by Graham Parke
I breathed a sigh of relief. “So, he didn’t pass away?”
“Oh, no,” the nurse said, shaking her head, “he’s still dead, but he died this morning rather than last night.” She held up her hand with a small amount of space between her thumb and index finger. “You missed him by that much.”
“I see,” I said. “Does it at least say what he died of?”
She browsed her screen, bit her lip, and mumbled, “Yes, no, wait a minute. I saw something about…. Ah, yes. Yes, it does.” She looked up again. For a long moment we stared at each other. When I finally arched an eyebrow, she said, “Are you a relative? I’m not supposed to give out this kind of information to just anybody.”
I tried to think fast. I really needed that information but I didn’t know Joseph other than from the clinic waiting area. We’d never even spoken. Then, out of nowhere, the perfect answer just occurred to me. I told her, “Yes.”
“Okay then.” She was about to tell me when her face clouded over again. “You really should be getting this information from his doctor, though.”
I waved it away, told her it would be okay.
“Well,” she said, reading from her screen, “it says here he died of dehydration and malnutrition.”
“He was found passed out in his apartment,” I told her. “Apparently he’d been out for a while. Does it say what caused him to lose consciousness in the first place?”
The nurse perused the file for a long time, then shook her head. “No, sorry,” she said. “I’ll have to get the doctor for that. Just a moment.” She reached for the phone.
“That’s okay,” I said, not wanting to get into trouble for impersonating a relative. “I need to go. Pressed for time. Thank you.”
As I turned to leave, she called after me, “Are you sure you don’t want to visit anyone else? There are some really nice people up on the second floor. Much nicer than Mr. Miller. They’d love to talk to you.”
Blog entry: None the wiser, I returned home, spent the remainder of the weekend wondering what all this meant. It was possible something unrelated to the trial had knocked Joseph out and caused him to die of dehydration, but my mind was still not completely at ease. I’d rather have found some conclusive evidence. I resolved to ask Dr. Hargrove a few more pointed questions next time.
Blog entry: Monday. Slow day at the store. Had some customers in but couldn’t get them enthused. Probably helps if you know at least a little about antiques.
Blog entry: Monday night. Couldn’t sleep. Sounded like my downstairs neighbor was drilling thousands of tiny holes in his ceiling.
Blog entry: Tuesday night. Couldn’t sleep. Sounded like my downstairs neighbor was dancing the meringue on an overturned bathtub in stiletto heels.
Blog entry: Wednesday night. Slept like a baby. But, upon awakening, noticed there were thousands of tiny holes in my floor.
Think I might have to give Warren some feedback on his manuscript.
4.
Blog entry: Theorized about the possibilities of solving a 500 piece puzzle in one go, simply by taking the pieces from the box in the right order. Initial calculations indicate that the chances of this ever happening are small, which means it’s indeed possible. Never heard of this happening to anyone, however, so, statistically speaking, it’s bound to happen soon.
Wondered if I should invest time in becoming the first person to do this. There might be some benefits to be had.
Two small problems with testing this theory: (1.) I’m too lazy for this kind of endeavor; (2.) I don’t own any puzzles.
Put on a pair of black socks and hurried to the store.
Blog entry: Arrived only a few minutes late. Hicks managed to lose the majority of his ticks and twitches while we opened up so it was a good start. We decided to put out a different set of antiques to finally attract some customers. As it didn’t look like rain, I asked Hicks to help me carry out a small marble top commode, a split-cane high-backed chair, and something that was either a chest or a small bench.
Blog entry: Looked like another slow morning. Spent some time editing my blogs. Told Hicks to do some sweeping.
Blog entry: An hour after opening up we finally had a serious customer! He headed straight for the older stuff at the back and didn’t seem to mind the dust and cobwebs. Seemed, in fact, attracted by them. He wanted to know if one of the larger pieces was perhaps an original Victorian baroque style chest of drawers.
I told him it probably was.
He looked it over and decided it probably wasn’t, partly due to the absence of the telltale oval beveled mirror.
I told him he was probably right.
Then he asked if it was, perhaps, an early 19th century American painted pine chest.
I told him that, on second thought, it probably was.
He stood back, scratched his chin, shook his head, and said the puzzling thing was that it resembled in outward appearance some of the more notable pieces of the Louis Philippe period, while its refinement of details was more in line with Louis XIV style.
I told him he was right, it couldn’t possibly be an early 19th century American painted pine chest.
Then he asked me if I was sure it wasn’t a de la Cave au Grenier, and I told him we were closed.
Blog entry: Told Hicks to reopen five minutes later. Rest of the day was slow. No more customers. Had a lot of time to edit my blogs.
Blog note: Early in the trial I decided not to upload my entries in their entirety.
They told me specifically not to edit my thoughts when blogging, so I don’t. But I cannot possibly give them everything I write, if only for my entries on Dr. Hargrove and my doubts about the safety of the trial.
In order to be fair, I’m careful and sparse with my edits. I do not edit out anything simply because it’s embarrassing, and I make sure my edits are not relevant to the trial. My feeling is that the things I edit out, another trial participants might not even have written about in the first place. So, in a way, those bits shouldn’t even exist. And it’s not an evil thing to not give someone something that doesn’t exist.
I’m fairly sure of that.
As I perform my sparse edits, I try not to think about whether this theory counts as devious thinking and whether devious thinking counts as a side effect. And I’m hopeful ‘sparse editing’ itself doesn’t count either.
Blog entry: Hicks came over to ask if he should sweep the sidewalk. As I was trying to concentrate on my blogs, I mumbled something noncommittal.
I inherited Hicks along with the store when my parents died in a tragic accident on one of their antiques-hunting expeditions. I kept him around in the hope he’d turn out to know something vital about the antiques business. If he does, he’s been keeping extremely quiet about it. In fact, he’s shown no signs of knowing anything vital about anything.
Hicks trundled out of the store and started sweeping the sidewalk. After a few minutes he returned; sweeping the sidewalk apparently irritated his gums.
He disappeared to the back.
Blog entry: Sometimes I think about messing with the researchers’ minds through my blogs. I toy with the idea of blogging about some bogus experiences that will throw them off. Like suddenly developing an unhealthy attraction to clams, or finding myself able to deduce people’s phone numbers from their liver spots. But then I remember how much I like Dr. Hargrove and I end up blogging truthfully.
Checked my calendar; next appointment will be my tenth clinic visit. It’ll constitute an anniversary of sorts. Should probably bring something nice for Dr. Hargrove, so she knows I like her. Will pick up something small during lunch.
Blog note: Some days I can hardly remember why I joined a medical experiment. It’s not that it’s been so long, it’s just that my mind is a bit muddled regarding my reasoning at the time. Maybe it’s because I had so many good reasons it’s difficult to pinpoint the deciding factor. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the drugs that are muddling my mind.
This thought scares
me. It means I could be forgetting all kinds of things, like whether I even took the first experimental drug dose willingly…
(Was I forced into this trial? Am I an unknowing lab rat? Are they, at this very moment, planning the back-story to my almost certain demise?)
Blog entry: Wanted to calm myself down. Took my lunch break early. Went shopping for 500 piece puzzles.
Started out looking for easy puzzles, ones with almost no repeating patterns of color and shape, then realized it really made no difference for my experiment; I wouldn’t even be looking at the pieces, I’d merely take them from the box in the right order.
Could only find Disney puzzles, so decided to forget the whole thing.
Blog entry: Went looking for a present for Dr. Hargrove instead. Got some fancy Belgium chocolates. The kind that comes in heart-shaped boxes and has weird fillings.
Blog note: My main reason for continuing the drug trial is that I like Dr. Hargrove. I really enjoy spending time with her, listening to her talk, answering her questions. But this is not the reason I joined the experiment. It can’t be, not unless I met her beforehand and discovered she needed test subjects. I don’t remember that being the case. With my memory being what it is, though, and me not knowing what it is that my memory is being, anything is possible.
Blog entry: Dumped the chocolates in a trashcan and bought Dr. Hargrove a newspaper instead. This way she’ll know I like her, but she won’t know I like like her.
Blog entry: Remainder of the afternoon was uneventful. Made no sales. Closed up at exactly five, then headed home. On my way I remembered why I joined the drug trial: I did it to supplement my almost nonexistent antiques store income. I was strapped for cash.
Fairly sure this was the main reason.
5.
Blog entry: Every once in a while you come across a novel that reminds you why you think you enjoy reading in the first place. A novel so fresh and new that it reacquaints you with feelings of childhood wonder. The novel my neighbor Warren wrote was, quite possibly, the very first example I’d come across of the exact opposite of this. Which presented me with a dilemma: should I tell him the truth and risk hurting his feelings, or should I lie and risk him spending more of his precious time on such a hopeless venture?
After much soul searching I decided to take the middle road and let Warren know that his effort was a piece of singular happenstance for which the literary world was unlikely to be ready in the next one hundred years or so. To ensure that I got my point across clearly, I decided to tell him in his own language, by boiling a pot of fresh salamanders above his balcony at 3:12 a.m.
Blog entry: Awoke optimistic and invigorated. Didn’t suffer at all from my late night adventure. Arrived at the store only a little late and helped Hicks carry some prime examples of antique-hood out to the curb. Today I’d really try to sell something.
Told Hicks to keep an eye on the weather. First sign of rain we’d have to bring the prime examples back in.
Hicks seemed happy enough, so I proceeded to ignore him and started on my blogs.
Blog note: It occurs to me that, in order to stop test subjects from making up strange experiences to mess with the researchers’ heads, it’s good to have the test subjects like like their doctor. This means it’s possible that Dr. Hargrove added something to the trial drugs to facilitate this effect. Some kind of aphrodisiac maybe.
It also occurs to me that if this is the case, then that’s not very nice of Dr. Hargrove. You can’t mess with a person’s feelings that way.
I try to get upset with Dr. Hargrove about this but don’t manage. All I feel is vague disinterest. Which means I probably am on some kind of aphrodisiac! It’s not like me to tolerate dishonesty.
Or maybe it’s just that it’s hard to get upset about some virtual dishonesty you’ve just made up in your head.
I’ll let this matter rest for the time being.
Blog entry: First rain in weeks. Carried the prime examples back inside, carried some old crap back out. Some of my stuff’s so ugly, a little water damage could only help. Might even make it look older than it is. Don’t know much about antiques, but think this may help with sales.
Went back inside. Toweled off. Did some blogging and waited for customers to be overcome with the urge to buy pre-owned, pre-discarded crap.
No such luck.
Blog entry: Asked to borrow Hicks’ watch. When he wasn’t looking, I moved the time forward 2 hours and 4 minutes. Gave the watch back after 1 hour en 2 minutes.
Headed home at 2:56 p.m.
Blog entry: Ran into my neighbor in the elevator. It was awkward. He asked how the manuscript was coming along and I told him I’d read as much of it as I was going to. After a silence that didn’t last nearly long enough, he asked what I thought of it. I toyed with the idea of telling him it was very neatly printed, and I especially liked the tack he’d put through the left top corner for my convenience, but I opted against it. Instead, I inquired if he had perhaps misinterpreted my feedback for the lonely sounds of a madman boiling salamanders on his balcony late at night for no other reason than that it gave him pleasure.
Warren thought this over, told me he had indeed misinterpreted my feedback. He apologized. I told him not to worry about it.
I tried for another uncomfortable silence but Warren broke it almost immediately. He brought up his manuscript again. I tiptoed around the subject for a while but, as we passed his floor and rose on to mine, I realized I wasn’t going to get rid of him without answering his question. At any rate, I needed to get him off my back before I stepped off the elevator; I couldn’t risk him following me to my apartment.
The elevator slowed and an ominous ‘ding’ told me I was out of time.
Decided to make a final attempt at regaining my freedom; turned to Warren and told him that I’d said everything that could possibly be said with the salamanders and that, as an artist, he should understand I could never sacrifice the intensity of my work (or my feedback) by translating it into a lesser medium. Moreover, it would be an unforgivable waste of perfectly good salamanders.
Warren could do nothing but agree.
Blog entry: Watched some TV. Browsed the net. Ordered in.
Blog entry: First truly quiet night in weeks. Slept well. Woke early and thought some more about Dr. Hargrove and the trial. Wondered again if the drugs were making me like Dr. Hargrove.
Tried to think of reasons why she shouldn’t be likable. I couldn’t find any. She’s funny and intelligent, well-mannered and clean, and her smile is exceedingly cute. Also, she has big tits.
Tried to think of other reasons why I shouldn’t like her, things that made her ‘not my type.’ If I could find a reason I shouldn’t like her, then I’d know the drugs were making me like her. Unless there was something else making me like her that was neither natural nor the drugs.
Realized I was giving myself a headache.
Decided to get out of bed and find some socks.
6.
Blog entry: Slow day at the store. Decided to comb the net for references to Joseph Miller. If I knew more about the guy, I might figure out what happened to him. Better yet, I might be able to rule out the drug trial as the main cause of his demise, which would allow me to enjoy my visits with Dr. Hargrove once again.
Checked the news sites to see how the police investigation was going. Came across a few articles I hadn’t read before, but none offered up much about the investigation. I did learn Joseph’s age (38) and his marital status (single), plus, there was a reference to some volunteer work he’d done for a local zoo. I made a note to check up on that later – zoos are an ideal place to come into contact with a range of chemicals, poisons, and exotic materials.
Then I checked the various online exhibitionist portals. The sites that allow you to set up a home page, create a blog, or make a book for your face. I weeded out a slew of J. Millers who were either too young or lived too far away, then filtered out all the J’s that weren’t actually Josephs.
I was left with three very small, very sober sites.
The first was an attempt Joseph had made at setting up his own poetry site. After posting five or six bland poems, which received virtually no comments, he’d abandoned it. This was about two years ago.
The next site was his old high school site. On it, he introduced himself and wondered whether any of his former classmates wanted to get back in touch.
The last site was a personal blog page he’d apparently updated only rarely.
Blog entry: Guy came into the store carrying a box. He tried to sell me some of his old stuff; a barometer, a dresser from a child’s play set, two hand mirrors, and an ancient looking coat hanger.
He asked me what I thought it was worth, but I had no idea. I put my laptop away and looked his stuff over, offered him a hundred. He didn’t seem happy. It took me a while to realize he wasn’t sure whether I was offering too much or too little. Shrugged and told him he could take it or leave it. He took the money.
Mental note: always hesitate before mentioning monetary amounts. Sellers don’t like it when you just drop a number off the top of your head. Even if it’s higher than they expected.
Blog entry: Told Hicks to update the window displays with the new crap, then set about uploading my edited blogs. While my laptop purred away, I found some time to wonder about talents and the significance of fate and timing. Lately, I’ve been worrying about people born in 1432 AD, who would’ve had a real knack for electronics. It falls short of keeping me up at night, but not by much. Similarly, I tend to fret over people who would’ve been brilliant at a double reed-width manual loom, but who were born last Friday. Definitely, these people were born with a talent not matching their era, which is a terrible waste.
