by Chad Josey
“Wouldn’t that be awesome?”
“So, you want to see the box that came too?” Mary asked as she stood, passing by Joe to walk out of the room. After a few seconds, she returned carrying a box she had placed in their bedroom earlier.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I peeked inside the box right before you called.” She sat the box down on the edge of the red futon. Inside the opened box were two picture albums and one scrapbook.
“Oh, great… pictures of me and my goofy haircuts in middle school,” Joe said with a sarcastic laugh. He reached for one of the picture albums.
“Remember, I loved your goofy haircuts.” Mary ran her hand through Joe’s hair as he sat beside her.
Joe took the largest of the albums and placed it between them. The turning pages crinkled, caused by the plastic protective covers, which had become a dull, yellow color along the edges.
“Awe, how cute?” Mary placed her finger on a baby picture of Joe. She pointed to a picture on the opposite page. “Wow, you look like your dad in this picture?”
“Yeah, this was taken about the time Mama and Daddy met when she came back home her freshman year of college, here.”
“So, he’s like, what... eighteen in this picture?”
“Yeah, something like that.” Joe stood. “Let me get our high school yearbook.” He bent down to the bottom shelf, pulling out a dust-covered, blue book.
“You’re right. Looks just like me.” Joe pointed to his senior picture. “I never noticed that? Grandma would say it every now and again, but no one ever wanted to say too much around me about him.”
“How long were your parents together, before—”
“Well, they met when Mama came home from school, so that would have been at least in May of ’78. They got pregnant with me that summer…” His last few words came slower as he tried remembering the events correctly.
“That’s why Rachel didn’t go back to college?”
“It probably gave her a good reason. Grandma told me once that Mama told her she got really homesick her freshman year, and that was why. But, being pregnant with me does sound like the real reason, doesn’t it?”
“Why did she come all the way here to Stony Brook for college?”
“To be closer to New York City, I think… as Grandma said, to get the Hell outta Texas. The bad thing is Mama gave up a full academic scholarship, here, majoring in biology.”
Mary turned the next page in the album. A picture trapped behind the plastic covering was of Rachel as a teenager. Joe placed his hand over the bottom of his mama’s high school picture.
“I wish I could have met your mama. She was so pretty.”
“Yeah,” Joe said as he removed his hand away from Rachel’s picture at a slow pace. Painful memories of her last few days hit him.
“So, let’s see. I was born on April 1st in 1979, which is also when Daddy died…” Joe paused as Mary turned the page. “It’s crazy, I’m almost older now than both my parents were in any of these pictures.”
Upon hearing his comment, Mary slammed the picture album closed. She reached inside the box and placed the bulging scrapbook on her lap.
“Okay, enough of the sad talk. Show me your macaroni necklace or your drawing of a turkey you made by tracing your hand. C’mon, you know all scrapbooks have these things in them?”
“Well, I’ve never seen this scrapbook, so I couldn’t even begin to tell you what Grandma kept?”
Mary opened the book. The smell of twenty-year-old glue and dust-covered papers rose to them. “See, I told you. Here is your hand turkey.” She laughed at his crooked turkey with its weird, bumpy curved feathers.
“I don’t even remember making that?”
“Here are your report cards. And, your certificate for good behavior in kindergarten… Oh, look, a first-place ribbon in the science fair.”
“Yep, nerd-of-the-year,” Joe said, mocking his achievements as he took the book from her lap. Joe turned the pages. “And, here’s my swimming certificate from the Y… so much random stuff in here.”
Mary searched inside the box and left the room for few moments before returning beside him. “I could’ve sworn there were two scrapbooks I took out of that box before I left?”
She checked again inside the empty box as Joe continued turning the pages. “Strange? There were four books in there, I’m sure of it?”
Joe closed the scrapbook on his lap and placed it back into the box. He stood, turned to Mary taking her hands into his.
“That’s okay. You were sure you locked the door too before you left.” Joe had a devilish grin on his face. “Now, where were we? We were talking about starting a family, huh?” His voice was soft and deep as he bent down kissing the side of her neck.
“Mmm, that feels good,” she whispered. Her lips followed along the side of his face, reaching his to kiss him back.
Joe pulled away and turned toward the box sitting beside them and kicked it to the floor. He turned back toward Mary.
Joe said, “There… now, where were we?”
November 18, 2014
Stony Brook, New York
HUNCHED OVER his laptop, the light in the laboratory flickered above Joe as he reviewed the results of his latest experiments. With a sudden jolt, the lab door swung open slamming against the inside wall. The horizontal, metal blinds over the door’s window rocked side-to-side ushering Charlie into the lab holding Joe’s wireless office phone.
“Joe, call for you.” Charlie held his hands over the bottom microphone.
“Who is it?”
“What do I look like, your secretary?”
Joe took the phone from Charlie’s out-stretched arms and landed back on his stool. “Hello, this is Dr. Bishop.”
“Hello, Dr. Bishop. I hope I am catching you at a good time?”
“Well, actually, I was just in the middle of—” The caller interrupted Joe.
“Yes, well, I am with the Delhomme Agency. I’m calling about an outstanding amount due to one of our clients, First Bank of Long Island. Your outstanding balance due on your credit card has been transferred to our agency for collection.”
Joe rolled his eyes as he listened. Jeez, another one.
“Your outstanding balance is $1,750.23, and it's one-hundred and twenty-two days past due. Does this information sound correct to you, Dr. Bishop?”
Running his free hand through his hair and looking up toward the ceiling, Joe responded with a heavy sigh into the phone. “Yeah, that’s sounds about right. But as I explained to the bank, we’d like to lower our minimum payments.”
Fingers banged away on a keyboard through the phone. “Okay, our records show your last conversation with the bank two weeks ago. The original minimum payment was five percent of the outstanding balance.”
Joe stood from his stool pacing around the lab. His nostrils flared with every keystroke in his ear without anyone speaking.
Dammit, it’s just a two percent difference. It’s not like we can even pay that anyway.
“Okay, here’s what we can do. We will send a new bill to you in the mail, today. Your new monthly bill will indicate a minimum payment calculated at three percent of the outstanding balance due. Our mailing address will be included on the bill, and if you have any questions please contact us.”
Sure, whatever. “Okay, will do.”
“Well, thank you, Dr. Bishop. On behalf of the Delhomme Agency, you have a nice day.” The caller’s faked pleasantry was apparent given how fast the call ended.
“You have a nice day, Dr. Bishop,” Joe said in a high, mocking voice. “Dammit, another collection agency!” He screamed in frustration slamming the phone down onto the tabletop.
“Yeah, the wife and I get those too,” Charlie said as stood at the lab sink washing his beakers.
“I mean, we’re trying the best we can. We’re even selling some of our shit.”
“How’s Mary doing at finding a second job?”
“She teaches all day at the middle
school and picks up some nights at the Pub. She’s trying to see if the Community College has any teaching assignments, but nothing yet.”
Joe looked toward the ceiling with heavy sighs escaping from his body. The call had violated his research sanctuary.
“And, it ain’t like we’re getting rich here with our research,” Charlie said as he walked over and sat across from Joe. “I tell you who’s getting rich. It’s these pharmaceutical companies that take our research and use it in their drugs. You ever thought about leaving this post-doc work?”
“Sometimes. But, Man, I feel like I’m just so close, you know? I identified the RNA codex for the markers of different cancers. But, I... I still can’t quite get to the next step in finding a cure and shit.”
“Hell, Joe, you’ve been hanging around me too much, cussin’ like that.” An approving smile stared back at Joe.
“Mary, says that too.” Joe returned a smile and head nod to Charlie. “It’s just all this frustrating shit with our bills, Man.”
“Hang in there. It’s not like you own a house, and your car is paid for. So, what’s the worst that can happen?”
“We get evicted from our apartment and have to come live with your sorry ass.”
“Hell, it ain’t like you and me are home much anyway. Becky would love the company because our twins can get on her nerves.”
Joe stood from the table and rinsed his coffee mug in the sink. “We’ll figure it out. At least we think we’re getting it under control, now.”
“Why don’t you call it a day? Go home to your beautiful wife, and make sweet love to her.” Charlie’s voice became deeper doing his best Marvin Gaye impersonation.
“Like, uh, that’s another thing. If we do ever have kids, how will our finances be then?”
“Dude, look at me and Becky. I’m in the same boat as you doing this research. Becky hasn’t been back to work since the kids. So, when the time comes, y’all will make it happen.”
Joe replayed Charlie’s words as Joe left the lab building heading to the train station. His reassurance comforted Joe.
Even though it is a short fifteen-minute train trip, the time usually allowed Joe to decompress and unwind before coming home. Joe’s work consumed him. His thoughts raced all day and night mentally reviewing his numbers and comparative research. Joe believed he was close to answers in his research.
Laughter and conversations against the backdrop of howling train wheels typically were enough to snap his thoughts away from his work and back to the normalcy of his family life. Today’s train ride did not calm him.
His thoughts raced between the phone call, his talk with Charlie, his past conversations with Mary about starting a family, to turning down a lucrative job offer after college. His manic mind twisted and turned his thoughts into a jumbled mess.
The train stopped in Stony Brook. Joe collected his backpack and left down the platform to the sidewalk outside the station. During his four-block walk home, his thoughts pressed him.
All we have really left we can sell is the china we got from Grandma after our wedding… The only other thing is our car.
Joe fumbled in his backpack for the keys unlocking the door to his apartment.
But, we need to have a car. Charlie’s right. It’s not like we can get anything for that piece of shit, anyway.
He entered the apartment and placed his jacket on the back of the door. Mary was not home yet from teaching. Their place felt empty. The stereo was gone. The television was sold. Echoes bounced through the living room with his recliner absent.
Joe placed his hands to his lips and blew into them. It’s cold in here? He checked the thermostat on the wall. Sixty-two degrees? Joe tapped his fist on the thermostat.
“That’s just great. Our heat’s turned off.”
His hands were no longer cold. Blood boiled throughout his body pulsating a rage he had kept suppressed.
Joe walked into the office, threw his backpack on the red futon, and sat in the chair behind his grandfather’s antique desk.
Why, why, why, Grandma did you not give us the house or at least something else we could sell?
The chair moaned as Joe leaned back placing his hands behind his neck. “Well, this desk is probably worth a couple thousand.” Joe’s words were biting and sarcastic, as the desk had sat useless in their apartment for ten years since arriving from Texas.
But, why this, Grandma? I know you were proud of me, but a desk?
His mind flashed back to his childhood. He remembered doing his math homework, while his grandma knelt beside him attempting to help. This memory made him smile. Joe realized she did not understand anything about statistics or calculus, but Liz tried to help, anyway.
Joe searched his memory for any semblance of meaning as to why his grandma had left the desk to him. A smile appeared to Joe as a memory flashed from the time he had sat at this desk talking to Mary on the phone after an eighth-grade dance.
As fast as his memory appeared, is as fast as his thoughts shifted to Mr. Spivey’s reading of the Will. After ten years, Spivey’s voice repeated clearly in his memory.
Remember, Joseph, as I always would say to you that the truth is in this desk… the truth is in this desk… the truth is in this desk.
Spivey’s mental voice grew louder as Joe balled up both fists and banged them on the desktop. With each pounding sound, Joe shouted sarcastically, “The truth is in this desk!”
The fist banging and his yelling filled their apartment like the chanting of an ancient witch doctor. “The truth is in this desk!” Bang!
With a heavy sigh, as if to signal his last assault, he yelled, “The truth is in this desk!” This time, he slammed both hand down together. He felt blood pumping with each heartbeat on the bottom of both fists against the wooden desktop.
An eerie silence filled the apartment except for a small click from the bottom of the desk where Joe’s feet were.
Great, now I’ve broken the damn thing?
Joe slid off the edge of his seat as his chair rolled away behind him. He got on his knees to determine what he had broken after his violent tantrum.
The shadow from above made it impossible to see. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a black flashlight with a white Stonehaven Labs logo.
His back muscles tinged as he positioned himself on his knees and elbows under the desk holding his head turned sideways against the floor. Joe moved the flashlight to the floor.
To his surprise, he reached under where a small, wooden drawer had popped down about two inches. The angle made it impossible to see. Joe slipped his hand inside the small, hidden drawer.
His fingers slipped across something square. It felt like a piece of thick paper with a smooth, plastic covering on it. Joe was unsuccessful in his first attempt in grabbing it with his fingertips. On his third attempt, he got a fingernail under the thick paper.
Joe pulled his hand out of the drawer holding a square piece of black plastic. He flipped it over. A Polaroid picture stared back to Joe.
What the hell?
The picture was in his right hand and the flashlight in the other. His elbows supported him while he stared at the picture with his knees still on the floor and his butt stuck up in the air.
The faded picture appeared to be several years old. The shadows from the desk and the flashlight glare made it impossible for him to make out who was in the picture.
Joe turned off the flashlight, crawled out and pulled himself up. He knelt with his wrists on the edge of the desk’s writing surface. Gone were the shadows and glare from his earlier vantage point. Joe could make out whom he saw.
“That’s, me? That’s at my high school graduation?” The tone of his voice questioned what he saw.
Why was this picture hidden in here?
The sound of keys and the front door knob turning broke his stare on the picture. Mary came into the living room carrying two plastic grocery bags.
“Hey, Sweetie. You’re home early,” Mary said.
“Um… huh.” Joe grunted as he stumbled into the living room. Mary went into the kitchen to put the groceries away. The smell of freshly baked bread rolls followed her.
Mary’s voice was faint blocked by the rustling of plastic bags from the other room. “So, I got a call today from someone asking about our credit card bill. I pretended I was Mary’s sister. Ha, I don’t even have a sister—” Mary stopped talking when she entered the room with Joe standing there.
She knew something was wrong. No matter how terrible Joe’s day was, he always would kiss her when either of them came home.
“Everything all right?”
“Uh… oh… hey.” Joe broke his concentration as he gave her a quick kiss. “So, what’d you get at the store?”
“I thought I’d make hot dogs, tonight.”
“Remember what Mr. Spivey said?” Joe asked.
“Mister, who?”
“Spivey, at the Will reading.”
“Oh, yeah, you mean, Bobby?”
“Remember when he was reading the part from Grandma about why she left me the desk?”
“Yeah, I guess, so? That was so long ago.”
“The part about the truth is in this desk?” Joe held his discovery to her face.
“What? You finally found the million dollars.” Mary laughed as she held the picture Joe had given her. “What’s this?”
“Found it in the desk.” Joe stood behind her peering over her shoulder.
“That’s you… at our high school graduation.” She pulled the picture closer making sure. “You’ve not seen this in there before, now?”
Joe took the picture from Mary stepping in front of her in the middle of the living room. “I’ve never seen this picture. I accidentally hit the desk and heard something pop-open on the bottom… um… I looked, and found this.” Joe did not want to confess to her about his tantrum.
“Crazy, because we were joking about money being inside,” Mary said as she walked into the office. “Where was it hidden?”
“It was under there.” Joe grabbed the flashlight and shined it in the area of the hidden drawer.
Mary took the light from him and got down on her hands and knees. The desk muffled her voice. “This is pretty cool. You think there are other drawers under here?”