothing. He moved to the next, and then the final table. “Where is she?” he said aloud as he neared the end of the table. A knock on the door startled him, and he scrambled to get to his feet.
“David, can I interr—“ she stopped short as she pushed the door open to find him, his chair, and the file cabinet next to the window. “What are you doing?”
Standing now, and failing to stifle a wave of heat in his face and in itch in his palm, David searched for an answer. He looked to the chair, to the file cabinet, and to the window before turning to Catherine, whose tall eyebrows and tucked chin took dead aim at him.
Slowly he uttered, “I... was... observing everyone at lunch.”
“You were spying on us,” she said flatly.
“Observing!”
David opened his mouth to say “I was just curious” but stopped before any sound came out. Instead of speaking, he began to shove the file cabinet back under the desk. Before it moved very far, he looked up to find Catherine sitting in his chair in the same position he assumed while he spied on — observed — the others. Pausing with the file cabinet halfway to his desk, he looked at her with the same arched eyes she had leveled at him. Still looking out the blinds, Catherine spoke.
“Do you do this often?”
David hesitated before speaking. “No-ot very often. Just if the day is slow, I guess.”
Still peering outside, Catherine began again. “They're a funny bunch, aren't they?”
“I wouldn't really know.”
“No, I don't suppose you would,” she said before looking at David and dropping the blinds.
David took the opportunity to finish pushing the file cabinet back under the desk. Looking up again, Catherine was still seated in his chair. Her hair was still long and dark. Her green eyes still bore a resemblance to his eyes. And with her green eyes she was still looking at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Well, since you're so interested in how we interact, it seems only natural that you'd like to come out with us after work. You know, observe us up close and personal.”
David couldn't shake the thought that he was being blackmailed. She didn't say anything about telling the others, but he was sure she had thought about it. How could she not?
“How long would I have to stay?” David asked.
“You can leave whenever you want,” she said. “I mean, stay for at least one drink. Then leave whenever you want.”
David inhaled deeply as he considered his options. One drink's not that bad. Better than her telling everyone about this. Fine.
“Fine,” he said. “I'll go for one drink.”
Catherine grinned as she stood then stepped toward the door. “I better go. They're probably wondering where I am.”
“Wait, did you have something to talk to me about?” he asked
“It can wait,” she said
With that, Catherine turned out of David's office, closing the door as she
“You are an idiot,” he muttered at himself. Sitting down, he scratched his palm lightly and looked at the picture of his cats on the computer monitor. “You don't think she'll say anything, do you?” After a pause he said, “I don't think so either. Have to go out with them tonight though. Not with them, her. Can't be too bad, right?” David asked half-rhetorically as he entertained the possibilities. What to say? What to drink? How long to stay? “One drink. I'll stay for one. She didn't say how long I had to stay, so that's still up to me. One drink and I'll still be able to make it to Willow's before it gets too late.”
David plopped into his chair which was still resting beside the window. He sighed and inhaled and imagined he still smelled Catherine's perfume. Splitting the blinds again, David peaked out in time to see Catherine sit down. He wondered if they were asking where she was, what was she doing.
“Oh, he was busy,” he said in his head as she settled down. She sat facing his window, and he swore she fired a glance his way. But she didn't seem to let on what had just transpired in his office. They didn't all simultaneously turn their heads in his direction, mouths agape, nostrils flared. Maybe they wouldn't care anyway. I mean, I'm sure they would do the same given the chance. Releasing the blinds, David returned to his desk using his heels like hooks on the flat carpet all the while seated in his desk chair.
He found the catalogues glaring up at him. Snatching one up with both hands, he opened it to a random page and glanced before dropping half of it. His palm was itching again so he rubbed it against his pant legs. Leaving the rest of the catalogue in a heap on the desk, David reached with his free hand into his bag and pulled out a small tube of lotion which he applied to his hands, especially the blistered area. “Ahh,” he groaned looking up and circling with his thumb the healthy skin around the blister. Glancing up, he saw the open door and wondered if the space beyond were really empty. Standing up quickly from the chair, which slid back a couple feet into the wall, David smoothed his pants, and walked leisurely to the door but paused. A suspicious head would surely be noticed. Stepping out, David faked a stretch and yawned all the while scanning the area.
Returning to the office, he closed the door to a small crack, and pulled the chair from the wall to the other side of the window where he sat himself, legs pressed awkwardly against the wall. The angle wasn't as good, but he could still see everyone. Barely. Is that everyone though? He took to counting. “…13, 14, 15…”; and Catherine made 16. He thought that seemed right and tried to remember who was currently on a trip. Should be everyone. There they sat, totally oblivious — he hoped — to his watching eyes. Of course, Catherine knew, but she agreed not to say anything. And David believed her. Briefly, a panicked thought streaked across David's brain before he subdued it. Not a moment later another had taken its place.
It's been, what, two years? Three? David tilted his head back and stared into the middle distance above his head. Something like that. And what do you know about her? I know she has long, dark hair. It wasn't always long though. When she started her hair was a bit shorter. She looked a little different, but not drastically so.
She had green eyes that looked strangely like his own, or so he imagined, and he wondered if she noticed. She was intelligent too, or gave off such an air. That much we have in common, he chuckled.
Among the things he didn't know, what to talk about at the bar was the most prominent in his mind. “Family's usually pretty safe,” he said before an image of the envelope with the red, wax seal appeared in his mind's eye. Ehh, what else? Maybe college. Where did she go? What did she study? What does she do for fun?
After a brief pause, he said, “Any questions you ask, you have to answer. I guess I can do family,” his lip curled, “If I have to. College is easy. Study is easy. Hobbies are easy. That should be more than enough to talk about to get us through one drink. Yeah. That should be good.”
Having contented himself with his conversation plans, David returned to the blinds. Looking out he found everyone up and walking. Seconds later he heard the door to the building open. In a split-second David had forgotten the blinds and returned to the desk. Where I've been the entire time.
He looked at the clock on his computer. Nearly 1 PM. That meant his turn for lunch. In a few minutes, after they've settled down.
When the commotion quieted, David hoisted his bag to his shoulder and proceeded to the kitchen. A few heads hinged up as he passed them. The first of which belonged to Catherine Peabody. She was smiling when he saw her, and he grinned back at her. Upon entering the kitchen, David went to the refrigerator, and pulled out his soda can and the bag containing his food. The can he deposited in the freezer. The covered stew bowl he opened but left covered in the microwave for a few minutes while he prepared the rest of his meal. When he reached the cookies, he removed the last few solid morsels and paid his respects to the box. With a final whiff of its insides, he collapsed and quartered it. Good thing I got a healthy one yesterday. With a cookie in his mouth, David arranged everything on the plate and turned to the microwave. The number “4” flickered away to a “3…2…1...” The “1” seemed ready to disappear, but it never changed because David yanked open the oven at the last instant. He lifted the steam-soaked cover and placing a finger into the stew around the edges. Wincing, he jerked his finger out and bit it. Wiping the finger on his pants he thought, A little too ready. But this is perfect ‘cause by the time it reaches the picnic table it'll be ready. He examined the finger again and noticed the blister. With a scrunched up nose, David said, “Sorry.”
Having adjusted his bag, he retrieved the can of soda pop in one hand while on the other he balanced the loaded plate. After a step or two, the plate tilted and David twitched to recover it. Okay. Resting the plate on a nearby table, he put the already-sweating can into his bag and lifted the plate with two hands. There we go. With complete confidence in his arms' ability to carry things, David exited the kitchen.
As he carried on through the office, few looked up and fewer smiled. To each David offered raised eyebrows (to the women) or a head nod (to the men). Both of which said something like “I acknowledge your presence and the minute degree of familiarity we share.” Outside, he settled into one of the picnic tables. The seat with was directly across where Catherine sat earlier.
Her image sat before him, still and silent. David ate his meal. He didn't quite taste it, however, as he was focused on the fake-Catherine seated before him. A clunking, scratching noise shooed her away and drew his attention to the bowl. David discovered the soup was over half-eaten. He shook his head and berated himself for his inattention to the meal so far. But he forgave himself in another moment and remembered the clear skies and crisp, early-autumn air. A rustling in some nearby bushes turned his head. He saw nothing but wondered if it was his blue friend from the other day. The bushes had calmed now yet nothing emerged from them. So David turned back to his meal. After a patient spoonful of the stew, he pulled out the can, cracked it open, and slurped at the aluminum edge. With a sigh and a belchy grin, David returned to his soup. As he did, an image of Rhiannon appeared in his mind, tending her garden. Hope she gets better soon. Willows' just isn't the same without her.
When he finished the stew, he eyed the cookies. Popping one into his mouth, he looked around the knoll. ‘Tis a marvelous day. And a marvelous cookie. As the chocolate chips melted, David shifted the cookie around his mouth and chomped with his tongue and cheeks. It was a glorious cookie and therefore a glorious moment. But the reverie was interrupted by another small noise in the bushes.
Turning his head slowly, he found a little blue bird hopping between branches and turning its head at sharp angle and fluttering to the ground where it pecked and hopped some more. As David watched, he saw a blanket of shade unravel itself across the parking lot. When it covered him, he shivered and soon felt tense. He shook his muscles and returned to the bird. Groping around the table with his burned hand, he picked up a cookie and snapped it between his fingers and ground half of it it into a powder. Taking a pinch of cookie, he sprinkled it on the on the curb about a yard away. Don't want to unnerve it too much. The bird's beak pointed at him. Straining to see the tiny eyeballs, David couldn't decide if the bird was looking at him or at the cookie. Prob'ly both. If it doesn't see you watching, it might come get it. He turned his head away but not his ears, and peeked under his arm. Closer. Pecking. Several pecks later, the bird flew off carrying one of the larger crumbles. Grinning, he leaned out to sprinkle the rest of the crushed cookie onto the ground. As he turned back, he stuck the other half into his mouth.
He leaned back then, cookie in his mouth, his legs braced against the picnic table. As he reclined, he eyed the beading can and extended his arm toward it. Unable to reach the can, he straightened until he could grab it. Drinking, he noticed a tension in his abdomen and thought he should probably work out more. A wrinkled nose ensured he probably wouldn't follow through. Straightening back to the table, he set down the empty can and looked around the picnic area again. To his surprise, he found two birds pecking at the cookies, a bright blue one, and another smaller bird. Still blue but less vivid.
Is this your female? The birds hopped around the crumbs, pecking, looking up, pecking again. The larger one was even putting crumbs into the other's beak. Then, picking up two larger pieces, the pair flew off. Without so much as a thank you or good bye. With a nod, he stood and gathered his things and walked back to the office. Upon returning, David found everyone just as he had left them, but more subdued. The malaise has set in. Entering the kitchen, David's nose caught a whiff of something. What is that, chicken? It smells heavenly. David found the refrigerator door open and a young man at the sink pouring a glass of water from a pitcher. Did he make this? The man looked up at David and said he would be out of the way in a moment.
“No rush,” David said. “Is that your food that smells so good?”
“That's right,” the man said standing with his pitcher pouring nearly too much water. He tilted back the pitcher and put it in the sink. After refilling and returning the pitcher, the man, whose name David recalled was Will carried his glass out. On the way, he nodded at David who replied in kind.
After cleaning and putting away his dishes, he eyed the soda can. Picking it up in his good hand, he growled and crushed it. Across the room, he saw a recycle bin and lined up a shot. Imagining himself a basketball star, he catapulted the can straight into the bin. He left the kitchen with a grin on his face and a drippy soup bowl in hand.
Over many grey segments in the building's main room, David looked toward his office but not quite at it. His gaze fell a few yards short.
She's prob'ly on the phone. Or doing paper work. The memory of when she caught him spying warmed his face, and he rubbed his cheeks. On the way toward her desk, he visualized a giant pencil hovering over two empty black boxes and two lines of text. The top line read “Phone” while the bottom line read “Paper”. The pencil checked the bottom box when he reached her. As he passed, she turned to look at him. He raised his eyebrows. She raised one.
He deposited the bowl on the edge of the desk and sat down with a sigh. Now what?
Plan! The weekly calendar indicated meetings all morning tomorrow. The meetings were all of the same sort: sales reps had returned from a trip and they were to report how it went. David grabbed a pencil from his desk and some scratch paper from his file cabinet. Which he recognized more as a footstool than as office equipment. With pencil to paper, he wrote:
- how was Boise/Portland/Helena?
- report/Orders
- if no orders, why not? lack of interest, bad timing? etc
- did you enjoy yourself?
Lifting his pencil, he read over the points. Writing again, he added:
- any other prospective clients in the area?
- when should we try again with the no-gos?
David leaned back in his chair and looked at the list while rubbing the stubble on his cheeks. Seems adequate. Covers everything, I think.
He shook his head. David didn't envy sales people. What an unpleasant job that must be. “If I want something, I go out and I get it. The last thing I need or want is someone telling me why I should buy their product. Just give me your catalogue. I'll find it.” Finishing his sentence with a glance to the vendor catalogues, David opened one, displaying its bright colors and repetitive photography. “Fine,” he said as he straightened the rest of the catalogues. The clock read 3:30 PM. Surely I can ride out 90 minutes with these.
So, he flipped to the beginning of the already-open one. The next hour was spent reading product descriptions and prices, clicking through his computer to find what they were currently paying, circling the item if it had a lower price, and dog-earing the page. Upon closing and disposing of the unused catalogues, he reviewed his progress. There was only one page marked.
Flipping to it, he found a photo of a brilliant, sterling bedpan. Nodding slowly, lips pressed flat against each other he wondered How does anyone talk seriously about bedpans? After sending an email to the manufacturer, he looked at the clock. 4:30. There's not really enough time to start anything. Instead of working, David navigated to a website with free games.
Video games were a significant part of growing up for David. This was probably true for a lot of kids. But for David, they seemed to have been a particularly salient force. Before video games, he played outside with his sister and friends, pretending to be superheroes or Power Rangers, or setting up kickball or football games, or inventing new games like “hoccer” or “sockey” (the latter two were, as the names imply, a combination of soccer and hockey and were in fact the same game. It was played in the grass, David recalled, but he was uncertain about how the hockey elements were incorporated. Maybe we used hockey sticks to hit the ball around). Most of these games stopped after third grade because his friends moved away. All of them at the same time, or so it seemed. Having discovered video games the year before, they served as a retreat for his youthful feelings of isolation. Sure, he played with his sister, but she was four years younger and hardly capable of playing the same games on the same level. Instead Mario and MegaMan became his best friends.
Games were exciting, even the easy ones. There was always the next level to beat, until there wasn't. Then, there was the next game. Years were spent like that. And those were happy years for David. Simple years. Or were they? David simmered in idea of simplicity while he played an Angry Birds knock-off. The game was simple and so required little attention. However, the further along he made it in the game, the less he thought about anything. His mind found the old patterns, and soon he was absorbed in his screen, pointing and clicking his mouse and hoping the whole tower went down in one toss. One level proved to be especially frustrating. No matter how slightly he altered the angle, the tower wouldn't fall. After each failure he restarted the level and gritted his teeth. Hearing a knock on the door, his nostrils flared, and he looked up. Catherine Peabody was there, with her dark hair and green eyes which looked so much like his own. When he didn't say anything, she opened her mouth.
“You coming?”
David squinted at her before opening his eyes wide and blinking.
“Right.”
He looked to the clock: 5:05. “Right. Let me just…” David looked at his computer screen and found the game as he left it, unbeaten. He paused for a moment but ultimately closed the browser window. After initiating the computer's shut down, he looked up at Catherine again.
“Sorry,” he said.
“That's okay.”
He looked past her, “They gone?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you tell them I was coming?”
“Yeah, they didn't believe it.”
“I guess we'll show them,” David said.
“If we ever get there,” Catherine said.
“I'm hurrying, jeez.” Turning off the computer monitor and gathering his other items, David scanned his office while tapping his pockets.
“Wallet. Keys. Okay, ready,” he said turning to Catherine. “Ready?”
“What about that?”
David followed the line of her finger to a bowl on the desk.
“Oh yeah,” he said, grabbing it and shoving it into the top of his bag.
“Was that from lunch?” she asked.
“Yeah, I had stew.”
“Was it good?”
“Excellent,” he said extending his arm toward the door and adding, “After you.”
Catherine stepped out of his office and David turned off the lights. As they approached the deserted parking lot — deserted, that is, except for a green jeep, which David presumed was Catherine's, and David's faded-green truck — Catherine asked, “Did you make it?”
“The stew, or the truck?”
“The truck?” she asked, screwing up her face. “No, the stew.”
“No. A friend gave it to me.”
“Oh, you have friends?” Catherine said smiling.
Grinning back, David replied, “I guess you could say that. Do you know the grocery store Willow's Garden?”
“No, where is it?”
“It's off 90 toward the Valley.”
“Is it nice?”
“It is nice. The owners are also nice. Rhiannon and Jedidiah Willow, and their daughter Jacqueline. You should check it out if you're ever out that way.”
“Maybe I will,” Catherine said.
“Anyway, Rhiannon made it for me.”
“That was nice of her.”
“Like I said.”
Opening the door to her Jeep, Catherine said, “We're going to Oscar's. That way down Division,” she said gesturing south. “You know how to get there?”
“I do. But I'll follow in case you know of a better way.”
“K.”
As he walked away, David heard the Jeep's door shut and the engine roar to life. At the same time, he saw a van pull into the lot. When it passed, David waved and smiled as those inside mirrored him. It's nice, being familiar. Or, at least, recognizing them, and sharing a moment of “Hey, we know each other, sort of.” David mused over this while he climbed into the cab of his truck. As he cranked the engine, the envelope appeared in his mind's eye. But it was pushed out when he looked up to find Catherine in her vehicle before him. Nodding to her, she pulled ahead and stopped before the oncoming traffic. Several cars passed before she was able to turn out. David thought there was plenty of time to pull out between some of those cars. When eventually she did go, he readied himself to wait only to find a gap in the traffic. Accelerating into the gap, he realized she was waiting for a gap big enough for both of them. And he felt warm in his cheeks and unsettled in his seat for his impatience. All the while he rubbed his blistered palm without thought.
Almost every day on the way to work he saw the sign for Oscar's, but never thought much of it other than that it reminded him of Oscar Wilde (whose writings he recalled were amusing and enjoyable). The drive was quick, unexpectedly so considering the after-work traffic. He met all green lights, except for the last one before the parking lot. It changed to yellow as Catherine's Jeep turned through the intersection, but David didn't want to risk running a red so he stopped. Soon the green came again, and he maneuvered his way to an open corner of the lot decorated with the remains of a fast food smorgasbord. Smashed French fries, blackened napkins, and a large paper bag were strewn about the asphalt. He didn't mind the mess, but he found it curious that management didn't take better care of it.
When he reached the entrance, he found Catherine waiting for him.
“Shall we?” he asked reaching across her to pull open the door.
“Thank you,” she said walking in. As she passed, David's nostrils flared as he inhaled and the memory of her surprising him in his office returned.
His abdominal muscles tightened, and he noticed they felt sore, likely from stretching on the picnic table at lunch. Taking a few deep breaths, he scanned the room. The bar was well-attended, which David found surprising considering it was a Thursday afternoon. Presumably having located the others from the office, Catherine walked over to them. David trailed closely behind humming to himself that song about everybody working for the weekend. What a miserable way to exist. Hopefully it's more song than reality, but I doubt it. As they joined up with the others, David fought a thought about not wanting to be around these people right now. You're already here. Be here. They stood at the edge of the tables whose seats were already too few for all the bodies seated in them.
“David,” a voice said. David looked in the direction of the voice and found Lyle. The other conversations had stopped, a fact which didn't escape David's notice.
“Since it's your first time out with us—this is the first time right?” Lyle asked.
David nodded in agreement.
“Since it's your first time out, we'd like to buy you a beer.”
“That's very nice, but you don't have to do that,” David said.
“Of course not. To tell you the truth, we had a little bet going on if you would show up or not. The losers agreed to buy everyone else, eve-ry-one (he made drew a circle with his finger), the first round.”
Looking around the table, David shrugged and said, “To those who voted against, I'm sorry to disappoint. But to the rest, congratulations.”
The group applauded lightly. David wasn't sure if the applause was for his little speech or for finally getting their free beer. He suspected it was for the latter. Roughly half the group stood up and went to the bar. The man David saw earlier in the lunch room, Will, stopped as he moved by him.
“What'll you have?” Will asked.
“Something dark,” David replied. “A stout or porter if they have one.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks, Will.”
Will nodded and merged with the mass of bodies already at the bar.
Those still sitting looked around the table and toward the bar. “So, unfortunately,” Lyle looked at Catherine, “The small tables were the only ones left when we got here.”
“That's okay,” David said. Facing Catherine, he asked, “Do you want to sit over there?” His arm and forefinger stretched toward what appeared to be an open table on the other side of the bar.
“Yeah, that looks good,” she said.
“We'll bring your beers over,” Lyle chimed.
David thanked him and told the others to enjoy their free drinks.
“Thank you for showing up,” replied one of the women whose name David was sure was some variant of Lisa or Elise. David offered her a smile before turning and leading Catherine to the far corner of the bar weaving through bodies as they parted.
Upon sitting, Catherine looked at David, “That wasn't so bad, was it?”
“Not so bad so far.”
“Uh huh,” Catherine murmured. “Well, you got free beer out of it.” As she spoke two glasses, one filled with dark liquid, the other with a pale-colored liquid, were placed on the table. David mouthed “Thank you” to Will who nodded his understanding while Catherine thanked the girl who gave her a glass.
Will and the other girl returned to the others who all seemed to be enjoying their drinks. Turning back to Catherine, David spoke, “Will seems decent.”
“They're all decent, David. You just have to give ‘em a chance.”
“This is a chance, right?” he said.
“Yeah, but you only came because I caught you spying.”
David shook his head. “Did you know they were betting on me?”
“There was some talk at lunch,” she said.
“You didn't say anything did you?” he asked.
“No, but I might've hinted to Lyle you were coming,” Catherine said.
“And?” David pressed.
“And he announced a bet that he would buy everyone drinks if you didn't show up tonight.”
“How'd he sucker people into that one?” David asked.
“He told everyone I thought tonight would be the night you would come out, something he has said before. A few mumbled things like ‘Yeah, right,' and then he put it to a bet.”
“And people took it?”
“He's very convincing,” she nodded lifting her glass to her lips, lips which shined to David's eyes.
“Sounds like it,” he mused as he cast a glance to the other side of the bar.
Catherine nodded before continuing, “So, tell me about yourself, Mr. Masterson.”
“What would you like to know?” David asked bringing back his attention.
“You're gonna let me decide?”
“You can ask anything you want, but I won't promise an answer.”
“Fair enough,” she said.
David fixed his attention on Catherine who glanced away briefly before returning his gaze.
“Beer first,” she said, hoisting up her glass before David.
“Hear, hear,” he said, meeting her glass with his.
She had a sip and asked, “So, where do you live?”
David allowed himself to finish before responding. “Off 90, halfway between here and the Valley.”
“You live alone out there?”
“Not completely,” David said before sipping his beer again.
Catherine raised her eyebrows and nodded at him.
“I have a couple cats.”
“Oh,” Catherine said coughing.
“You okay?” he said leaning forward suddenly, nearly knocking over his own glass.
“Yup,” she said with her hand to her throat. “I just wasn't expecting you to be an old cat man.”
“We're lovely people,” he said.
“I'm kidding. I like cats. What are their names?”
“Bosun and Mortimer.” The bar noise seemed to rise as David spoke. Catherine leaned forward and turned her head slightly. David also leaned forward.
“Bosun. And Mortimer.”
“Bosun?” she asked.
“Yeah, like a ship's mate.”
“Okay, sure. And Mortimer?”
“That's right.”
“Dead sea?” she asked.
David squinted his eyes and thrust his chin forward. The accompanying “Hm?” was too weak to breach the ambient noise but she seemed to understand.
“Isn't that French for ‘dead sea'?”
David was silent for a moment and turned his eyeballs upward without actually looking at what was there. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Is that significant?”
“Not really, I just thought it was cool.”
“Which one is the alpha?” she asked.
“I am,” David answered with a grin.
Catherine smiled, “Of course, but between the cats?”
“Neither really. Maybe Bo.”
“Bo?”
“Bo.”
“Cute,” she said. “What do you call Mortimer?”
“Mort, or Morty. Or Mortimer. Depends on my mood.”
“Aw, you're like a little family,” Catherine said, lifting her glass for another sip.
“I guess that's true,” David replied.
“So, do you have any human family?” she asked.
David swallowed a big gulp before answering, “Some.”
She looked at him for a moment before saying, “We can talk about something else if you want.”
“Yeah, let's come back to family. It's not really the cheeriest topic.”
“Okay, sure. What do you do outside of work?”
Tilting his and head and turning his eyes upward, he spoke. “I guess I read mostly.”
“That's it?”
“I mean, not only.”
“Well?”
David smiled broadly. “I also like to write and listen to music.”
“That's cool. What do you write about?”
“Everything, I guess. Usually just thoughts. But I write poetry too, sometimes a story. But I haven't written much recently.”
“Why not?”
David thought about the book he had written, and how he felt worn out from the effort, and how he didn't really feel inspired. That was only partly true. He hadn't given inspiration much chance to flow as he hadn't sat down in a while with the intention to write.
“I guess I haven't felt particularly inspired lately,” he said.
“That's too bad.”
“Inspiration's a fickle mistress.”
“I guess so.”
“Besides, it gives me more time for other things.”
“Like reading. And music,” Catherine said.
“Yeah,” David had another sip of his drink.
“What are you reading now?” she asked
David scrunched up his face. Seeing this, Catherine asked, “What?”
“It's going to sound pretentious.”
“Well, now you have to tell me.”
“Okay. I'm reading Walden right now.”
Catherine smiled. “Eh, it's a bit pretentious.”
David shrugged. “What are you reading now?”
“Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me you live alone in the woods in the middle of nowhere, and you're reading a book about a guy who lived alone in the woods in the middle of nowhere?”
David pressed his lips against each other and nodded slowly.
“Wow.”
David continued nodding.
“That's kinda cool, I guess.”
“I mean, I figure, Thoreau did it first. Might as well learn from his experience.”
“Seems reasonable,” she said nodding and lifting her glass for another sip.
“Are you reading anything now?” David asked.
“Yeah,” she said, putting down her glass. “A book about World War II and the Holocaust.”
“That's serious.”
“Yeah, I don't usually tell people that sort of thing.”
“I think that's fascinating. Depressing, for sure. But fascinating.”
“Yeah, it's really interesting.”
“I've read all of one book about the Holocaust. Great book though, I highly recommend it.”
“What's it called?”
“Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“It is. Frankl was a Jewish psychiatrist who survived the concentration camps and discussed at length the impact it had on him and on those around him. Captivating really. Might be up your alley if you're already into this sort of thing.”
“Yeah, sounds good. I'll have to check it out.”
“You can borrow my copy if you want,” he found himself saying.
“I can't do that,” she said.
“It's cool. I'm happy to lend it to someone who'll actually read it.”
“Okay, maybe.”
David smiled. “So, tell me more about this Holocaust book.”
Catherine was quiet for a moment, but didn't release eye contact with David.
“Your eyes are green,” she said.
“So are yours,” he said.
Shrugging and flicking her hair behind her shoulders, she said “I guess I'm just curious about the motivation that goes into something like the Holocaust. I mean, what kind of person actually insists on subjecting people to such suffering? And how did the Nazi soldiers go along with it?”
“These are good questions.”
“Yeah, and this book does a good job of answering them. It even has journal entries from some of the soldiers where they discuss all that they did to the Jews, and how they felt, and how it affected them.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah, you can borrow it when I'm done if you want.”
“I might have to.”
After another sip, David noticed their beers were below the half-way point in their glasses. This reminded him of his intent to leave after the first drink. He wondered if he shouldn't stay a while longer. But the store, and the cats. I need to go.
“So, what else do you do?” David asked as the thought of leaving drifted out of mind.
“I like to draw and paint,” she said.
“That's great. I'm always impressed by visual art. Especially since I'm terrible at it. Are you any good?” he asked.
“I'm all right.”
“Uh huh. How long you been painting?”
“Since I was little. We were still living in Michigan at the time.”
“Your family?”
“Right. We moved to California when I was about eight, and I remember painting before that. And my parents kept a bunch of stuff I made in kindergarten. I guess I've painted as long as I could hold a brush.”
“That's great, Catherine. Really. I kinda wish my parents got me into something like that early on. I played T-ball.”
Catherine smiled. “You said you write. When did you start writing?”
“I guess I started writing in—” During his pause, he sipped more beer. “I'd say at the beginning of middle school.”
“What prompted it?”
David laughed through his nose, “Angst, I guess.”
“What did you write about?”
David shook his head and grinned with his lips together.
“What?” she asked.
Tracing his finger along the edge of the glass, David said, “Death, dying. The end. The Void.”
“That's charming,” she said with a nod.
“I was a little depressed.”
“I see. I kinda know how that it is. I don't know how depressed I was though. I'm not sure I allowed myself much opportunity to feel any of it. I was always busy with school or sports.”
“How did you deal?” he asked.
“I channeled some of it into my painting, I guess. I remember some strange stuff from that time.”
“Really? I'd be interested in seeing some of that.”
“I'm happy to show you, but it's all in Michigan.”
“Too bad.”
The beer was all gone and the pause in the conversation seemed like a good time for David to leave. Before he could, Catherine was again speaking.
“So, where are you from originally?” she asked.
“I grew up in Maine.” As soon as he said so, his mind transported him to the other side of the country. The house he grew up in was still there like nothing had changed. There his mind inserted his mother and sister. Now the envelope appeared, followed shortly by the airplane overhead. And the grass all around.
“How was it?” Catherine asked.
The illusion of a past long gone was like a dense fog in his mind, filled with silhouettes and memories and emotions. He was staring into the fog, eyes wide with vague sense of foreboding, when Catherine's question settled into the foreground. “It was okay,” he responded, slowly merging with the present.<