One Weird Day

One Weird Day - Part 2

A little boy was playing by the building entry. Pauline had been meeting him there almost every morning. The two year old would run around, while his babysitter, an elderly, big, apathetic woman, sat nearby with a box of chocolate cookies on her lap. Most people coming out of the house greeted the boy with smiles, but Pauline had never liked children, especially children who bumped into her on her way to work, their fingers sticky with chocolate. Therefore, she'd made it perfectly clear to both the boy and the babysitter that they should keep away from her.

This time, as usual, the boy stopped once he'd seen her coming out, and ran to his babysitter for protection. Pauline walked by, relieved that something still worked the way it should. She even smiled at the boy to encourage his good behavior, but he winked at her, and it made her smile dissipate.

The post office she worked in was forty eight steps from her house. She always counted steps as she walked, but today, the boy's wink had put her off her stride, and she'd forgotten to start counting. She contemplated coming back to start again, but that would have looked just weird, and she didn't want to encounter the boy again.

The post office had been opened already, and a few customers waited in line. Pauline's coworker, Brenda, was talking to one of them through her window. Pauline walked up to the 'stuff only' door at the side of the counters and tried to push it open, but it was locked from the inside.

"Brenda," she called out. "Get the latch for me."

"Just wait in line, madam," Brenda answered in her high-pitched voice, not looking at her.

"It's me, Pauline."

"Please wait in line to get your service."

"What service?" Pauline said impatiently. "I work here, what are you talking about?"

At last, Brenda granted her a look. "It must be a mistake." She sounded as if she was genuinely trying to help. "Perhaps you work in a different post-office?"

"How many post-offices are around here? Are you kidding me?"

"I think the lady here made it perfectly clear that you need to wait in line," said the customer by the window. "Just wait for your turn and get your cheeseburger, like everybody else."

"What cheeseburger?" she said meekly.

All the customers in the line were staring at her now.

"Please, madam," Brenda said. "Either wait in line or leave. Don't make me call for security."

Pauline counted seventy two steps on her way back. It didn't make sense, but not any more than anything else did today. All she wanted was to get home and be in a safe, protected, organized place once again.

The boy by the entrance ran up to her, his arms outstretched. Before she had a chance to react, he has enclosed her legs in a tight embrace and looked up at her, grinning.

"Mommy!" he shouted. "You got me the tractor? I want it!"

"He's obsessed with that tractor," the babysitter confirmed. "All day long – mommy's getting me a tractor, mommy's getting me a tractor..."

"I'm not his Mommy!" Pauline shouted, losing whatever composure she'd still maintained, trying to free herself from the sticky little hands that clung to her legs, but the boy seemed way too strong for his age. "Get him off me! He's not my son!"

Eventually, she managed to unclench the boy's fingers and pushed him away. He stumbled and fell down – a little too theatrically, it seemed to her, like a football player pretending to be more hurt than he actually was – and burst into tears. The babysitter stood up heavily, looking at Pauline with disapproval, and at that moment, Jeff walked out of the building.

The boy climbed back to his feet and ran to him, crying.

"Mommy pushed me! She pushed me!"

"Why would you do that?" Jeff picked the boy up and frowned at Pauline.

"He's not my son!" she cried. "What's going on here? I don't have any children!"

"Of course he's yours," Jeff said. "Yours and mine."

"So, you're my husband again?" Her voice came out way too shrill. "Not a brother?"

"What brother?" Jeff looked confused. "You never had a brother."

She locked the door of her apartment from the inside, and stepped away from it, panting, staring at it as if expecting someone to try and break it down. Then she looked around, listening, ready for another surprise, but the apartment sounded deserted, just like it was supposed to be.

She put her bag on the small desk by the entry, took her shoes off and went to her bedroom. All was quiet. She sat down on her bed, clasping her hands tightly together. So, it had happened, she thought. They'd been telling her all this time that her orderliness was an obsession and not just a way of life, that she'd go mad one day, raving mad, and here she was, lost in this surreal morning where nothing seemed to be in its place. What was she to do now? Seek treatment? And what if they weren't able to help her – would she have to spend her days in a locked room, together with her hallucinations?

Too much, she thought. Life had seemed too much to bear just yesterday, and today it had crossed the line completely.

She reached out and took the sleeping pills out of the drawer. She unscrewed the cap and peered into the bottle. It was empty.

At first she though it was another twist of her madness, but then, gradually, the memories began to come back. The night before, sitting on the bed, popping the pills one after another, watching some evening show, not quiet seeing it, pulling the blanket up to her chin, feeling cold, feeling hot, feeling sleepy at last, feeling at peace at last, feeling that if life has no order then at least death must be able to provide some.

She heard footsteps behind her back. The empty pill bottle trembling in her fingers, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Jeff standing in the doorway, with a box of chocolate cookies in his hand.

"Where am I?" Pauline said weakly.

"But you know it," he said in a low, unfamiliar voice. "You know suicides never go to heaven, don't you? Here now. Have a cookie."