Yea that’s it, that’s the worst thing. Jesus.
“I mean, this guy is as republican as they come. Conserve, conserve, conserve. He only enforces the reason why the republicans have a jackass for their mascot.”
“Yea.” It hurts Roger to say anything.
“See, I work for a business called United, Inc. It’s a huge software corporation that makes millions every year. Probably more. And this guy, Goldsmith, is helping them out. Sounds good, right?”
“Yea.” Roger suppresses vomit from coming up.
“Yea, well it’s not. Not when you’re just a middle man nobody. I bust my ass everyday trying to get ahead, but I don’t see a penny more. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and the middle man just stays the same.”
Roger says nothing. There’s a brief silence.
“Do you follow sports?”
“No.”
“Well I suppose you missed the game last night then, huh?”
Roger nods. Well actually, wait. There was a television underneath the bridge where Roger was watching and rooting and eating popcorn. He had his foam #1 finger on and his favorite player’s jersey and everything.
“Oh man, I couldn’t believe it. Sometimes I think some sports are more corrupt than politics.” Joseph smirks at his own joke. “I mean the call the ref made was obviously wrong. He was right there and they even took it to review and they still ruled it not a fumble. Eh, I don’t even want to talk about it.”
Roger just nods. He’s not listening.
“Oh man! That’s it! That’s where I recognize you from!”
“What?”
“Oh wow, it’s been years! I thought you looked familiar, though.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You. Your name is Roger, right?”
“Yes, I told you that.”
“Roger, um, K-Kenston?”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s me, Joseph, Joseph Linderman.” He’s pointing at himself as if it will help somehow. His eyes are hardly on the road.
“I don’t know you.”
“Oh come on, really?”
“Really.”
“We used to be friends at United, Inc. We used to work together in the same department.”
“No, I never worked there.”
“Are you sure? I mean, we hung out quite a bit in and outside of work. I swear I remember you. We used to go to the bar where we would watch the game. It’s actually the same bar I watched the game at last night.” Joseph honks at a car. “You’re a bad driver, asshole!” he says as he passes the car. They can’t hear him , of course.
“I’m not who you’re thinking.”
“This wasn’t even three years ago. Man, we used to get pretty rowdy in Jake’s Pub. Got kicked out a couple of times. Don’t you remember that?”
“No.”
“Think back three years. Are you sure? You used to call me Joe-bomb when you got really really drunk.”
“No.”
But as Roger tries to recall that period in his life, nothing comes to mind. He’s been a bum as long as he can remember. This is just like those idiot cops back at the jailhouse. Mistaken identity idiocy.
“Man, are you sure?”
“Yes.” Of course he’s sure.
“Alright…I could’ve swore.”
It gets quiet again.
“Well, hey, sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. It’s happened before.” By other idiots.
“Huh, yet, you must just have one of those faces, or something.”
“Yea.”
“Oh no that’s it! This will definitely decide whether or not it’s you. Do you have a pretty big scar underneath of that beard?” Roger’s never looked at his appearance long enough to notice something like this.
“I don’t think so.”
“It’d be right along your chin line, right here.” Joseph outlines where it would be. “On your left side.”
“No.”
“Can you just check?”
Roger does. He digs through his beard where Joe told him to.
And there it is. Almost two inches long. Just above the jawbone on the left side is a scar where no hair grows.
“Anything?”
Roger doesn’t respond. How did he get that scar? He can’t remember. When did he get that scar? He doesn’t know.
A feeling of insanity comes about Roger. Everything is alien to him right now. There’s something profoundly maddening going on.
“So?”
“Yes, there is.” Roger can hear himself speak, but it seems so far away, almost as if he isn’t there, but watching from a distance or listening from another room or something.
“I knew it! I knew it was you! I’m pretty good at remembering stuff like this.”
“How did I get the scar?”
“Oh man, you were pretty drunk. Um, let’s see. We were laughing about something and you had a bottle in your hand and you went into this huge fit of laughter and we were sitting at the bar and well, when you get laughing really hard you start to rock, or more like convulse. And see what happened was you were laughing so damn hard that you broke your bottle on the edge of the counter at the same time you were rocking forward. Your face went straight into the sharp side of the broken bottle.”
Roger has no expression on his face.
“And yea, you started bleeding everywhere and we had a helluva time trying to get you to the hospital. Ended up with like eight stitches or something like that.”
Roger can hear his heart panicking.
“Man, those were the days. So what happened to you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you get fired or did you quit or what? Cuz’ all I remember is one day you were gone. No word, no nothing. Just disappeared. I tried going to your apartment, but you weren’t there. Did something happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
Roger thinks hard about this. “I just, uh, I can’t remember anything you’re talking about.”
“The last time I saw you was the night before you were gone. We were down at Jake’s, having a few drinks. It was a Thursday, I think. You were acting pretty weird that night. I think you were really drunk, which was normal for us, but you were just acting pretty weird. Really distant. A little loopy, too. Anyway, the game was one and we were winning. You were barely paying attention. Then out of no where you asked me the weirdest question. Something like, uh,” he pauses for a second trying to recall what exactly it had been, “like, uh, uh, I can’t remember exactly what you said, but it was pretty left field. Anyways, after that you started drinking shots. Just pounding them. Pow! Pow! Pow! Shot after shot after shot. I don’t even know how many it was. But then, yea, I went to piss and when I came back you were gone. Never saw you again after that.”
“Take me back.”
“What?”
“Will you please take me back?”
“Um, well, yea, I guess.”
Chapter 104
Hermit Bridge.
Roger makes straight for Hermit Bridge.
There is something he needs to do. He needs to remember. He needs to know. He needs to figure out what the hell is going on.
This limbo-not-knowing-who-what-when-where-why bullshit it ripping him apart.
Roger tries to get angry, he tries yelling, swearing, punching, everything, but he cannot escape what’s going on inside.
Roger is unsure.
Undecided.
Uncomfortable.
Chapter 105
Roger needs to be silent. He needs to remember.
His mind races faster than his heart beats. Jesus fucking Christ he’s scared.
He needs to think long and hard, deep and uninterrupted.
He needs to remember…
Chapter 106
The alarm goes off. 6 AM.
Roger Kenston rolls out of bed, wondering which suit he
should wear today. And with what shoes. It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing the most expensive suit in the world when you don’t have the right shoes to match.
Let’s see.
Black had been yesterday, so that’s out.
He doesn’t feel like the dark brown.
Oh that’s right. After work yesterday he’d gone and bought a brand new dark blue four hundred dollar suit. And that regular blue silk tie to go with it.
Roger knows he looks good in blue. Susie from another department said he would. She’s always dressed well.
Before dressing himself, Roger goes to the kitchen and readies the meal he eats everyday.
One bowl of whole grain cereal.
One banana.
And one tall glass of premium orange juice.
He pours the milk on the cereal but doesn’t sit down right away. First, he goes to the front door of his two bedroom, one living room, one kitchen, two bathroom apartment to get the newspaper that’s lying on the doormat in the hallway.
Eating the cereal means Sports.
The banana means stocks.
And the orange juice means funnies.
Everyday during the week.
Weekends usually mean pancakes or waffles while watching television. Football games.
Roger puts his new suit on. A silver watch to go with it.
It’s off to work.
His brand new Subaru Outback, which will be paid off within the next six months if he keeps it that long, waits for him in the apartment parking lot. He’s heard about the new Chevy Avalanche and is pretty impressed with the reviews it’s been given. He might get that before the six months are up.
Roger works at United, Inc. It’s a major software company in the city. He’s the head programmer in his department. That means a six figure salary. That means he has just under a quarter of a million dollars in his bank account.
He’s going to get the Avalanche, he’s just decided.
-
At work.
“Morning, Roger.”
“Morning, Heidi.”
“Morning, Roger.”
“Morning, Rick.”
“How are you doing, Roger?”
“Good, thanks, Beth.”
“Morning, Roger.”
“Good morning, Jerry.”
“Hi, Roger.”
“Hey, Susie, how are you this morning? You look nice.”
“Oh thanks, Roger. I’m doing pretty well.”
“Morning, Roger.”
“Morning, Frank.”
“Morning, Roger.”
“Good morning, Mr. Petersen.”
“Say do you think you could finish that little project I asked you to do? I hate to put the pressure on you beings how it’s Friday, but it needs to be done before the weekend, and I know I can count on you when it comes to stuff like this.”
“Yea, that’s no problem, Mr. Petersen.”
“Great, thanks a bunch. You’re the man.”
Roger breaks into a smile and sits down at his desk, cubicle 483. That’s the number he uses if he needs janitorial assistance.
The computer boots up.
Password.
CashisKing. All one word.
Roger checks his email.
Junk.
Junk.
Two work related emails. One is for something he already knows about via Mr. Petersen. The second is about some work party, a bowling party.
White elephant gifts.
“Hey, Rog.”
Roger looks up. “Hey, man. What’s up?”
“Hey, was wondering what we’re doing tonight.” It’s Joseph.
“There’s a game tonight, right?”
”Yea, man.”
“Well let’s hit up Jake’s then.”
“Nice. Let’s get a cab this time, eh?”
“Yea, definitely. You were way too drunk to be driving last time.”
“We made it, didn’t we?”
“Yea, true. Hey, did you get a chance to talk to Susie yet?”
“Gimme time, Rog, alright? Cupid must’ve shot you right in the dick, eh?”
“Funny. No, I just don’t want to waste my time if she’s not single.”
“Yea, yea. I’ll talk to her.” Joe looks at Roger’s screen. “You going to that party, or what?”
“I don’t know. Bowling alleys don’t really have good beer.”
“We could pre-game it.”
“When is it?”
“I think it said next Friday, a week from today.”
“Yea, let’s do it.”
“Okay. And shit, maybe Susie’ll show up and you could bowl down her alley lane, if you know what I mean.” Joe starts mock-giggling at Roger.
“Get to work.”
“Fine. I’ll see you at lunch.”
“K.”
Joseph leaves.
A stapler clicks from somewhere on the floor. And there’s the constant clicking of keyboards.
Always.
Roger starts with his daily tasks, then moves to the big Project Mr. Petersen wants done.
This’ll take all day. This is one of those hand-me-down projects. This is one of those projects Mr. Petersen had received from his superior and so on and so on and so on. This is one of those projects that’s just a cluster of information that needs to be put in a certain order. This is Roger’s project.
A Freeman file.
Shit for Friday.
Bullshit.
But this is also one of those things Roger’s going to have to do in order to advance his career. Every job has its high’s and low’s. Love the high’s, try not to think about the low’s. That’s Roger motto.
Keep the eyes on the goal.
-
Lunch comes.
“Let’s hit MeanGreen’s Pizza.”
“No, man, not today. I’ve got a lot of work to do before I can leave today. PetersenPrick asked me to finish a Freeman File.”
“A Freeman File? On a Friday? That’s some bullshit.”
“Yea, I can do it, but it just sucks. He knows how shitty they are, you know?”
“Yea. Leave it to PetersenPrick-eats-a-lotta-dick to pull something like that. I can’t wait until I’m high up enough to where I can just dump my work on someone else.”
“Yea, no shit. But yea, I’m going to eat in the cafeteria really quick. Something light, then get back to work.”
“Alright, man, I’ll catch up with you after work then.”
“K.”
All of the weirdoes eat in the business cafeteria.
There’s Bob with the comb over and inch thick glasses. He still wears suspenders, for Christ’s sake.
Then there’s weasel face Larry, eyes dart around like he’s watching a pinball game or something. Those were probably fashionable in the thirties.
There’s Maude. She’s fat and has next to nothing for social skills, which is still really giving her more credit than she deserves.
The rest of them are still weird as hell, it’s just that Roger doesn’t know anyone else. The ones he recognizes are the only ones from his department.
Roger browses through the vending machines. He sees a tuna salad sandwich; $3.50.
Roger pulls out his wallet.
Damn, there’s only three one hundred dollar bills inside. Roger thought he just broke one of those a few days ago. He could’ve swore.
He looks around the room. Then someone walks in and sits in the corner. Someone he recognizes. Someone from his floor. His name is Darrell. Darrell has the cubicle across from Roger’s.
Good.
“Hey, um, Darrell, there any way you could break a hundred for me? It’s all I got.”
Darrell looks up. “Oh hey there, Roger! How are ya?”
“I’m good. And you?”
“Gooooood. Now what was that you were saying?” Darrell’s the nice guy. The over-nice guy.
“Could you break a hundred for me?”
“Oh okay. Well lemme just check the ol
d mobile bank.” Darrell pulls out his wallet. Grey with Velcro.
Disgusting.
“Hmm.” He fingers through the crisp bills one at a time, “looks like all I got is fifty-five, that’s not enough is it?”
“No. Thanks though.” Roger starts to walk away. Come on, Darrell, be nice. Be nice.
“Hey, well wait a sec there, Roger. Why don’t I just lend ya five bucks and you can pay me back whenever? We work right next to each other, anyways.”
Roger turns around, “Really?”
“Oh ya sure, no problem. You’re not going anywhere any time soon, right?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Great. Well here ya go then.” Darrell hands Roger a crisp five dollar bill.
“Thanks so much, Darrell. I’ll be sure to get it back to you first thing on Monday.”
“No rush, buddy, I trust ya.”
“Thanks.”
Tuna salad sandwich and a coke. That’s what Roger has for lunch. Ten minute consumption time.
So.
One hour lunch break.
Deduct three minutes for walking to the cafeteria.
Fifty-seven minutes.
Deduct four minutes for Darrell’s over-niceness.
Fifty-three minutes.
Deduct ten minutes for consumption.
Forty-three minutes.
And take away three minutes for getting back to the office.
Forty minutes.
Usual time for getting back from lunch; 1:00 pm.
Add the five hours to that for the Freeman File.
6:00 pm.
Subtract the forty minutes of saved time from lunch.
5:20 pm.
That isn’t bad. Not bad at all.
Roger gets to work.
Four thirty rolls around and Roger is getting frustrated. Stupid thing. Petersen always dumps his shit assignments on Roger. Petersen isn’t even qualified for the position he’s in. Roger knows more than that scrambled egghead.
Roger should be in his position.
Roger will be in his position. He won’t just stay where he is.
He can’t.
That’ll be Roger soon enough. He’s a far better worker than Petersen. Any day of the week Roger does more work than Petersen does in a month.
Shit, 4:35 pm.
Get going.
-
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