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I have an extra toothbrush, comb, and brush that I keep for emergencies. I have never had an emergency. This is not an emergency, but if I pack them now I will not have to think about it again. I put the toothbrush, a new tube of toothpaste, the comb, brush, razor, shaving cream, and a nail clipper in the little zipper bag that fits into my suitcase and put it in. I look again at the list they gave us. That is everything. I tighten the straps in the suitcase, then zip it shut and put it away.
Mr. Aldrin said to contact the bank, the apartment manager, and any friends who might be worried. He gave us a statement to give to the bank and apartment manager, explaining that we would be gone on a temporary assignment for the company, our paychecks would continue to be paid into the bank, and the bank should continue to make all automatic payments. I bounce the statement to my branch manager.
Downstairs, the apartment manager’s door is shut, but I can hear a vacuum cleaner moaning inside. When I was little, I was afraid of the vacuum cleaner because it sounded like it was crying, “Ohhhh… noooooo… oohhhh… nooooo,” when my mother pulled it back and forth. It roared and whined and moaned. Now it is just a
“Mr. Arrendale!” Ms. Tomasz, the manager, sounds surprised. She would not expect to see me in midmorning on a weekday. “Are you sick? Do you need something?”
“I am going on a project for the company I work for,” I say. I have rehearsed saying this smoothly. I hand her the statement Mr. Aldrin gave us. “I have told the bank to make the payments for my rent. You can contact the company if it does not.”
“Oh!” She glances down at the paper, and before she has time to read all of it, she looks up at me. “But… how long will you be gone?”
“I am not sure,” I say. “But I will come back.” I do not know that for sure, but I do not want her to worry.
“You aren’t leaving because that man cut your tires in our parking lot? Tried to hurt you?”
“No,” I say. I do not know why she would think that. “It is a special assignment.”
“I worried about you; I really did,” Ms. Tomasz says. “I almost came up and spoke to you, to express — to say I was sorry — but you know you do keep to yourself, pretty much.” ‹
“I am all right,” I say.
“We’ll miss you,” she says. I do not understand how that can be true if she does not even see me most of the time. “Take care of yourself,” she says. I do not tell her that I ca
When I get back upstairs, the bank’s automatic reply has come through, saying that the message has been received and the manager will make a specific reply very soon and thank you for your patronage. Underneath it says: “Safety Tip #21: Never leave the key of your safe-deposit box in your home when you leave for a vacation.” I do not have a safe-deposit box so I do not have to worry about it.
I decide to walk down to the little bakery for lunch — I saw the sign about sandwiches to order when I bought bread there. It is not crowded, but I do not like the music on the radio. It is loud and banging. I order a ham sandwich made with ham from pigs fed a vegetarian diet and butchered under close supervision and the freshest ingredients and take it away. It is too cold to stop and eat outside, so I walk back to the apartment with it and eat it in my kitchenette.
I could call Marjory. I could take her to di
If I call her and she goes with me to di
What would we talk about? She does not know any more about brain functionality than I do now. It is not her field. We both fence, but I do not think we could talk about fencing the whole time. I do not think she is interested in space; like Mr. Aldrin she seems to think it is a waste of money.
If I come back — if the treatment works and I am like other men in the brain as well as in the body — will I like her the way I do now?
Is she another case of the pool with the angel — do I love her because I think she is the only one I can love?
I get up and put on Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D. The music builds a complex landscape, mountains and valleys and great gulfs of cool, windy air. Will I still like Bach when I come back, if I come back?
For a moment, fear seizes my whole being and I am falling through blackness, faster than any light could ever be, but the music rises under me, lifts me up like an ocean wave, and I am no longer afraid.
Friday morning. I would go to work, but there is nothing in my office to do, and there is nothing in my apartment to do, either. The confirmation from the bank manager was in my stack this morning. I could do my laundry now, but I do my laundry on Friday nights. It occurs to me that if I do my laundry tonight as usual and then sleep on the sheets tonight and Saturday night and Sunday night, I will have dirty sheets on the bed and dirty towels in the bathroom when I check into the clinic. I do not know what to do about that. I do not want to leave dirty things behind me, but otherwise I will have to get up early Monday morning and do a wash then.
I think about contacting the others, but I decide not to. I do not want to talk to them, really. I am not used to having a day like this, apart from pla
I wash the breakfast dishes and stack them. The apartment is too quiet, too big and empty suddenly. I do not know where I will go, but I have to go somewhere. I put my wallet and keys in my pocket and leave. It is only five minutes later than I usually leave.
Da
Outside, it is cloudy and cold but not raining right now. It is not as windy as yesterday. I walk over to my car and get in. I do not turn the engine on yet, because I do not know where I will go. It is a waste to run the engine u
A shadow darkens my window. It is Da
“Are you all right?” he asks. “Is something wrong?”
“I am not going to work today,” I say. “I am deciding where to go.”
“Okay,” he says. I am surprised; I did not think he was that interested. If he is that interested, maybe he would want to know that I am going away.
“I am going away,” I say.
His face changes expression. “Moving? Was it that stalker? He won’t hurt you again, Lou.”
It is interesting that both he and the apartment manager assumed I might be leaving because of Don.
“No,” I say. “I am not moving, but I am going to be gone several weeks at least. There is a new experimental treatment; my company wants me to take it.”
He looks worried. “Your company — do you want it? Are they pressuring you?”