Warning Signs

Chapter 7

It was a Wednesday. Another week had passed. And yet another child had thrown up onto the floor. I remember wondering how often I would witness that happening in total throughout my career. I never knew what was worse: seeing the child so upset or watching the shoulders of their parents sink in frustrated acceptance. Being a father myself, it was easy to sympathize with. A sick child happens when you least expect it—and it's always at the most inconvenient of times.

Whenever this happened at the diner, we had a bucket of sawdust in the back for it. The wood chips soaked up the liquid and made it easier to clean that way. On this particular day, I was having trouble finding it, so I was making my rounds asking other staff members if they'd seen it. No one had. After searching for a long while, I finally decided to check the side office. It was unlikely to be in there, but it was the last place I could think of to look. Upon entering the room, I stumbled upon William. He was bent over the desk in heavy concentration, papers scattered all around him. The only light on was a single lamp on the desk, which had been lowered so close to the papers that it barely allowed any light into the rest of the room. William hadn't noticed when I first stepped in, and in fact, he most likely would not have noticed me at all had I acted on my initial instinct which was to leave him alone. But I wasn't about to go clean the throw up out front without some kind of soaking element, so I rapped my knuckles against the doorframe and cleared my throat. William did not look up. I knocked louder, still no response. So, I stepped forward to make my presence known.

Upon coming closer to the desk, I was able to inspect the papers he was writing on. They were filled with various doodles, sketches, or mathematical equations. It looked like he was working on some kind of new project. From the looks of the drawings, he was very early on in the development stage. There wasn't enough drawn out to really know what he was doing.

"Will?" I called quietly. His hand suddenly slammed down the pen he was holding with a loud bang against the desk and I startled.

"What?" he asked, clearly irritated. I recognized immediately that I must have interrupted something important to him. Still, I was surprised by his agitation.

"Have you seen the sawdust?" I asked, deciding not to address his outburst. "I've got a vomit problem up front and I can't find the bucket."

He stared at me for a long moment. I couldn't tell if he was simply processing my question or if there was more to it than that. Eventually, though, he pointed behind himself at a gray bucket that had been shoved against one of the filing cabinets.

"Oh, great, thanks!" I said, eagerly pushing past his chair to reach for the sawdust. He said nothing, seemingly deciding to stay silent as he waited for me to leave.

Once I had turned back around, my curiosity over his drawings had gotten the best of me. Despite his fingers now tapping against the desk impatiently, I felt compelled to ask him about his latest plans right then and there.

"What are you working on?"

He shrugged and made a non-committal noise. Then stared harder at me. I felt as though he were trying to push me out the door with his eyes alone. I frowned, taking the hint, and quietly carried the bucket past his desk with the intent of leaving.

Will seemed satisfied with this, choosing to swivel his chair away from me to re-absorb back into whatever he was working on. It was then that his attitude finally bothered me. For some reason, the small action of his chair spinning away caused my emotions to shift from complacency to anger. Just as I was about to pass through the doorway, I swiftly spun on my heel and glared at my business partner.

"Hey, you don't have to get upset with me when I didn't do anything."

William's head whirled to look up at me. His brows furrowed and his lips had curled into a nasty sneer. His words took me aback.

"You saw I was busy and decided to speak to me anyway."

I guffawed at him. William had never spoken to me that way before. I had also never heard anyone so blatantly arrogant. His words completely shocked me and as a result, I admittedly got defensive--quickly. "Excuse me? Some of us are trying to run a business here."

He glared at me. "Are you saying I don't?" he asked.

I had already lost the argument with this question. Thus far, William had shared the workload very well, it didn't make sense to accuse him of lagging behind. But I was too upset over his initial snappy comment to back down. So, I jerked my head in the direction of his desk and said the only thing I could think of in the moment. "Whatever you're working on certainly looks like a private project to me," I said, shifting the bucket in my hands to my other hip. It was a poor observation, really. There was no way to know what he was working on. It was entirely possible he had been planning on showing me an idea for a future upgrade to the diner. But the words were already said, and I wasn't about to retreat after such a rude display of behavior toward me. "You're back here slaving away on some passion while I'm up front cleaning up a random kid's throw up."

"Welcome to children's entertainment," came William's sarcastic reply.

My eyes widened in shock. Was he serious? Now I was enraged. I threw the bucket down from my hip and let it slam down onto the tiled floor. I recall being fueled with a sudden rage. "What is your problem?!" I demanded to know. William and I had never had an argument like this before nor had he said anything like that to me. Where was this coming from?

His hands clamped into fists and he opened his mouth to speak, but apparently, he decided not to say whatever it was he was going to say and instead he clenched his teeth and let out a sort of whispered growl. He looked frustrated, unsure of what to do or say. I remained standing still, my arms now crossed, and waited patiently for his answer.

"I... apologize," he said eventually. His tone wasn't happy, but I was glad to have the words anyway. My lack of a response must have caused him to continue because he then added, "I was caught up in the moment."

"Mm-hmm," I said, nodding. His added words felt empty. Insulting. A few more moments of silence passed. We seemed at a stalemate, I not yet wanting to fully accept his apology, and him apparently being done expressing any kind of fake remorse.

Finally, I looked down at the bucket. I kicked at it vaguely.

"Mind helping with this?" I asked.

William looked immediately aghast and insulted. But I refused to take back my request. His fingers clenched again, his eyes scanning between the bucket and my face. In all honesty, I had trapped him. If he was to keep up the act of a genuine apology, he had no choice.

"Fine," he said, begrudgingly standing from his desk and stepping forward to take the bucket. "Where is it?"

"Left of the stage, near table three," I replied. Admittedly, I remember feeling a little too pleased to see his expression as he grabbed the bucket and left the room. Even looking back now, I don't regret it. It's the one memory I have to hold onto for now.

That day was the first time William had ever shown anger like that toward me. Not even during our most frustrating early days of working on the animatronics did he ever lash out in my direction. It was true that William could get angry, the register error from the other day was a perfect example of that, but he had never taken it out on another human being before. It had always been a simple justifiable expression of rage before dissipating on its own over time.

But that day was different. And looking back, I fear that my selfish behavior in the end might have sown a seed of hated.

Sometimes I wonder... if I hadn't of forced him to clean that mess, would my daughter still be alive today?