One morning, back when Harry was sixteen, he had woken up and paused to take in the grandness and simplicity of the world. His hand-me-down bedsheets from his brother were soft beneath his skin, gentle streams of sunlight slipped between a crack in the curtains, capturing the dust in the air mid-suspension, and the lazy hum of a lawnmower played in the background like a record. In that moment, Harry realized that there would be a day in which such peace would only be a hazy memory. The never ending strength in his legs as he ran and the name of his neighbor's five cats that he looked after would all be gone, and he probably wouldn't even realize it.
That day was today. Harry's alarm beeped while the sky outside was still dark, and he jerked up in bed, only for his left calf to seize up. He hissed loudly, grabbing his calf in his cold hands and hugging it to his chest. He rocked back and forth, curses firing off in his head, until the pain slowly subsided.
Pain over. Harry swept his feet off the bed and trudged mechanically to the bathroom. His toes curled at the coolness of the tiles beneath him, and he shivered in his loose sleepwear. He stared at his rugged image in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes stared back.
"Am I lonely?" Harry asked himself, cringing at his rusty voice. "Darcy hasn't visited in a while, although you have Nick from work, don't you?"
Harry scratched his neck. Sometimes he needed a reality check, or a shrink really. Unfortunately, working in a cubicle all day didn't pay the best, so the mirror would have to do.
"But Nick isn't your best friend, is he?" Harry frowned. "Do you even have a best friend?" Harry put himself in deep thought for a moment, running his thumb across the small patch of stubble on his chin. He really needed to shave.
"Nick always talks about that really good friend back from college. What was his name? Either ways, they are best friends. We're just co-workers."
Harry brushed his teeth, showered, and poured a bowl of cereal before setting out to work. As he rolled out of his neighborhood, he glanced at himself in the rearview mirror.
"Come on Styles. Cheer up. Today might be promotion day. You never know." Harry said to himself, straightening his shoulders and slapping a smile across his face.
"Styles, see me in my office."
Harry looked up from his computer to his boss, who had peeked his head out of his office door. At PlayTime Toys, the company had a great motivation tactic by placing superiors in enclosed offices full with blinds, engraved name plates, and potted plants, while ordinary guys like Harry got cubicles and cat calendars. Harry supposed it was motivating for the newer guys, but as a decade old employee, he couldn't help but see it as demeaning.
Nick quirked his eyebrows at Harry from his adjacent cubicle. He sent Harry a quick thumbs up, a sort of code for good luck around the office whenever the boss summoned his next victim. Harry swallowed, scooting out of his chair. Think positive, Harry berated himself. Promotion. Promotion. Promotion.
"Yes, Mr. Scooters?" Harry shrunk into the office, stumbling awkwardly like a baby giraffe on his long gangly limbs. Mr. Scooters, a stone face greying man, eyed Harry under his stern stare, the one that all his co workers dubbed the "scooter scowl." The name always had Harry cracking up while hiccuping from nerves at the same time.
"Ah, Mr. Styles, sit, please," Mr. Scooters said, finishing his paperwork with one last stroke of his pen. It was nearly noon, and the California sun streaming through the glass wall reflected off Scooter's gold name plate and straight into Harry's eyes. Perhaps that was another one of the company's motivation tactics.
"Yes, Mr. Scooters?" Harry asked politely, biting the inside of his cheek. The name never got old.
"Mr. Styles, as a long time employee, you must recognize that there has been a few... changes in the company over the past few years," Mr. Scooters said slowly. He paused, his hands drifting to play with the Newton's balls sitting on his desk. The steel balls clacked against one another, almost like a metronome, trapping Harry in like hypnotism. Mr. Scooters suddenly looked up, staring at Harry expectantly.
