|
Post 9
I spent the rest of the day pretending to
work. With little to do I shuffled some papers, rearranged
the business cards in my Rolodex, and futzed around on
the computer. I knew I should have had more to do; a nagging
feeling creeped from the back of my mind but I couldn't
focus on anything long enough to find out what it was.
I convinced myself it was nothing. I didn't need to do
a thing. Usually, when I convince myself of such things,
I was dead wrong and had a price waiting to be paid.
Not liking to disappoint, I had one waiting
this time as well.
Again, it was the phone that took me out
of my empty-headed stupor. A flicker of recognition should
have come to me at the ring, particlarly the time, 6pm.
Nothing. My mind easily navigated deep and convoluted
passageways, but it couldn't grasp common thought, or,
worse, plans made. And Darlene was not the sort of girl
with whom you broke plans. Definitely not.
"Yeah," I said, the grogginess
in my voice apparent even to myself.
"Tell me you fell asleep," Darlene
said. I hadn't spoken to her since right after the experiment
with Jason. I had a hard time remembering the last thing
we spoke about. It was something about music.
"Fall asleep? No. I am wide awake."
"So, you have no excuse?" Music
she liked, I remembered. A discussion about how, as you
hit your 30's, you start to like less and less music.
We had a long discussion about that.
"Excuse?" I asked. There was a
new band we both liked. We found it odd because neither
of us really liked any of the new music out. It was one
of those things that made us both feel old. But, we both
liked this band. Right then, I couldn't even remember
the name. It was some sort of mental state, that was all
I could remember. Something psychological.
"Yes, excuse." Darlene wasn't
offering any help. None at all. I was still stuck on the
band's name. If she knew what state my brain was in, she
probably would have cut me some slack. She had no idea
how there were old memories mixed with new experiences
about those old memories melded together with things I
couldn't even classify. Plus, this new stream of information
that came to me only clouded things. I got dizzy just
thinking about it.
"If I knew what I needed an excuse
for, I'd think one up," I said. It was a syndrome,
the name of a band. Something about being exposed to too
much art at one time, as if this was something the common
man had to worry about. Most people didn't know art if
it fell on their head, but someone came up with a name
for a syndrome for overexposure to art, and I was struggling
to figure it out. If there was ever an indication that
someone's life had become useless, I was experiencing
it right then. Maybe someone could come up with a name
for that syndrome, then a band could name themselves after
it, and some other idiot could find himself in a worse
situation than I was in.
"You really puzzle me, Darren."
That wasn't good, she'd used my name. People who know
each other rarely use first names. This whole notion of
being on a first-name basis with someone is just that,
a notion. Being on a no name basis with someone was far
more intimate. And when you were on that level with someone,
and they go and use your first name, they are either mad
at you or they have some bad news. I was guessing the
former here.
"I don't try to. But I do puzzle myself
sometimes. It always seems that I have two pieces in my
hands, and no matter what I do, I can't make them fit."
"Interesting point. But it isn't going
to work. I am not going to stand for such trickery."
Without even a thought, I said, "That's
the second time you said that today. And it didn't work
out so well the first time."
"What?" Darlene asked.
"What?" I wasn't really aware
of what I said. I was thinking out loud.
"How did you know that was the second
time I said that?"
"I don't know."
"Sure you don't. How did you know I
tried that with my old boss and it ended in disaster?"
"Like I said, I don't know. It just
slipped out."
"Things like that don't slip out,"
Darlene said. She was right. Still, there was no easy
way to explain something I didn't understand myself.
"Stendahl's Syndrome," I blurted
out, remembering the name of the band and hoping it would
save me in this situation. What I didn't realize was the
importance of remembering why the name of the band was
so important. That might have preempted my bravado right
there. Then again, once it gets going, nothing really
stops my bravado. Not in time, at least.
"Yeah, at least you remembered that.
I guess you didn't remember to pick me up at 5 so we could
get on the road and go see them play."
I really had no recollection of that at
all. I searched my mind and came up blank. Usually, forgetting
things was a calculated device I used so that people thought
I could remember, thus exempting me from any damage. The
truth was I remembered everything. Not having any memory
of agreeing to see the band with Darlene scared me more
than anything else. No matter how much searching I did,
I couldn't find a trace of it in my mind, not even a flicker
of recognition. Nothing.
"You forgot," Darlene said before
any words came from my mouth. "You totally forgot."
"Not really."
"Wow. You aren't even trying to hide
it. You okay?"
"I think so," I said, in a voice
that did anything but convince.
"I'm coming over."
"I don't know," I said. I didn't
want to be around anyone I knew well. God only knew what
would accidentally come out of my mouth.
"Stuff it. You owe me that much. I'll
be over in twenty minutes. Then, you can tell me about
how you know what you know."
Darlene hung up. Again, a phone conversation
did not go well. I never was a big proponent of answering
the phone at all. Most times, it is either a sales call,
someone who has bad news for you, or someone that was
going to waste your time. The way things were going, it
might have been better if I never answered the phone again.
Of course, things can never be that simple.
Not in my life.
Read Post 10 |
.gif){kind=spacer}
This
site is copyright © 2002 John Misak
