by Jon Herrera
Twine
By Jon Herrera
Copyright 2013 Jon Herrera
Table of Contents
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Conclusion
Part 1
A number of intelligent individuals, when confronted with an unfamiliar technology, appear to abandon all common sense and reason or, rather, reason seems to flee from them, leaving behind a confused and easily frustrated entity who is several steps below humanity's current evolutionary rung. The invention of the microchip brought the arrival of a new phenomenon when there arose a multitude of invisible, intelligence-sapping force fields in all parts of the developed world. While many were able to adjust to this progress, and to humanity's conquest of tedious arithmetic, there were a great many more who were particularly susceptible to the brain-drain that occurred inside of these bubbles.
The place where John worked contained such a bubble and it was John's job to sit at the centre of it. John was completely resistant to the powers of the intelligence-draining force field and so he had been able to find employment manning the useful, but dangerous machine that created it. John worked at an office supply store in Smithville, a town that sat between the cities of Hamilton and Niagara Falls, but off to the side from a straight line joining the two. This unfortunate geometrical fact ensured that the town received few visitors and that any stores in the area were under a constant threat of bankruptcy. The entire town was “going under,” as they would say and so was the store where John worked. The name of the shop was “Printsy's” and it had been named so because it housed a print shop in the back and the owner, a widowed Mrs. Miller, lacked good taste. John's job was to sit in the print shop in front of a computer until someone came in with unrealistic expectations and demanded that he do the impossible.
Apart from Mrs. Miller, there was another woman who also worked at Printsy's. This was the engaged twenty-something named Lauren. Though she and John were contemporaries they hardly ever spoke, with John being tucked away at the back of the shop, and Lauren normally standing behind a cash register at the front. The few times they did speak, their conversations were brief and business-like, with John perspiring sometimes and mumbling often.
Today, once such conversation occurred when John walked in to Printsy's looking rushed and a bit dishevelled, with half his shirt hanging out the side of his pants. Though it was summertime, and a hot one at that, John wore a long-sleeve shirt buttoned up all the way to the top.
“You're late again,” Lauren said without looking up from the wedding magazine that she was paging through from behind the counter.
“Yeah, sorry,” John said. “I was...”
“Just hurry up,” Lauren said and waved her hand dismissively. “I won't tell on you.”
John nodded and rushed to the print shop. His work area was enclosed by counters, which separated it like an island from the rows of shelves containing paper, envelopes, staplers, and all the sorts of office supplies that were Printsy's main source of income. In the print shop were two photocopiers backed up against a wall and in the middle of John's island there stood a large table with a paper-cutter, a few rulers, and a mechanical binding machine on it. On the back wall there was a whiteboard where John had to write the jobs that were pending and the date that they were due. Today he needed to make a flyer for Joe’s Golf Supplies. The flyer was for a 50% off sale and Joe had designed it himself.
John picked up a napkin from the table and sat in front of his computer. The napkin had Joe’s design on it in the form of mostly legible scribbles. He pushed the power button and waited a few minutes for the machine to stop making choking sounds and become responsive.
THIS WEEK ONLY
50% OFF ALL SUPPLIES
Before he could finish making the flyer, John heard the ding of the electronic bell that sounded off each time Printsy’s door was opened. He looked up from the screen to see a customer walk in, ignore Lauren, and head straight for the print shop. He was an elderly man, tall and heavy, and he walked with some effort. He stopped before the counter, placed a folder on top of it, then cleared his throat.
“Young man,” he said.
John trembled a little and looked down. The man was serious and authoritative and made him nervous. He stood up and walked to the counter and spoke quietly.
“Good morning, sir,” John said.
The old man took his time thumbing through the contents of the folder before handing John an old photograph. It was in colour but very faded and dull. In the foreground, before a dirt football field, there were three grinning men. One of the men was a smaller, younger version of the old man in front of the counter. John hoped that the job was only a touch-up of the colour, to make the photograph look brighter and more cheerful, and not something ridiculous like…
“I need you to put grass on this field,” the old man said.
While John was explaining why a job like was out of the scope of Printsy’s services, the doorbell dinged for a second time and in walked a young woman. She stopped just inside the store and took a look around as though she had never seen the place before. She smiled at Lauren but the cashier did not look up. The young woman shrugged and made her way to the back and stood a few steps behind the old man to wait.
“So you’re telling me you can’t do it?” the man was saying. “Where is Alice?” He was referring to Alice Miller, the owner of Printsy’s.
“I’m sorry,” John said. “She’s golfing today, I think.”
The man harrumphed. “Tell her to call me. I would like to speak to her.”
“Yes, sir.”
It wasn’t until the man was out the door that John realized that he had no idea who he was. He would have to explain to Mrs. Miller why he hadn’t asked for his name. But maybe if he didn’t say anything at all then the old man would just forget about it.
“Excuse me.”
The young woman had taken the old man’s place. She was short and pretty, with dark hair and pale skin. She placed a small purse on the counter and pulled out a business card, looking at it and turning it over before handing it to John, who tried to keep his hand from shaking as he reached for it across the counter. The business card was for Michèle Photographie, the studio belonging to the only photographer in Smithville. The girl must have been new there as normally an assistant named Beatrice came to Printsy's on behalf of the photographer.
“We need more cards printed,” said the girl. “I brought one. I’m Jillian, by the way.”
John nodded and fidgeted with the card.
“Oh,” he said, “we don’t need it. We have it on file.” He put the card down on the counter and walked to the computer and sat down. It helped his nerves to sit down. He closed the half-finished flyer and navigated to the folder for Michèle Photographie, all the while trying not to think of the girl so that he didn’t tremble. He was all too aware of his trembling and the situations that caused it.
“What is your name?” Jillian said.
John told her, his voice shaking. He located the right file and pretended to look it over. “The usual number?”
“Yes, please,” Jillian said. “How do you like working here, John? I just started at the studio a couple of days ago. I guess we’re neighbours now, huh?”
“I guess so,” John said and walked over to a filing cabinet. From the bottom drawer he pulled out a stack of thick card paper. Each sheet was perforated in the shape of ten business cards. He loaded these into one of the copiers and clicked the “Go” button that instructed it to proceed ahead with the print job he had just sent. The machine whirred and pulled the first sheet of paper inside and began to print. John stood by pretending to concentrate on the copier’s LED so that he could avoid further small-talk.
“Where is there to eat around here?” Jillian said.
John did not look away from the display. “There is a Quizno’s in this plaza,” he said.
Jillian laughed. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I walked right by it on the way here.”
When the printing was finished John took the stacks of paper and moved them to the table in the middle of the print shop. The minutes passed in silence as he had to break apart the sheets into individual business cards. There was no quick way of doing it and he could feel perspiration forming on his face from anxiety. When it was finally finished, he took an envelope and wrote on it, “100 BC. BW.” He put the cards inside the envelope and handed it to Jillian instructing her to show the cashier.
“Thank you, John,” Jillian said. “Hey, why don’t we have lunch sometime. You can show me where Quizno’s is.”
“Yeah,” John said and laughed nervously as Jillian walked away toward the front of the store.
As soon as he heard the ding of the front door, John wiped his face with his sleeve and sighed. He patted his pockets and felt his pack of cigarettes in one and the shape of his lighter in the other. He shook his head and made his way out of the print shop and out Printsy’s back door.
Once outside, under the hot summer sun, John lit a smoke and dropped down to the ground, hugging his legs to his torso with his free arm. He chastised himself for being awkward and shook his head. He wasn’t sure if Jillian had been playing with him or if she really did want to have lunch with him. Either way, he’d probably screwed things up by behaving the way he did. The regret would stay with him for the rest of the long day.
When the slow Monday was over and the store was closed, John got into his Civic and drove away while Lauren locked the shop's door. He was filled with relief as drove out of the plaza with the window down and a smoke in hand. He tried not to think about having to do it all again tomorrow.
The drive home was short. John lived in a basement apartment in a house belonging to the Taylors, an elderly couple. It was a large house with a small basement. He parked his car in the driveway and made his way inside quickly before Mrs. Taylor could see him and try to chat with him. Mr. Taylor, also named John, didn’t like to talk, and John often wished there were more people like him in the world.
It was one of the day’s great pleasures for John when he was finally able to take off his clothes and replace them with a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt. It was in this attire that he found himself sitting on a sofa in front of the television eating two Jamaican beef patties that he had warmed up in the microwave.
After dinner, he watched TV late into the night but eventually he was overcome with guilt about having wasted another day doing nothing. He went to his bed and, as he lied in the small, cramped bedroom trying to sleep, he promised that starting tomorrow things would be different. He wouldn’t be nervous and he wouldn’t be afraid. And when evening came would find something else to do other than watching TV.
It took sometime for his mind to stop racing and for sleep to come to him. He was lying on his stomach with his eyes facing the inside of the room, slowly adjusting to the darkness. His eyelids were heavy and closing slowly and a feeling of calmness and peace was filling him. In the darkness he thought he saw a small flame dancing slowly in front of him, a yellow and gold speck of light waving around about a foot in front of his face, making figure eights and mesmerizing him. The light appeared real but John was too close to sleep to wonder if he was hallucinating.
Just before his eyelids closed, John saw, behind the flame, a shadowed figure crouching in the corner of the room, and he was afraid.