The Promotion Part I

James Barber’s eyelids fling open to the sound of his alarm.  He looks over to his nightstand and the digital clock displays ‘8:32.’ 

“Eight thirty-two!”  James screams with a volume that vibrates the walls of his spacious suburban home.  “I should be on the road right now!”  He flings off his covers and frantically changes out of his pajamas.  He does a sniff check of his armpits.  A quick deodorant rub will have to do for today.  He puts on his pants, shirt, tie and shoes.  Snatching his briefcase, James dashes down the stairs knocking a picture on the wall crooked.

“Daddy,” James’ eight year old daughter Cassie looks at him with wide brown eyes.  “You said we shouldn’t be running inside the house.”

“Not now, sweetie.”  James blurts out patting her on the head.  He turns to his wife Ashley, who is cleaning up the dining room table.  “Babe, did you hit the snooze button on my alarm clock?”  Ashley rolls her eyes.

“No honey I didn’t.  James do you...?”

“No time, babe. loveyoubye!” James bolts out of the door.

“Love you too,” Ashley says unenthusiastically to no one.

James puts his briefcase in the passenger seat of his blue sedan and starts the engine.  His eyes search for the digital time display on his dashboard.  The green numbers display ‘8:32.’

“Yes!” James congratulates himself as he pulls out of his driveway and begins driving toward the first intersection.  James surveys the road ahead of him.  To his astonishment, there are hardly any cars going down the first major road.  He cannot hold back the smile.  Maybe he will get to work on time anyway.  Just as he pulls on to Northridge Ave, he is gripped by a haunting suspicion. He definitely has forgotten something, something important.

His mind scans through the possibilities of what it is that he forgot that is tugging so hard at him.  He had left the house in a hurry.  He forgot a lot of things.  He did not brush his teeth or comb his hair.  But he knows it is none of those things.  It is much more important than that.

“The report!” James mutters to himself with a tremor of terror.  He gets a red light at 42nd Street.  He opens his briefcase and flings it open to find the report and all of his notes sitting right where he had left them when he finished it the previous day.  Relieved, James thinks to himself.  “Well that’s pretty much all I really need today.” 

James does not want a repeat of the meeting he had two months ago.  That is probably the reason he did not get the promotion last quarter.  James works harder than everyone else in his department.  However, his department head Martin Reigns is the type of perfectionist who will forget ten months of productivity for a misplaced presentation on a single day.  He had told Ashley to keep Cassie away from his desk. 

But that is all in the past now.  James is on his way to work with a sparsely populated road in front of him and his well-crafted presentation in tow.  Whatever it is that he has forgotten, he will just have to remember it at lunch like he knows he will.  He has his report and there is nothing else he needs for the day that he cannot get at the office.  The light turns green and he starts his car again, satisfied that he did not leave his report at home.

As he pulls through the intersection, the dread of forgetfulness grips him a second time, harder than the last.  His mind scans the possibilities again.  It does not have to do with work. 

James drives onto the bridge that leads across the river to downtown.  It is a gorgeous day outside.  The sun peers over the horizon of a cloudless sky sending rays that shimmer in the running river.  More importantly than that, there is still no traffic in front of him.  The drive to work can be anywhere from a quick trip downtown to a standstill depending on which route he takes into the city and the routes his fellow suburbanites decide to take.  Today he gambled and won; he will actually be early at the rate he is going.  Everything is going James’ way and yet he cannot enjoy his small victory because he still has not figured out what it is that he is forgetting.

He arrives at the parking lot of his office building still struggling to find out what he had forgotten.  It is very important whatever it is.  He wonders if it is about his family.  James’ eyes widen.

“Our anniversary!” He says in the car to himself, but then he relaxes.  His and Ashley’s anniversary is next Tuesday. It is not anyone’s birthday either.  As he pulls into his parking space, he wonders if he is supposed to take Cassie to soccer practice.  He will have to get off work at 3 to do that.  “If I need to work longer, Ashley can always use the other car.” He thinks to himself. 

He switches the car off, picks up his briefcase, and swiftly steps out of his car. As he walks to the front door of the office building, he realizes that he neglected to check the time before turning the car off.  That does not matter either.  He knows for a fact that the drive to work is twenty minutes without traffic.  After all of the chaos, he is actually early.  His smile turns to a grin as he triumphantly strolls through the door.

James surveys the office.  As he expects, only a handful of people are milling about the building.  On his way to his cubicle, he sees Martin Reigns’ stout figure coming down the hallway.

“Hey, James.”  His boss greets him.  His face seems puzzled as if he is surprised to see him.  James does not know why, it is not all that infrequent that he is early to work.

“Hello, Mr. Reigns.” James lifts up his briefcase.  “My quarter report is all ready to go.”

“Ah yes.  Well actually we’re not going to have time for that today.”  James’ nostrils flare.  He spent eight hours on it.  “James, you are being considered for a promotion.”  James’ internal state switches from fury to elation.  He might finally get paid what he deserves.

“That’s great sir! I guess...I mean are we going to do an interview, or…”

“Well, there’s the thing.  Upper management wants all of the candidates to have a psych evaluation.”

“They want me to see a shrink?”

“Well James if you’ve been working at a place like this for three years, there’s gotta be something wrong with ya!”  Mr. Reigns chuckles and gives James a punch in the shoulder.  James lends an indulgent little laugh in response but thinks to himself.

“You got that right.”

“We’ve already made an appointment for you.  They’re interviewing a bunch of the candidates today.  Just go over across the street to Walker Care Center and give them your name.  Upper management has a kind of...you know, ‘holistic’ approach with these kinds of decisions.  I have every confidence you’ll be able to get through.

“Thanks Mr. Reigns.”  James says with confusion in his voice and paces purposefully out back the way he came to the office entrance.  He looks across the street and locates the discrete brown brick building adorned with a modest white sign that read ‘Walker Care Center.’ 

James usually avoided looking at it.  Not only is the building an eye sore, but he never liked psychologists all that much; they remind him of his ex.  The light for the road between his office and Walker Care Center turns red. While James waits impatiently for the cars to stop so he can quickly cross the street, he is gripped a third time by that nagging thought of forgetting something.  He puts his hand on his scrunched forehead. 

“Dammit! What is it?”  He angrily mutters to himself as he crosses the street.  James realizes that there is a college student crossing the street from the other side that is flashing him a very quizzical stare.  James cannot go into a psychological evaluation talking to himself.  He convinces himself that passing this evaluation and getting the promotion is more important than whatever it is that he is forgetting.  He has worked too hard for too long to allow some half-conscious thought to sidetrack his career.

James pushes open the door.  The receptionist is a short, Asian, young man who does not look too be that much older than a high school student. 

“Can I help you sir?” He inquires.

“Um, uh...my name is James Barber, I’m here for the…”

“Ah, yes, have a seat and Dr. Currie will see you shortly.”  James lowers himself into the only seat available in the full waiting room.  It is between the door and a large black man dressed baggy white shirt, a red bandana blue jeans sagging over red sneakers.  He turns his face to James.  James sees that the man has two tear drop tattoos on his left eye.  James gives the man a nervous smile.  The man turns his face away from James back to the wall he had been staring at.  James remembers the documentary he had seen a week earlier.

“Those are gang tattoos.”  He thinks to himself.  He twirls his thumbs around in his lap nervously.  “What does the left eye mean?”  His thoughts are interrupted by the receptionist’s voice.

“Mr. Jones, Dr. Currie will see you now.”  The man next to James gets up, pulls up his pants, and walks past the front desk to the back of the office and into the door on the right. 

James thinks about what he has to do at work.  He is so irritated that he has to sit here and wait while he could be doing something productive.  He calls out to the receptionist. 

“Hey buddy, can you tell me what time it is?”  The receptionist not raising his eyes to see James, points to the wall to his right.  James sees a clock in the middle of the wall.  He reads the hands which display the time ‘8:32.’  “Um, buddy.  Your clock is broken.”  The receptionist still not making eye contact raises both of his hands and responds.

“Sorry, I can’t doing anything about that.” 

“Great.” James says in a defeated whisper.  He does not even get to know how much time he is wasting.  He sits in his seat for what feels like forty minutes when the door down the hall opens again.  The black man emerges visibly distressed. 

“C’mon, doctor, c’mon! You gotta sign the paper!” He says in the direction of the doorway.  A tall, blonde woman with glasses dressed in a white blouse and black slacks follows him out lowering her hands as if trying to get him to calm down.

“I’ll do what I can, Deshawn.”  She tells him and gives him a caring pat on the shoulder.

“You gotta sign it!  They gonna take me away from my baby girl. They gon’ take me away from my momma! It wasn’t even my fault!”  The man starts tearing up and runs into the men’s room.  James’ eyes widen.  The woman looks at James briefly and walks back into her office.  After about two minutes, the receptionist calls out.

“Mr. Barber, Dr. Currie will see you now.”  James gets up from his seat and walks down the hall, to the door on the right hoping his meeting goes better than the last person’s.  The gold name plaque on the door reads ‘Valerie M. Currie, PhD.’ He opens the door.  The room is bathed with sunlight from the two wide windows behind the woman that James saw earlier, who is seated at a mahogany desk.

“James Barber?” She greets him with a smile.

“Hello, Dr. Currie.  He walks over to her and shakes her hand.

“Have a seat, James.” She gestures to the chair in front of the desk.  She clasps her hands.

“Where shall we begin?”

“Um, childhood? Fantastic.  School was great.  I got the job I wanted. I got the wife I wanted.
We got the house we wanted.  I like what I do!  What can I say? I really am grateful for the life I lead.” James displays a quick insincere smile.

“Well that’s good, James.” Dr. Currie adjusts her glasses.  “Um, you seem to be in a rush.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor.  It’s just…I really like what I do and, as nice as it is to be sitting here with you, I honestly would like to be getting back to it.”

“James, this is a process, and it’s a process that’s going to take a while.”

“Come on Doctor, I have a job to do.  You can’t just keep me in here forever.”  He laughs playfully but Dr. Currie looks at him with no affect.  “Y-you can’t right?”

“This might be worse than I thought.” Dr. Currie reaches for a drawer inside her desk and looks back at James.  “James, can you tell me where you are right now?”

“The office of Dr. Valerie M. Currie?”  James points to the door.  “I mean that’s the name on the door.”  Dr. Currie shakes her head.  “This isn’t your office?”

“No, James that’s not what I meant.”  James looks at Dr. Currie with befuddlement for a few seconds.  He then remembers that she is a psychologist.

“You mean where ‘am I?’” He says with finger quotes and a grin.  “Well physically, I’m in your office, but mentally I am in my cubicle prepping for an awesome presentation.”  James looks expectantly to Dr. Currie believing this is what she means.

“Half right.”

“Half right?”

“James, could you describe for me this morning?”  James tries his best to contain his frustration and obliges.

“I woke up, I was late, I got dressed, picked up my presentation, got into the car…” His face lights up.  “Sunny day, no traffic, and….” He raises both of his hands to punctuate the last part.  “I get to work early.”  Dr. Currie looks at James with a frown, unaffected by his exuberant attempts to seem happy.  She shakes her head a second time.  “What do you mean ‘no?’”  She pulls out from the drawer a manila folder labeled ‘Barber, James.’

“I mean ‘no,’ you are incorrect.”

“Look Doctor, I really don’t know what you want me to tell you. That’s what happened this morning.  I still have things to do back at the office, please be respectful of my time.”

“James, you’re not going to the office.” James tugs on his hair in anger.

“What? What am I a hostage?”

“You really don’t understand why you’re here?”

“My boss sent me here, and I’ve been over here for…”  He points up to the clock on her wall to count how long he has been at the Care Center, but pauses as he realizes that Dr. Currie’s clock also displays the time, ‘8:32.’  “Wh...What’s wrong with all the clocks in here?  Don’t you guys have maintenance?”

“The clock’s not wrong.”  James rolls his eyes.

“It’s not 8:32!”

“Yes it is.”  Dr. Currie opens the manila folder and pulls out a sheet of paper.  She locks her blue eyes right on to James.’ “James.”  She says looking through him.  “You need to remember.”

The word ‘remember’ sends a chill deep inside of him.  That same feeling grips a fourth time, but now it is far too tangible to disregard. 

“What? What is it? What am I forgetting?” James says in a whimper.  Dr. Currie reads from the paper.

“You weren’t late, you left your house at 8:25 AM EST.”  James’ eyes widen as the memory storms back to him.  His mind recalls walking out the door, this Tuesday morning. 

“Th-that’s right.  I left my house on time.”  His eyes squint as he recalls.  “Um, but I remember running to my car, but if I wasn’t late...Why was I running?”

“You were running because it wasn’t sunny; it was pouring rain.”  James recalls holding his briefcase over his head as he ran to his driveway through sheets of rain.  He turns his attention back to the present.  How is all this information in her folder?

“What kind of psychologist are you?”

“I’m not a psychologist.”  James grips the handles of his chair with shivering hands.  He shakes his head.

“No, no, no, no.  Mr. Reigns said this was a psychological exam.  If you’re not a psychologist you shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here.

“This isn’t a psychological exam.  This is a psych exam.”

“What?! Who the hell are you?!”

“James,” Dr. Currie leans across the table her eyebrows turned in empathetic sadness.

“Remember!”

“Remember What?!”

“42nd and Northridge.”  James’ mouth falls open.  The vague thought he could not recover finally grew into a ruthless realization.  He was not late but was trying to be early for his presentation.  He was driving too fast for the conditions.  His tires left the ground at the intersection of 42nd and Northridge.  He remembers turning his wheel left and right to no avail as his car flew toward the bend in Northridge.  He slammed into a light post.  His airbag did not deploy.  He remembers the shattered glass, the blood on his dashboard, and the panicked and nauseated looks of bystanders.  Tears well in his eyes.

“I’m in a coma?” Dr. Currie’s puts the sheet of paper down on the desk.

“James…”  She shakes her head solemnly.  “You died this morning.”     
   






                                               

To Be Continued