by Brian Blose
Chapter 5 – Zack / Iteration 144
Zack turned off his cell-phone when reporters discovered his number, which was towards the end of his shift. By the time Zack got home, the news had run not only the picture Maggie snapped with her phone, but also the damning video from the store camera, which someone had uploaded to the internet. The confrontation with Lacey began the moment he walked through the door and lasted for over an hour, only ending when Lacey began to cry. Zack uttered false assurances that he was happy, did love her, and thought life was great.
They ate a dinner of tater tots and chicken nuggets microwaved to a soggy mess while they watched the local news. Zack listened to a segment on road construction around Pittsburgh while Lacey pushed food around on her plate. “One of us needs to learn how to cook before the baby gets here.”
“I know how to cook,” Zack said.
“Microwaves don't count, hon.”
“I cook food at work every day.”
“That thing at your work is just a big toaster. I'm talkin' about real food.”
The news anchors began discussing a recent crime spree targeting hubcaps. “Real food, huh? Don't you think it's hard to define real food when no one is certain what is real in the first place?”
“Real is when you can see and touch something. It's not complicated, Hon.”
“It's not just seeing and touching. It's perceiving and remembering, which are unreliable mental processes. Let's give a hypothetical situation where the world began five years ago.”
Lacey snorted. “World's lot older than that.”
“How can anyone really know the age of the world? If the world sprang into existence five years ago, fully formed with a complete but false history, no one would know. Fake memories would match fake records.”
“And Santa Clause has a magic sleigh too,” Lacey said.
Zack smiled. “Who knows, right?”
“Pretty sure I know.”
“You think you know.”
“I know what you do at work ain't real cooking.”
“How about making candy bar milkshakes? Is that real cooking?”
“Hell no. And you still owe me a new blender for that.”
“It tasted good, though.”
“Not as good as Dairy Queen.”
The news returned to the story of the shooting. “Today in Sarver, a robbery goes bad and an employee loses his life. Except he's completely unharmed. Watch the security footage and decide if this is a miracle or a hoax.” Zack turned off the television. Seeing himself on the news drove home the realization of how bad he had screwed up.
“Wow,” Lacey said, “I didn't think anything could make you skip the news.”
“Just make sure the baby comes at a convenient time.”
“You watch the news in the delivery room and I'll put the remote where you don't want it.”
After they finished dinner, Zack washed the mismatched dishes in the sink and replaced them in the cupboard while Lacey painted her nails at the table, filling their cramped trailer with fumes that couldn’t be healthy. Zack grabbed a Penn Dark from the fridge and sat across from his wife. Cue a comment about the cost of microbrews.
“Y’know, if you didn’t have to buy fancy Penn Brewery beer, we could get cable.”
“Cable costs a bit more than that, Lacey.” Next she’ll mention texting.
“We could at least get texting on our plan. I’m the only person at work without it.”
Zack began to peel the label, watching Lacey from the corner of his eye, waiting for her to mention Kelly Green, a former friend and compulsive label peeler whom Lacey despised.
“You know that annoys the hell out of me,” she said.
Zack grunted. Usually he could direct her side of the conversation for at least five exchanges. Once he got twelve in a row, but he hadn’t managed a roll like that in over a month. Instead of becoming more predictable with familiarity, Lacey grew increasingly temperamental. Zack thought that was his fault. His intimate influence rendered Lacey a contaminated subject. Instead of observing her behavior, he was observing her reactions to him.
He turned his attention to the bottle in his hands. The brewery was half an hour south, on the north side of Pittsburgh. It produced a range of beer varieties, but Penn Dark, their version of a German Dunkel, was his favorite. He thought it might be nice to visit the place one day, but his daily routine already demanded too much energy from him.
Zack wondered if he would have been happier under different circumstances. When this world sprang into existence, he was given the identity of Zack Vernon, twenty-year-old heir to a recently deceased business executive and owner of an investment portfolio worth seven million dollars. In his first day of life, Zack had contemplated his options. The money afforded him the ability to travel, live an extravagant lifestyle, pursue an education, or walk the world without the requirement of working.
In the terrifying darkness of his first night, Zack resolved to get rid of the money. The rash decision survived into the light of day and Zack arranged for everything he possessed to be donated to helping orphans. Zack had been surprised by how little transgressing the Divine Command bothered him.
Faced with the requirement to work, Zack took the first opening he could find that would allow him to observe people. Five years later, he still worked at the same gas station convenience store. The only significant change to his life had been the appearance of Lacey.
Zack threw the empty bottle in the trash and prepared for bed. He changed clothes, washed his face, brushed his teeth, checked the nightlight was plugged into the outlet, and climbed under the covers. He stared at the cheap glow-in-the-dark star stickers he had plastered to the ceiling and imagined the aftermath of his death. People screaming, robbers running, Maggie snapping her photo, Lacey crying, paramedics racing, and him in a puddle of blood and brains, feeling nothing. Tears slipped free of his eyes. He had almost escaped.
