Time and Space

Taken

Sleep evaded Paul completely that night. He could not stop thinking about the stars. In a predicament like his, he could easily have been consumed with thoughts of rejection, failure, or abandonment but every time he closed his eyes he saw the brightest stars. By a quarter past three he had enough of his position on the couch and moved to the kitchen for something to keep his mind busy. A case of light beer was half empty and he had no coke left to go with the rum in the cupboard. Paul grabbed a glass and emptied the last of the rum into it. A couple of ice cubes would make it more palatable, and he let that sit while he opened a beer.

Paul was not a heavy drinker. He enjoyed a beer on a hot summer day, or a rum and coke when company came for a visit. Only twice had he been drunk, and that was in his teen years as he experimented with all kinds of things – including women. If ever he had reason to feel like drinking it up, this was the night.

Paul thought about his job. Work agreed with him. Immediately after arriving in this new environment – which appeared from a distance to be cold, hard, and uninviting – Paul landed an entry-level position in sales. Paul was a natural. His honest demeanor along with his clean shave and big smile were a hit with all his customers. The women didn’t fall over themselves, but they certainly made an effort to be known to the man who delivered and serviced their coffee machine. The men found him very likeable and enjoyed the easy conversation that he would carry out effortlessly. Paul was attractive in a plain way, an oxymoron to be sure. His smile was big and contagious and he had an approachable manner that appealed to either gender; although when it came to physical attraction, he could never be mistaken for the feminine type. Paul loved sports and would work them into most conversations. Hockey playoffs, football season, and baseball spring leagues were on his plate and he played as much as he watched. He was never on an organized team, but enjoyed participating in all sports in whatever way possible. He even considered himself to be his future sons’ soccer coach, although soccer was never a favorite. Team sports are team sports, and plays from hockey would work just as well on a field he imagined.

Paul was a medium-build, very fair-skinned man. About six foot one, 190 pounds. He never worked out, just had a fast metabolism and physically demanding job that kept him in shape, but by no means a weight-lifter’s physique. His mom was Dutch, his dad half-Irish, so the fair skin and dirty blonde hair made the sun an enemy all his life. His job in sales was only one year old when he was called in to his supervisor’s office one day.

“Paul, we have been exceptionally happy with your work this past year, and I wanted to tell you personally that you have won our company’s rookie of the year award in sales.” Mr. Bouchard had told him on a Tuesday afternoon.

Paul was in shock. His upbringing on the farm had taught him that doing a good job was it’s own reward, but now he had won a trip to Florida for a banquet, would get a plaque and a very nice bonus cheque which would go a long way toward their down payment.

“At the same time,” his boss added “I wanted to suggest that your talents are being wasted on this little local route you are running, you know if you took a city route, the expansion possibilities are endless. A guy with your charm could get enough new customers that you would have to hire a second driver yourself just to manage them all. Imagine the commissions on this deal. When you get back from Florida next week, we’ll talk about it. For now, go home and tell that new bride to pack for a weekend in the sun!”

In recollecting this conversation, Paul could not recall if he said a single word while in the boss’ office. Mr. Bouchard was ex-military and a formidable man, but Paul didn’t have trouble feeling at ease with anyone. The shock of the situation and the possibility of a new route and more money were flooding his mind. Like a downpour in the desert, the flood washed any intelligence away and he stared, dumbfounded at the man behind the desk until he was dismissed. He uttered a grunt goodbye and sped home to tell his wife the good news.

He didn’t take the promotion. Paul loved his little local run, the ability to meet all their financial needs and still be home some days at 2:30 in the afternoon was hard to let go of. A city route would mean leaving the house at five for the hour commute. Loading in the city and making deliveries in heavy traffic until four or five to be home hopefully by seven o’clock. Paul was pretty good at knowing his stress limits and weighing the pro’s and con’s before making a big decision like that and it cost him nothing to say no.

Happier times. It was now four thirty and this night felt like it would not end. That was okay in some ways, as it was his last night in the place. Most of the furniture had been sold with the house, so tomorrow morning, Paul had a suitcase to throw in his car and as long as he was gone by noon, the deal was done. The money for the house seemed like a lot, but surprisingly little was left in his account. Money is not why the house had to be sold. Paul could have kept it and made the payments easily enough, but the memories were too hard on him. Not just the fights and the bad times, but the good memories were tormenting him around every corner! He would remember the passion they shared in the kitchen when the lawyers left them alone for the first time in their own house. The snowball fort they built the first winter on their front lawn, and the hot chocolate by the fire when they were too cold to play outside any longer. These memories tortured Paul when he saw these places, and since living in a house full of memories would leave him miserable, he decided to make a clean break. Jobs are easy to get, he told himself the day he gave his notice.

Paul still had not decided whether to head west and find a new start, or just get lost in this big city. Nobody called him for at least the past three days – seemed longer. Those friends they had made as a couple disappeared with her half of the furniture. She took the friends, or they stopped calling thinking the situation was too awkward. It was awkward, after all what did Paul have to talk about these days. His life was empty, just packing, moving, quitting, and leaving. Conversations are shorter when someone is doing something so definite. What else is there to say? His mother called once a week to ask if he was coming home, and tell Paul that she loves him.

“My phone is being disconnected on Thursday, and I’ll call you when I find a new place” those were the last words Paul said to his mother when she called. She understood, she had been through it all before after thirty years of marriage when her husband found a younger wife.

“Take your time, dear” she told him, “enjoy your space, but be careful. I love you.” She was a good mother, always had been. She knew what to say and she knew that right now Paul needed to be alone for a little while. It broke her heart to see her son in so much pain, but people get over these things every day. “He’ll be okay” she muttered to herself as she hung up the phone.

Paul was thinking about this conversation as he looked over his most recent bank statement. Such an amicable split, with the sale of the house had netted him the largest sum he had ever held at one time. He actually had some zeros to look at. Thanks to an especially strong real estate market, the house sold quickly and for a profit of over one hundred thousand dollars. One hundred and twelve thousand dollars would be a nice start to retirement plans or college funds, but divided in half along with everything else, it was difficult to plan anything with this money. It seemed like dirty money to Paul, and he simply left it in the savings account that he never got around to making a joint account.

A lot had happened in the past month, and Paul was thinking about all of it, and at the same time he wasn’t thinking of any of it. It was just passing by his memory, an easy recollection partly enabled by the alcohol, and partly the lack of sleep. Then the stars would be vivid in his mind and he would regret selling the house. Snapping to reality he remembered that he had to sell the house – he can find new stars, somewhere.

Paul threw his last few things into his suitcase. It was only 5 a.m. but he was tired of waiting for the clock, time to get his new life on track and he could even avoid traffic at the same time. He loaded his last few bags into the back of his car and got behind the wheel. The edge of town was still the quickest way out, down a dirt road only one set of traffic lights to pass before the bluff of trees just at the freeway edge.

Paul drove with a determination not to look back – it was symbolic really. He made a conscious effort to not use his mirrors until he was at the lights so he could focus on what was ahead of him. He was tired of thinking of what was behind him already.

It was when Paul got to the traffic lights that he noticed how quiet the roads were. Despite the early hour, the traffic is seldom this sparse, and it made him much more conscious of the few vehicles that he did see. Honda, Honda, GM, Ford, Ford, Ford…

Paul could easily recognize vehicles and he often amused himself this way, but usually he tired of it quickly due to the volume of cars. This morning he was amazed at the time between vehicles…and then when he got to the freeway entrance it was completely devoid of traffic.

Normally this would be a good thing, but just then Paul’s car stopped abruptly. His car had always been reliable despite the number of miles and age of the car. No noise to describe, just stalled and died. When he turned the key it was as if the battery was dead, no noise at all. He coasted to a stop on the shoulder of the on-ramp. Trees on one side blocked his view of the city completely, and the concrete wall of the freeway prevented the few cars that passed to see him until they were right beside him. The sun was just starting to make its appearance over the horizon and everything in the eastern sky was bright. To the west, the sky was still black – Paul admired this for a moment as he sat looking south onto the freeway.

As he reached for his cell phone, he noticed lights behind him pulling over to the side. It was a very large vehicle, and Paul could not immediately make out what company made it. Likely a huge gas-guzzler that some arrogant white-collar-worker bought to compensate for something. There were a lot of lights; fog lights down low, headlights aimed right through the back window, and side lights that seemed to envelop the back of Paul’s car.

“He seems to have pulled up awfully close” Paul thought to himself, not sure whether to dial for help or get out of the car. His dilemma was solved when his door opened on it’s own and Paul was pulled violently from the car.

Caught off-guard, Paul struggled for a solution. He still grasped his phone with his right hand, and he rolled into a ball trying to catch a glimpse of his assailant. It seemed surreal, as everything whirled around in Paul’s head. He was not being kicked, and his car was not being stolen, but he could feel one. . . no, two men wrestling him to free his grip and get him onto his stomach. It was hard to resist on such notice, and Paul found himself outstretched on his face in the dirt. He bent backwards and stole a look at the men attacking him. He was surprised to see them wearing suits and masks that you would see in a decontamination room, or a hospital. He couldn’t make out any features on the men, except to see that there were in fact two of them.

Just then, a third figure appeared in a different suit, less protective looking, but still covering all his features. Paul studied this person as he walked closer to him. Bending over, this one addressed Paul with no expression in his voice at all, “Just relax Mr. Cole, this will all be over very soon”.

This sounds reassuring, but when the man pulls out a pistol-shaped syringe and takes one more step toward Paul it was difficult to feel secure. It was impossible to move as the other men tightened their grip and Paul felt a sharp pain in his arm as the injection went in. Immediately Paul felt his muscles weaken, and he was barely coherent as the three of them pulled him into their SUV. The door closed and the four were off, flying for all Paul could tell. His eyes were so heavy and he opened them one last time and saw just one star out his window, it was the last star visible in the morning sky and it seemed brighter than ever. His eyes closed, and Paul’s world got dark.