Tomorrow

Tomorrow - Chp. 11

2009, June 9th

                        I felt tired and God knows I looked it but sometime I felt as if the world would tip on its side if I stopped just a moment to rest. My goal was to keep busy, to drown myself in paper work if that was even possible. As usual people started looking and questioning; though silently among themselves, but you could never miss that extra second of staring. I always felt it each time I would walk through the hallways at the factory or main office.

            In some peculiar way, it came across as being normal. My workers were always nosey and highly inquisitive of matters that didn’t concern them. There was no reason to alter their behavior now. I wouldn’t have minded so much if only I didn’t feel so anxious all the time. Part of the blame could be placed on the strained atmosphere now that Annie and I were no longer working less than a hundred feet from each other.

            It didn’t take long for everyone else to figure things out while she was still here. No more lunches together in the worker’s room or stopping for a brief chat at her desk so anyone in the vicinity could ogle us and bend an ear to listen. Annie, for her part, said nothing nor added to any ongoing gossip. The few times we did cross, she would look away and quickly move out of sight.

            But all that ended a week ago and on her last day she merely said goodbye, in that same monotone voice she used the night I left her flat. Was I sorry to see her go? Of course, I’m not that much of an ogre though many here would say otherwise. She had been a good and kind friend when I really needed one. I’ll miss that and I’ll miss her.

            Arriving to work early this morning, I had been following a similar pattern of behavior the past few weeks. I just couldn’t explain why I needed to keep busy. As tired as I ended up being after a log day, my mind continued to work overtime projecting images, some of which I had experienced and some I regarded with some trepidation.

            Sitting now at my desk, staring at the same bookcase Stuart scrutinized for the past half hour, I was still at a loss to what he found so interesting or intriguing.

            My eyes went instead to the small vase; the one I kept with me at all times, taking it everywhere, hoping seeing it or touching it would trigger another memory. So far there had been nothing, but unlike before I was openly trying to remember now.

            Maybe it was having such a clear and emotional recollection that induced me to try, for real. For a day I had even gone so far as to contemplate seeing a therapist. That never materialized though, as talking about what I couldn’t recall on the off chance I would suddenly remember seemed arbitrary and highly subjective. Either you remembered or you didn’t was what I believed.

            I had remembered some, but it still wasn’t enough.

            Getting ready to reach for the vase, minutes later, Bessy came in bringing the new invoices and supply requisition sheets to be approved and signed.

            “All these came in this morning.”

            She pointed to form on the top listing the new bolts of fabric. I did look it over, but skimmed most of the contents.

            “That’s good. It means we can start on the new orders by the end of this week.”

            “You’ll have to approve these, only a few small changes.”

            “We couldn’t get the colors we wanted?”

            I never liked it when distribution houses tried to substitute.