Okay, Nathan, still your mind. You’ll never fall asleep at this rate. Wait. I am asleep. This is weird. I am dreaming I am still awake trying to get to sleep. I feel a strange floaty sensation and fuzzy on the sides. I love these lucid dreams. I can indulge my imagination. What shall I be this time? Shall I be a wizard and call upon powers both subtle and gross to smite my enemies? Usually, when I would call up an image in my dreams, it would appear. Not this time. I stayed there all floaty in my bed. I looked around. Yep, this is my bedroom.
I’ve had lucid dreams on and off as long as I can remember. I have always wondered if it is a side effect of my perfect memory? Well, my almost perfect memory. My inability to remember tastes only started to bother me when my mother became ill and no longer could cook. I would give a great deal to taste my mother’s biscuits and gravy. It is comfort food at its best. Charlene does a fine job in her efforts, but for some reason, it is not the same.
I heard my wife finishing up her shower. The sounds are muted and warped like listening underwater. She stepped out of the bathroom naked except for a towel wrapped around her head. Okay, it’s one of those dreams. I’m okay with that. I don’t need to be a wizard tonight or today rather. You know what I mean. I sat up in bed and tried to pull the covers open for her to join me. The covers didn’t move, and my wife didn’t even look in my direction. She started pulling various unmentionables out of the dresser and started to put them on. Hey; what kind of dream is this? All show and no action makes Nathan a frustrated hubby.
“Char?” I waited for a moment. Nothing. “Char,” a little louder. Again nothing. “CHAR!” I screamed as loud as I could. She turned and looked at me. She dismissed whatever thought was in her head and went back to finish getting dressed. This dream sucks. I want to go somewhere else. I feel like I am moving but not moving. It is like the feeling when you’re in a carwash, and you see the brushes go by in your peripheral vision. It tricks your mind into believing you are moving. It feels like that, but it lasts more than an instant.
I am at work, the site of a thousand boring memories. I don’t want to dream of work. If I can’t play in the realms of fantasy and I can’t play with my wife, let me dream of my daughter.
Again with the carwash thingy. My daughter’s classroom is before my eyes. The kids are all sitting on a rug in front of the teacher. They are listening to her read a story out of a book. Every time the teacher paused, she would show them the illustration on the page from the story. She sounded as watery and muted as my wife. This is strange. In my dreams, I usually know what figments are saying. I don’t see them say it, but I understand. I can see the teacher speaking. I see the kids fidgeting on the rug. I see the walls decorated in numbers, colors, and shapes all in perfect detail. I hadn’t noticed at first, but my bedroom was in perfect detail too. Work also was exact in detail. This is not right; I don’t understand this.
I want to wake up. Wake up you middle-aged fart. I am being pulled out of my daughter’s classroom. When I switched location before, the movement was forward. This time I am falling backward. I am looking up at a scene which is quickly getting smaller as if I am falling straight down a circular shaft. “Lassie girl, go tell Timmy I am trapped in the well!”
I jerked awake in my bed. My heart is racing, and sweat is covering my face. It was the weirdest dream I ever had. Believe it; I remember them all. I sat up and looked around. The room is dark and quiet. Charlene had pulled the blackout drapes before she left for my daughter’s school. The clock showed I have been asleep for a couple of hours, but it feels like only moments. I sat there on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, trying to calm down. After my heart slowed to a normal rate, I stood and went into the kitchen for a drink of something. I grabbed the milk out of the fridge and drank a couple of swallows straight out of the carton. Char would have a fit if she saw it. I should wipe-off my fingerprints to be sure I’m not found out.
I put the milk back and closed the fridge door. There is a new piece of art on the door. It is a crude painting of our family outside in the sun. We can’t let the school psychologist see this. She would think something is wrong. A happy child with parents still married, and all of us enjoying each other’s company, it doesn’t happen anymore.
I’m too cynical.
I kissed my fingertips then touched my daughter’s Picasso like rendition of herself. “Love you, Mo.” Moiraine has the same love of art as her mother. I’ve seen Mo sit and work on her art for hours on end. Such dedication in a five-year-old is rare.
The few hours of restless sleep I had is nowhere near enough. I need more solid sleep. I went back to my bed in hopes a repeat of today’s earlier performance would elude me. I slid back into bed and drifted back into a blissful sleep. The alarm rang. It is time to rise and shine as it were. I jumped into the shower and took a long and a near scalding one. It is the only luxury in my life; that and Diet Pepsi. I love my Diet Pepsi. It’s “My Precious.”
While the water delightfully washed away the dirt and sweat, I shaved my face to a smooth, baby butt finish. Well, at least as best I could with a cheap disposable razor. I finished up as the hot water started to run out. I completed the rest of my daily routine. I went into the kitchen to grab a quick snack. I pulled out a slice of bologna and wrapped it around a sweet pickle, poured myself a tall glass of milk, and indulged. It is time to get ready for the afternoon shift as a crossing guard.
I redressed in my slick crossing guard outfit and headed for my corner. Near the end of my shift at the intersection, my wife and daughter came into view.
“Daddy,” my daughter yelled as they approached.
“How was school?” I asked with a grin on my face.
In unison, we both said, “Good!” It is a game we play every day. If we don’t play it, Moiraine feels slighted. I hugged and kissed them both. They waited there with me while I finished up my shift. We walk back home hand in hand with Mo in between Char and me. Oh, children, nature’s form of birth control.
You know, even though I can’t provide some of the desires in life, I’ve got it sweet. To Hell with the rest of it. I have my full measure of happiness right here with me. As long as my family is safe and well, I can’t complain.
This is how my days mostly go. A little boring, maybe, but fulfilling. At least that’s how they were going for about the next two weeks. I opened a letter in the mail from the District Attorney’s office. It stated the case against Mark Galos had been dismissed with prejudice attached. Big lawyer words telling me I screwed up, and the villain gets to go free.
I stood there reading the letter and could not believe it. No explanation. No nothing, only a form letter thanking me for my service in this matter. I started shaking; my anger is building. This punk had robbed my store, threatened Marcy (the pharmacist), stuck a gun in my face and only on a whim decided not to put two lead slugs in my skull, called me a coward, and stole my wedding ring. With this thought, I rubbed the empty place on my ring finger. The indentation is still there on my finger as fresh as when I took it off that night. I could not see anything but his face. The anger is so intense I thought for sure I am going to turn green and rip out of my clothes.
I am not sure how long I stood there rereading the letter hoping I missed something. With time my anger transformed into determination. By God, he is going to pay. No matter the effort or how long I had to work on it, he is going to pay. I grabbed the phone and dialed the DA’s office.
After six rings, the operator answered, “San Diego County District’s Attorney’s office, please hold.” Before I could even take a breath to speak, she put me on hold. Music is playing over the phone. It is a scratchy and distorted recording of “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas. I don’t know how long I have been on hold, but it felt like an eternity. I started doodling on the pad of paper we kept by the phone. It is a strange drawing; it looks like several Japanese characters of some type and a symbol above them. The symbol looks like a five-petal flower with thorns in-between the pedals. The who
le symbol is encircled by a thin band. I don’t remember seeing this symbol before, and I don’t read Japanese. This is a new experience for me. It is oddly familiar, but I know I had never seen it before. I would remember. Too strange. As I was most puzzled about my sketch, the operator came back on the line.
“Can I help you?”
“Please connect me to Assistant DA Darryl Wayne.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Wayne has already left the office for the day. I will connect you to his voice mail.”
“No. Please …” Click. Damn, she was quick.
“You have reached the desk of …” I hung up before the blasted recording could finish.
I looked at the clock. I had been on hold for over an hour. I needed to relax a bit. I took a breath, closed my eyes, and requested an Enya tune from my internal iPod.
“This is K R A P on the request line Enya’s “Only Time” from the album A Day Without Rain.”
I let the music wash over me like a gentle waterfall from a mountain stream. I let it wash away my anger. I let it wash away my frustration. I let it wash away my weariness. I did not let it wash away the purity of my purpose. It is a rock in my soul. The waters of calm flowed around it without eroding it.
It is Friday, so Mr. Wayne would have to wait till Monday. But bright and early, I would be up to confront our illustrious Assistant DA. The rest of the day went on without a hitch. Time to go to work. I dressed and ready for work.
“Is there something wrong?” Charlene asked as I started to head out the door. “You were a little distant and remote this evening.”
I didn’t want to share the contents of the letter until I had confronted Mr. Wayne. It is too fresh. I didn’t want my anger to build up again, and she deserved better than to see my rage. In truth, it scared me how angry I got. “I’ll tell you later when I have rolled it around in my mind a while.”
“Well, don’t let it get lost in there,” she taunted with a hint of a smile on her face all the while tapping my forehead with her finger.
“Mo, Honey, give me a kiss goodbye.” Moiraine came running and planted one on me, and a hug to boot. “Bye, all. See you in the morning.” I walked to the car pausing only long enough to hear the locks on the front door turn. I got in the car and headed for work.
Chapter Four
I arrived at work with no fuss and no muss. I locked my car and started toward the doors. They slid open with a swish like doors from Star Trek; only these did not have stagehands operating them off-camera. I started walking back to the break room to put my lunch in the refrigerator and clock-in. As I walked through the store taking note of some of the things which needed to get done tonight, I noticed Larry in aisle six. He is busy rotating stock and putting fresh Coke, “Yuck,” on the shelves. “Hey Larry, what are you doing here? You’re scheduled to work days.”
“I don’t know. Believe me; I’m not too thrilled to be here either. But Mike called me into work. So, here I am,” Larry announced to me without glancing my way. “Oh, Mike’s in his office. He told me to send you up there as soon as you clocked in.”
“Head up to the big cheese’s,” I made my way to the office as I had a zillion times before. I knocked on the door. I heard Mike’s voice tell me to come in. I entered to find Mike standing by the security window looking out at the floor. Sitting behind Mike’s desk is another man, Mr. Waters. I had met him only once before when I was promoted to night manager here at work. He is a balding man with only a fringe of brown hair on the sides of his head clipped close. He wore black-horn rimmed glasses. Dressed in a standard two-piece gray suit and black tie, he conveyed a sense of self-importance in his manner and speech. He only glanced at me as I entered the room. Mike’s desk is void of the usual clutter, except for a small file which lay open.
“Have a seat, Mr. Embers,” Mr. Waters offered.
“You can call me Nate,” I answered as I took a seat.
“We have a few things to go over before you clean out your locker, Mr. Embers.”
“Excuse me, clean out my locker? Mike, what’s this all about?”
As Mike said, “Corporate sent down the word you are to be laid off,” he hung his head down. He didn’t say it, but I could hear in Mike’s voice he did not agree with the decision.
“As I said, Mr. Embers, we have a few things to go over. First, we must review your employment record. I see you have been working here for about seven years and were promoted a little over three years ago. Is this correct?”
I felt like I had been gut kicked. The interview continued like this for the next ten minutes with Mr. Waters asking questions and me answering. I am in a daze. What the hell could be the reason for this? The store’s numbers are sound. It had been a twenty-four-hour store since it was built about 15 years ago. I don’t think they are reducing store hours. I am stumped.
“Very well, that answers all my questions, Mr. Embers. If you could read and sign this,” Mr. Waters handed me a sheet of paper.
I took the single sheet of paper and read it. Without getting into each of whereas and whereto, they are firing me and not telling me why. “I don’t understand. It doesn’t tell me why. I want to know why.”
“We are not required by California employment regulations to have a reason to give you a pink slip, Mr. Embers. Please sign the paper acknowledging your firing, and we’ll be done here,” Mr. Waters recited it with no passion in his voice. I could see it is only a task to him. Pick-up the dry cleaning, fill the car with gas and fire Nathan Embers. He could check that off his to-do list. Normally I would have a snappy comeback to all this, but I am too stunned to think of one. I signed the paper and handed it back. Mr. Waters placed it in the folder with the rest of my employment record. Is this all my service to this company is? A file. Sheets of paper to be filed away and forgotten, then one day shredded. I spent the better part of over seven years here at the drug store. What am I going to say to Charlene? How am I going to provide for my family? I had never been fired before. I have been out of work sure but never fired. I don’t deal well with unemployment. I become antsy. This job is supposed to be my ticket to retirement and security for my family. It isn’t glamorous, but it is solid. All the time and effort is now dust.
Mr. Waters handed me another piece of paper. It is my final paycheck. “Mr. Kirkland, please escort Mr. Embers to his locker. Watch him clean it out. Make sure he doesn’t take any store property with him. Then, escort him out of the building. Mr. Embers, be sure you wash your uniform and get it back to us in short order,” he didn’t even have the manners to look at us while he gave his instructions. He closed my file and opened another one.
Mike turned towards the door and grabbed a box. “Come on, Nate. Let’s get this over with.”
We walked in silence to the break room. I opened my locker and started putting my stuff in the box. The locker is mostly empty. Nothing to show for seven years of dedication. Let’s see a clean shirt, some old notices about policy changes, half of an old lunch I had never finished, and assorted other crap. “Mike, what is all this about?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you, so this is strictly off the record. They think you and Marcy were working with the guy who stole all those drugs about two years ago.”
“Oh, crap! You must be kidding me. Marcy, too? This is backassward. I followed all the policies to the letter. I kept my head and got that jerk out of here before he could hurt anyone. This is plain unfair.”
“I told them all that. I told the suits you are a standup guy. I went to bat for you both. Corporate wouldn’t hear any of it. I’m sorry, Nate. I tried.”
“I know you did, Mike. I can hear it in your voice. Well, losing my job today is better than getting a couple of slugs in the head back then. No worries, Mike. I’ve been out of work before. I’ll find something. Who’s taking over the night shift? No, let me guess, Larry.”
“Yep.”
“Good luck with your pick. Don’t get me wrong. Larry does his job, but he won’t sweep the floo
r unless you tell him. He has never done a task because it needs to be done. No initiative him. Have you told Marcy yet?”
“Mr. Waters will break it to her later tonight. God, I hate letting people go. It’s the hardest part of this damn job,” Mike lamented all this while looking at his shoes and rubbing the back of his neck.
“Don’t let them break you, Mike. It isn’t worth it.” I finished loading up the “vast” array of junk from my locker. I closed the door on both the locker and this part of my life. I threw out the old half-eaten lunch. It made a thunk as it hit bottom. With this development, I hope I don’t hit bottom. I turned to Mike, “You don’t have to walk me out. I know the way.”
“It’s no trouble, Nate, and I’m sure he’s watching. I don’t want to give him any ammunition.” We finished walking to the front door quietly. All I can hear is the rush of air from the A/C unit and the hum of the fluorescent lights. The doors opened with a swish. I walked out. The night air is colder than it had been less than an hour ago. I looked up at the sky. Clouds are rolling in to block out the moon and stars. A storm is brewing; I could feel it in my bones.
Mike followed me to my car. He held out his hand, and I shook it. “Nate, I don’t think they’re going to make it easy on you. I heard Mr. Waters on the phone with some suit at corporate. They were talking about getting the word out about you. I think they plan on telling the other drug stores around what they suspect. It’s a bum deal, and none of us here believe it. We passed the hat around. It isn’t a fortune, but we all wanted to do something.” Mike handed me an envelope. I tried not to take it. “Don’t be proud. We all wanted to do this for you.”
The Forging Page 6
