Alfred stood there, speechless. “Nothing happened,” he said, stubbornly, stressing both words, while trying to convince himself they were true. “Nothing. It was just … just …” he trailed off, not knowing how to end the sentence.
“Just a déjà vu,” Pacific filled in. “One. Short. Little. Déjà vu.”
Alfred licked his dry lips, thinking of what to say, unsure of what to do.
Go? Talk? Or just keep silent?
The two men stared at each other while a daunting silence stretched, and time with it.
Pacific rubbed his gloved hands together. “No big deal, one déjà vu. Just a nuisance.” He shook his head slightly, and indicated Alfred with one index finger. “But it can become much more than an inconvenience, if you let it. You know why? It’s because you can lose yourself into nothingness more easily that you can imagine. It happens fast. When your whole life starts to look like the same old movie, with the daily routine and habits that make everything look stale. The repetition, the copy and paste of a day onto the next, like a series of déjà vu carrying you closer and closer to the grave. Let me ask you this question: Is your life starting to look like déjà vu, Alfred White?”
Alfred heart’s bounded heavily against his chest. Once again he knew, inwardly, that Pacific was right. But admitting this would have been too much to bear. It would have meant denying his whole world, his whole life up to that point. He couldn’t afford that. And so he turned, without replying, and walked away from Pacific as fast as he could. Before he knew it, he was running.
When Alfred was well outside of the park, he took his cellphone out of his pocket with a new resolution. He would never see that man again. Never.
This time he wrote the memo down, so that he would make sure to remember. He needed to stay away from that park, away from that man, away from his madness.
When Alfred approached the gigantic building made of glass and steel his heartbeat steadied. The Spear was something he could understand, something familiar, something he could trust, and it made him feel better.
It made him feel safe.
And he wanted no more than that now. To feel same. To fill his life with content for what he already had. He didn’t want people to ask him weird questions; he wanted to follow orders, to blend in, to be forgotten.
And so Alfred White walked with long strides toward his safe harbour, past the stream of people, past the tall entrance of the Spear, and up to the twenty-forth floor. He sought the security of the place where he spent most of his waking time, surrounded by like-minded people busy with tasks, moving with purpose.
Alfred finally entered inside his safe cubicle, his world inside the world, where a tall stack of paper was graciously waiting for him.
He gladly embraced his work that morning, and shielded himself from the unexplainable, impossible things that had happened in the park.
That day he busied himself with things to do, with tasks to accomplish. He successfully solved the problem he had faced the day before, and took on a couple more of his colleagues problems that they couldn’t figure out. That day he had no breaks, and stayed until late at work. When he was done, he approached his coordinator’s office and asked him for more things to do. And his coordinator, a man who had engraved on the door of his office the words: ‘In work we trust’, gladly obliged.
In the Name of Fear
Alfred White woke at seven thirty as he did every morning. This time
placed under the cellphone there was a sheet of paper with a message written in capital letters. ‘AVOID THE MADMAN! DON’T GO TO THE PARK!’
And this time Alfred didn’t. He prepared for his day, went out, and did not take his usual breakfast, giving him extra time to walk the longer way to get to work.
He arrived at the Spear with a feeling of relief. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened that day, and nothing would ever again. He would follow the same plan tomorrow, walk the same path, avoid the park altogether, and never see Pacific again.
One day followed the next one faster than usual the following week. Much faster.
Every day he woke up at seven thirty, followed his morning routine, went out, skipped his breakfast and got to work while avoiding the park.
In those days, Alfred did everything he could to forget about Pacific, and put much effort in reshaping the events that had happened the day of the déjà vu. He repeated to himself over and over again that what he thought he saw had been caused by stress or was just his imagination. One or the other. Or maybe both. Whatever. It just never really happened the way he thought it had happened.
Alfred focused on his job more than ever. It almost became an obsession to him. Every morning, before going to work, he spent five minutes in front of the mirror repeating the same sentence over and over: ‘Work harder, concentrate on your promotion, forget what you saw, and stay away from that place’. And so Alfred committed to long hours in the office, even after the last person had left. He buried himself under paperwork and became the most proactive person in the office, always looking for things to do, for problems to solve, for tasks to accomplish.
Eventually he started to get the boss’ attention. Yes, indeed, his boss was very pleased with his performance, his project coordinator mentioned to him at one meeting. And the next day, to Alfred’s surprise, the boss himself summoned him into his office.
“You’re a good lad with fire inside your belly,” his boss immediately started out once Alfred had closed the door behind him. He was a man in his early sixties, very slim, almost bony, his face full of angles and his chin as sharp as a pyramid turned upside down. “Now, I understand Mr. Spencer hired you and put you in the prep and research department.” He took a bite of the ham and cheese sandwich he was holding and then resumed talking with his mouth full. “Is that right, Arnold?”
Alfred bit his lips, not knowing if it was wise to point out that his name was actually Alfred. He decided to simply ignore the mistake and to reply with a polite, “Yes sir.”
“The man is an idiot.” His boss spit inside the trash bin, then drunk eagerly from a can of Coke. “He got a damn gold nugget as big as his fist and mistook it for brass. Unacceptable. I’ll pop up to his office tomorrow, and make sure he knows how displeased I am. He’ll be on his toes for a month or two.” He laughed a raucous laugh, then took another bite of his sandwich and washed it down with more Coke.
Alfred said nothing. He just kept standing, hoping to look like a confident person, knowing he looked at best just plain awkward. He had never spoken directly with his boss before, and had not expected to be summoned by him that day.
“You are a thing of value, young man,” his boss said, nodding approvingly. He put a finger inside his mouth and dug out a piece of ham which was stuck between his teeth. “I’ve checked your profile and your opt-in score. Best damn percentile I’ve seen in a while. Not to mention that no one before you in the history of the marketing department received a score so high in your age group. What are you doing with us, Arnold?”
Alfred was taken aback by that question. “I … I don’t understand, sir,” he admitted, shifting weight from one foot to the other. “What do you mean?”
“Data mining,” his boss blurted out. “What brought you to this field? I mean, you could have been a great engineer, accountant, even a trader, for God sake. Anything! You can clearly see the big picture, you showed us that in the past few weeks. Data mining is boring, son. The pay is shit, especially if you’re starting at the bottom. Lots of numbers, lots of charts, long hours crammed inside a cubicle and very little fun. So I wonder, what are you doing here?”
Alfred swallowed. He straightened himself a bit, then cleared his throat. “I like to find patterns, sir,” he said. “I like to solve puzzles.”
“That you do.” His boss nodded again. “And data mining is full of those, yes, I see that. Very well, then. You are a man of numbers. Got it.”
The old man trashed what was left of his sandwich, drained his pop in a few gulp
s and then trashed that too. He cleaned his thin lips with a napkin and pointed with a bony finger to the wall behind Alfred.
“See that?”
Alfred turned. His boss was pointing at the picture of a young man inside a gold frame. The man had a very big hat and a very long face. The picture seemed awfully old, and the guy vaguely familiar.
“My great great grandfather,” his boss explained. “He was a forty-niner, a gold miner of the first hour. He broke his back digging holes in Sierra Nevada, I think. Or was it in NorCal? Anyways, at the end of the Gold Rush he had so much gold he could coat himself with it. He built the foundation of my family’s wealth because he knew the value of things. That trait runs in my family, and I, as he did, know that same value, and can spot it a mile away. Now, listen up. You keep up this pace, and bring us to the next quarter with your forecast unaltered, and I’ll make sure your name is in front of every single face on the main floor when it’s time to decide which seeds are worth watering. Do we understand each other?”
“Yessir.”
“Good. You stay with me, boy, and I’ll groom you into a better version of yourself. You are smooth, plain, unused. You are a raw gold nugget. You stay with me, and I’ll make sure to polish you until people see you for the gold ingot you are. Now get the Hell out of here, and produce me results!”
“Y-yes sir!”
Alfred left the office a bit dazed, but unmistakably happy. His promotion was now clearly closer at hand. He just needed to hang on for a little while longer, work harder, keep his head down. Just a while longer.
And so Alfred kept waking up, going out, and getting things done. In the following weeks he also worked on Saturdays and Sundays, and he promised his boss he would continue to do so, until the big project his company was working on would be completed. He assured his boss he would keep working hard on Christmas Eve and on Christmas Day, anything to get the project done on time.
Alfred needed to keep himself busy to avoid thinking too much, and so he shrouded himself with the very same things Pacific had warned him about: repetition, routine, habits.
He woke. He went. He worked.
Then, one day, something happened.
Alfred noticed that ‘something’ the morning of the next Monday. At first, Alfred didn’t know exactly what it was that ‘nameless thing’. A feeling, maybe, something he was not quite able to put a finger on. He just knew it popped up every so often and without notice. He felt that something when he was shaving, walking, browsing the Web, and reading documents at his office.
The feeling was ubiquitous and disturbing at the same time. And there was nothing Alfred could do to ignore it, or to silence it.
It took him several days to finally figure out what that feeling was, and when he did, he realized it wasn’t a felling at all, but rather many of them blended together. There was regret in the mix, nostalgia, curiosity, and something else that felt very much like the fear of missing out.
It was a Friday night, walking back home after work when something sparked in Alfred’s mind. He decided he would slightly change his routine the next day. He needed to break the cycle, to do something different for a change. He would once again get his usual Thai breakfast at Draconian Street and get to work faster, walking through the park’s shortcut.
Why Alfred had the sudden desire to change, to break the routine, he could not say. Maybe he just missed the sweet crepe; maybe he was trying to prove himself he was over the man called Pacific. Whatever the reason was, the decision was made.
And so that Saturday morning he woke up with a feeling of anticipation, and left his home longing for his favourite breakfast place.
The line of people in front of the food cart was as long as ever. When it came his turn, the Thai lady smiled a very broad smile. “Long time no see you,” she greeted him, her eyes shining. He placed his order, and after a few seconds the lady handed him one Khanom Buang filled with extra cream.
“Yeah,” Alfred took his breakfast and paid. “Been busy.”
“Young man makes money,” the Thai lady said approvingly, while brushing her index finger with her thumb. “He buy big house. Get nice car. Then he get beautiful lady and lots of babies. Yes?”
“Maybe,” Alfred said.
“Good, good,” the lady nodded. “Tomorrow, yes? See you tomorrow?”
“I think so,” Alfred gave her a very generous tip, and waved her good bye.
He headed with a strange sort of anticipation toward the park. He was thinking, trying to understand what was going on in his mind. Why was he even doing this? What if he met Pacific again? Didn’t he promise himself he would never see that man again?
Alfred stopped just outside of the park. He felt his heart beating faster and faster. His palms were sweating. He knew very well that the nameless feeling had brought him there for the first time in over two weeks, but he was unsure of his plan. There was still enough time to get to work without using the shortcut. He just needed to turn around and walk away.
Alfred ran his fingers through his hair, and looked around.
What was he going to do now?
He moved forward, barely conscious that his legs were bringing him closer and closer to the last place in the world he wanted to be.
He kept walking. Only a few minutes, now, before he could see the bench surrounded by trees, and maybe a man with a long, laminated coat smiling at him behind sunglasses.
When Alfred got close to his destination, he hid behind a bush less than twenty yards away from the bench and studied the surroundings.
The bench was empty. Alfred kept looking around, searching for a tall man wearing a dark coat. He found none.
Pacific wasn’t there. Alfred gave a last look around before emerging from the bush and headed toward the empty bench. He sat on it and closed his eyes for a while.
He started to think, trying to understand why all these emotions were storming inside him and finally realized something he could barely admit to himself. He wanted to see Pacific again; speak with him, ask him questions. After all he did to avoid him, there he was, alone and eager, waiting for him, holding his breath like some schoolboy dreading an exam but knowing he needed to pass it to get going on with his life.
What was happening to him?
He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. So he just waited, and waited, until the time on his phone’s display showed him he could wait no longer.
Alfred rose from the bench and headed toward the massive building that was his workplace, knowing that he had missed out on something really important. Something he could never hope for again.
Emerald Green
That Sunday Alfred woke up staring blankly at the ceiling of his apartment. The alarm went off at seven thirty, like it normally would. The big project his company was working on was almost complete, and every single hour counted. His boss needed him now more than ever. His promotion was at stake. He had to work harder than any other to get it.
Because he wanted to.
Did he, though?
Of course he wanted to.
But why?
To get more money. A better status. More benefits.
All of these things, he supposed.
He kept staring at the ceiling, thinking, asking himself questions and answering them as best he could.
And then, suddenly, Pacific’s words stood up like a giant wall of fire, impossible to ignore. Those words had been on the back of Alfred’s mind since they had been spoken.
“You can lose yourself into nothingness more easily than you can imagine,” he repeated loudly, as if he were pronouncing a spell. “It happens fast. When your whole life starts to look like the same old movie, with the daily routine and habits that make everything look stale. The repetition, the copy and paste of a day onto the next, like a series of déjà vu carrying you closer and closer to the grave.”
Alfred finally understood why the nameless feeling had started in the first place, but it was too late now to do anything about it.
He knew that. It was too late to go back, to change things, to take Pacific’s offer. He would never see that man again. He would never know what could have happened if he had agreed to his offer.
For the rest of his days he would wake up one morning after the other. He would carry on with a life that had nothing to offer but predictability.
Wasn’t that what he had always wanted, after all? Safety? Predictability? A stable job and a stable income?
Alfred found himself devoid of answers. He didn’t know what he wanted. Not anymore.
He rose from his bed slowly, like a man who was heading toward a wall with a firing squad behind it.
He got ready for work without really caring what he was doing. He didn’t shave, and forgot entirely to take a shower. He put his usual clothes on, and went out without bringing an umbrella.
Alfred’s mind was numb while walking to Main Street. He moved like an object propelled by inertia. He heard the newspaper lady yelling something indistinct while waving a bunch of newspapers to the passersby. No one stopped. No one cared. The lady kept yelling and waving, yelling and waving like a marionette moved by invisible strings.
Alfred kept walking forward, and realized his legs had brought him to Drakonian Street, in front of the Thai lady’s food cart. He waited his turn in line and then asked for his usual breakfast. He heard himself say a few words, but was not sure what they were. He was just reacting to the world around him, now. Nothing more, nothing less.
The Thai lady said something back to him. She looked concerned while handing him a Khanom Buang. Alfred was not listening. He just paid, grabbed the food in silence and walked away.
Alfred headed toward the park without eating his breakfast, still deep in a peculiar trance. He felt lost. He felt isolated from everything and everybody.
Wicked Time Page 3