CHAPTER THIRTY GLIMPSES

1998

The second beer went down even smoother than the first. He had quite a few more to go, but he’d gotten an early start and he’d be nice and unconscious before sundown. It was funny, really. He’d suffered through all this misery, and the solution was right here in a couple of six-packs of cheap beer.

He drank until he was comfortably buzzed, and then he drank some more.

“I understand that there are extenuating circumstances, but this is the newspaper business. No-shows are just not acceptable.”

Toby shrugged. “Am I fired?”

“You should take a leave of absence, until you get things sorted out.”

“Paid leave?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then take this job, and twist it right up your ass. Just right up in there, all the way.”

“I think you should leave now.”

“Yeah, that’s probably not such a bad idea.”

“Hey, kiddo, how’s it going?”

“I miss you, Daddy.”

“I miss you, too, Hannah. Are you taking care of your brother?”

“He’s stupid.”

“Well, so are lots of people. You’re speaking to one of them right now. Did you do anything fun today?”

“Toby?” It was Sarah.

“I wasn’t done talking to her.”

“She has to get ready for bed.”

“Come on, Sarah, it’s not like I can feed her to a fucking monster over the telephone. I don’t even know where you guys are.”

“We’ll try to call you next week.”

Dial tone.

Toby wanted to throw the telephone to the floor and stomp on it until it was reduced to plastic powder, but he really couldn’t afford to buy a new one.

“Oh, yeah, I’m rockin’ now,” Toby told Owen. “I’m working at the fac-to-ry. Monkey work. You wouldn’t believe the crap that a grown man will do for eight hours a day. Hour two, I want to put a bullet in my head. Hour three, I want to put a bullet in everyone else’s head. Hour four, I just sort of space out. I can still do the job, though. I don’t know why they don’t have a robot do it. Probably because even a robot would go crazy doing that for eight hours a day—it would take out a gun and blow its microchips out of its head. I did draw a cartoon today, though. Started to draw one, at least. It was a piece of shit so I threw it away. Christ, my head hurts.”

1999

“Happy, happy birthday to me!” said Toby, alone in his bedroom. “You know what would be nice? A phone call from my family! Is that such a big request? Am I asking for a fuckin’ unicorn? I don’t need a cake and candles, but maybe a thirty-second phone call would keep my life out of the sewer! Pretty good revenge, ex-wife of mine! Leave me alone on my birthday! Yeaaaahh, good one, Sarah! You win!”

“You know, Sarah, I understand that I did something terrible, but seriously, why wouldn’t you let me talk to my own kids on my birthday? Are you taking pleasure from this? Is this fun for you? The newest game sensation to sweep the nation, Torture Toby?”

“You did talk to Garrett,” Sarah informed him. “You scared him and he hung up the phone crying.”

“I…” Toby had no response to that, so he trailed off without completing his thought. “Oh.”

“And your birthday is tomorrow.”

“Owen, Owen, Owen. We should get out of this dumpy town. Go on the road. Have adventures. See shit. What do you think?”

Owen said nothing. Actually, though it was a hard trick to pull off, Owen looked kind of disgusted with him.

“What’s the matter? Am I scaring you?”

Yes.

“Ooooh, the big bad monster is scared of the skinny drunk guy! Sorry to make you uncomfortable, sir. Want me to leave? I’d hate to think of you spending the last year of the millennium with a drunken dick like me. Unless you’re one of those whiners who doesn’t think the millennium ends until 2001. Either way, hopefully the twenty-first century will bring better things to your life. Let’s drink to that.”

2000

“Oh my God, is it Christmastime already…?”

2001

Garrett had quit asking how Owen was doing, no doubt upon strict orders from Sarah, which made sense since she’d forbidden Toby to discuss the subject during their increasingly rare phone calls.

When he’d brought up the subject of an actual in-person visit, she’d gently suggested that it wasn’t a good idea. When he’d pushed the issue, she’d hung up on him.

The doctor’s expression was unreadable as he walked into the examination room, studying his clipboard. Why was he looking at the clipboard? Surely he knew what news he was delivering. Was he just avoiding eye contact?

“We’re going to run some more tests just to be sure, but it appears to be benign, so that’s good news. I don’t anticipate that news changing, but we like to cover all of our bases. Now, as I’d warned, you are going to need surgery to have the tumor removed, which is a relatively simple procedure.”

“Slicing me open and cutting something out is simple?”

“That’s why I used the word ‘relatively,’ Mr. Floren. Compared to a quadruple bypass surgery, yes, this is simple.”

“You’re right, I apologize. I’m just nervous. I should consider myself lucky. Fifty-six years old and this is my first surgery.”

“That is a pretty good run. Don’t worry. We’ll take great care of you. You’ll be off your feet for a few weeks, but this is far better than the alternative, trust me.”

Toby lay at home, watching television. He was going absolutely stir-crazy. He really hoped that Owen had understood him when he described the procedure and explained that he wouldn’t be able to visit for a couple of months. It sickened him to think that his friend might be wandering around, lonely and frightened and thinking that something horrible had happened.

Well, technically, a surgeon had sliced open Toby’s body. That was pretty horrible. He was certainly feeling the effects of the scalpel. The way he felt now, he might not be up for a trip to the woods ever again.

Of course, that wasn’t true. As soon as he could walk a couple of miles without his stomach popping open, he’d be out there to see Owen. Maybe sooner.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Toby said. “I don’t think I’ve ever shown you pictures of the World Trade Center, but they’re these huge twin towers in New York City. There was this plane sticking right out of it—terrorists flew a plane right into the building! Can you imagine that? And we were all watching this in the lunchroom, totally freaked out, and then right on live TV the towers collapsed! People were gasping and crying and getting mad—it was one of the most messed-up things I’ve ever seen. And another frickin’ plane bashed into the Pentagon. The Pentagon. I’m surprised they didn’t go for the White House. Trust me, Owen, you’re much better off living out here in your bubble. The world has gone berserk.”

2002

“I need to repair my life. You’ve gotta help me out, Owen. I can’t do it by myself.”

“I just don’t even care anymore. Maybe someday I won’t wake up. That’ll be nice. You could take care of all my funeral arrangements. You get the house, you know. Everything else is going to my kids, who might be dead for all I know, but you get the house. It’s like some crazy old lady leaving her worldly possessions to her cats. I don’t know what you’re gonna do with it, but it’s there if you want it.”

“He says this one might be malignant. Can you believe that shit?”

2003

“Hello, my name is Toby, and I’m an alcoholic. I had my last drink in the hallway before I came in here.”

“So she says, ‘Sorry, if you can’t get it up, that’s not my fault.’ And I said, ‘I’m the one paying for this, so it’s your job. If you can’t do it right, I’ll take my business someplace else.’ That’s exactly what I told her. And then she tries to leave without giving me my money back! I said, ‘Hey, you can’t do that! I know what I paid for!’ and she says she’s going to call her boyfriend. And so I said fine, you know, if that’s the kind of service she wants to provide, she’ll learn that this is a word-of-mouth type of business.”

“Dodged another bullet. These things keep growing inside me, and the doctors keep cutting them out. I had this dream where it was guilt manifesting itself. It might not have even been a dream. I probably do have guilt tumors floating around in my stomach acid, waiting to take hold and start growing like tomatoes.”

“Check this out. It’s a cell phone. Everybody’s got them these days. I can call anybody I want. Not very good reception out here in the woods, though. Wish I had somebody to talk to.”

2004

“Well, they finally figured out that a robot can do my job. It was always just a matter of time. I’d better learn to flip burgers, or you might have yourself a roommate.”

“A real friend wouldn’t let me keep doing all this self-destructive stuff. I’m just sayin’.”

Toby wondered how much sympathy he’d have for himself if he could watch his life from the outside. Probably not a lot. He’d probably just give himself a disgusted look, shake his head sadly, then call for a janitor to sweep it all away. Get the repulsive bum out of the way so decent people didn’t have the eyesore.

Even Owen didn’t seem to enjoy his company all that much anymore.

He really had to fix this mess. And he would, after a couple more beers.