Day 4—Friday:

I opened the email Alice sent me; it had seven attachments and a brief message that read, “Hope these work for you, Tom.  Looking forward to tonight J.”  I read the message a few times over—it was a short letter that never said anything new, but each subsequent reading made my smile grow a little.  I downloaded the attachments and loaded them into my program’s library.

I spent the little time I had before the meeting getting the sound effects working with the game’s actions.  I wasn’t going for perfection, just something that was presentable.  I was getting close to that point when Matt appeared above my monitor.

“We’re ready for you, Tom.”

I looked up at him, he was holding his phone’s display toward me.  It had a clock face on it that was telling me it was time to get to the conference room to show off what I had been working on.  I nodded in acknowledgement; Matt turned toward the conference room as I saved my progress and unplugged my phone.  I followed behind into the conference room.

When I walked through the door, the sun shone brightly in my eyes.  It was brighter than I expected, and I had to squint to see anything… but something caught my attention—out of the corner of my eye, I saw a green awning.

Day &—7H314$7day:

When I saw it, I opened my eyes and focused on them.  It hung over the entrance of a tall hotel building—it was the same green awning I saw every night in my dreams.  I knew I had to be dreaming.  It was odd, then, that I was standing outside my office instead of under that green awning.

Maybe, I thought, this dream is different.

I had no idea where I was—how I got there.  Everything in my life had been an unintelligible string of events playing out of sequence.  So, not only did I not know where I was, but I was clueless as to when I was.  It’s entirely possible that I had already taken the leap—flown—I just hadn’t experienced it yet.

If I had flown but am still in the same dream, maybe I need to find out why exactly I’m climbing to the top of the building.  Maybe when I climb the building so I can fly, I’m climbing it for the wrong reason.

I needed to know why I stood on top of that damned building.  Every other night, my dream began with me standing beneath the green awning of the hotel just three blocks north of my office.  Based on that, I felt that the hotel would be the best place to begin my search.

I made my way to the hotel building and shortly found myself standing beneath that green awning.  I took a deep breath as I reached for the handle of the door and opened it.

Alice stood on the other side.  She was wearing a black and red dress—it looked fancy and far more formal than anything I owned.  I felt underdressed in my khakis and three-button polo.

Night 4—Friday:

“You’re awfully dressed up,” I said.  She seemed surprised at my comment.

“Some guys might say, ‘You look nice,’ or, you know… a compliment of some kind.”

“Oh, well, you do—you look great!  I just wasn’t expecting you to be dressed so… nicely.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to dress nicely either,” she gave me the once-over, “which I’m glad I had low expectations… otherwise, I’d have been disappointed.”  She smiled as she made her way past me and into the house.  “I brought a movie to go with dinner,” she handed it to me and began peeking around—acclimating herself to my home.

“Would you like the tour?”

“Maybe later.  I’m getting hungry, what’s on the menu?”

“I was planning on some steak, if that’s alright with you.”

“Sounds great.  I’ll have mine medium-well.”

“Oh, uh… okay.  What do you want for a side?  I have potatoes, some mixed veggies, or rice.”

“Potatoes would be fantastic.”

“Okay.  Just make yourself at home,” I pointed toward my couch in the living room.  “I’ve got cable—remote should be on the coffee table.  Dinner shouldn’t take too long, the potatoes are instant.”

“Fancy,” she said, shooting me a smile as she sat down and reached for the remote.

“Nothing but the best,” I replied as I made my back into the kitchen.  I kept my potatoes in the pantry beside my stove.  I opened it.  There was nothing in there.  Nothing I felt like I could wear, anyway—cheap white button shirts and a vast array of unspectacular three-button tees.

Day 5—Saturday:

She was so beautiful when she came over Friday and I felt like I had to dress a little better when I went over to her place on Sunday.  I had to buy a new shirt and maybe some black slacks.

I never really had a sense for fashion—I had always been just a t-shirt and blue jeans kind of guy—so I didn’t really know what would look nice when I was out shopping.  I didn’t feel like making a whole day out of finding a shirt and some pants, either, so I just asked for help at the first store I went to.  I approached the woman who was stocking the rack with new pants.

“Hi,” I said as awkwardly blunt as humanly possible.

She looked up from the stack of clothes in front of her and, with a store policy grin on her lips, returned my greeting, “Hello, how can I help you today?”

“Well, I’m not terribly well-versed in fashion, but I’ve got a date tomorrow and I wouldn’t mind having something nice to wear.  So, if you could just help me get something along those lines, I’d really appreciate it.”

“How nice are we talking?”

“Not like suit and tie or anything, but button down shirt and some nice slacks.  Something along those lines, I think.”

I guess I never realized how difficult clothes shopping could be.  It took seven different fittings and probably three dozen shirts over the course of nearly an hour before I settled on something that I didn’t find obnoxiously over-colored or tacky in some way.  I couldn’t help feeling that the clerk’s fashion sense was as bad as mine after the third time I undressed in the fitting room.  I began to question how she ever got employed at a clothing store.  In the end, it didn’t really matter—I got my outfit and I could tell by the expression on her face when I checked out that she was as sick of me as I was of her and her awful clothing suggestions.

I wasn’t entirely satisfied with the clothes, but they were inarguably nicer than anything I owned, so that was a plus.  I left the store and walked back to my car.  I sat in the driver’s seat and checked my watch.  It was about half-past six and I told Alice I would be at her house at seven.  That would give me plenty of time to pick up a movie and some flowers before I arrived.

Night 6—Sunday:

I stopped in at the brick and mortar video place a mile from my house first.  Alice and I never really talked about movies, so I wasn’t entirely sure what she liked or didn’t like, but I figured comedy was always a good choice.   I grabbed two older releases; they were two for a dollar for a night and I figured it’d be nice to have an option in case she didn’t like one of the films.

After I got the movies, I walked to the grocery store near the video place for the flowers.  It wasn’t an elaborate bouquet, but I knew she would appreciate the gesture.  With flowers in hand, I had everything I needed, so I took off for Alice’s.

I parked on the street in front of her house.  I could see her kitchen and living room lights were on.  I figured she was in the kitchen working on the meal.  I grabbed the flowers and movies from the passenger seat, walked to her door, and rang the bell.

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

I sent the email and went back to work on my game.  It was running on my phone and I took to the controls to see what needed tweaking.  It was a mess.  I spent some time earlier that day working on getting the character navigation working, but that was hardly a monumental achievement.  I could move my stand-in sprite back and forth, make it jump, and the physics engine was also working properly—slowing down movement in areas, causing it to slide on certain surfaces, changes in gravity affected the height and duration of jumps and so forth—but there was still a lot of work to do.  Triggers weren’t working, so progression toward the end of the level was rendered impossible.  That was something that needed fixing.

I sighed as I sat back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling—hoping, maybe, that an epiphany would be up there.  Nothing but ceiling tiles, unfortunately.  I closed my eyes for a moment to think.

She had a hand on my chest and a glass of wine in the other.  I opened my eyes and looked at her; she looked up at me with those beautiful light brown eyes.

Night 4—Friday:

A movie was playing in the background on the television and two empty plates stacked on top of each other were resting on my coffee table.  Alice sat beside me—her legs propped up on the couch, head on my shoulder, right arm wrapped around my left and holding a glass of wine.  She was warm.  I could feel her heart beating on my arm as she lay there at my side.  It was comforting.  She looked back at the television; I watched her for a few moments longer.

In my own right hand, I held a glass of wine—merlot.  It was one of my favorite reds and my preferred wine for a steak dinner.  I took a sip.

Alice’s wine exchanged hands as she sat up to take a sip of her own.  When she lowered the glass from her lips, she placed the wine back in her right hand, shifted her body even closer to mine, and rested her head on my shoulder.  It couldn’t have been comfortable, my bony shoulder against her cheek like that, but she didn’t seem to care; she was content—happy even, judging by the expression on her face.  She placed her left hand on my chest again.  Each time my chest elevated with each inhale, she closed her eyes.

Still resting on my arm, I could feel her heart beating.  Each breath kept her eyes closed a second longer—each breath had her heart beating faster.  She rubbed her cheek into my shoulder, I could hear her breathing heavier.  I relaxed my neck from holding my head in its upright position and pressed my cheek against hers.  Her rhythmically sensual heavy breathing continued.  I turned toward her and set my wine down on the table.  I reached for hers as I wrapped my other arm around her.  When I set her glass down on the table, we held each other locked in a passionate, hormone-driven embrace and stared at each other for what seemed like hours before we kissed.

She was soft, warm.  Her lips were as comforting as they were arousing.  It had been years since I had been with a woman, but kissing Alice may as well have been my first.  I was flooded with a thousand sensations of physical and emotional desires.  She was beautiful, and she was with me.  She was smart, and she was with me.  She was funny, and she was with me.  All of the morning coffee conversations we’ve had at work and the playful office banters… she exemplified everything I could possibly want in a woman.  She was the model of perfection and she actually wanted to be there with me.  This is a woman I could love, I thought.

I pulled back.  She sat there frozen in my arms.  Her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted—beckoning me to return.  But something felt wrong.  I didn’t know how I got there on the couch with her.  It was a wonderful experience, but something was missing.  She opened her eyes and stared at me.

There was a long pause as I stumbled over thoughts trying to find words to say.  I lacked eloquence, so what came out was rather blunt and direct, “I like you, Alice.  A lot.”

She smiled at my crude sentiment, “I like you too, Tom.”

She must have seen something written on my face because after sitting there holding each other in silence for several minutes longer, she just closed the embrace, rested her head on my shoulder, and stated, “A lot.”

She held me tightly, rubbing my back as I rested my cheek atop her head.  “I’m glad you came over.”

“I’m glad you fed me,” she joked.

We turned back to the television; the movie was still playing in the background and neither of us knew what was really going on with the plot.  I grabbed our glasses of wine from the table and handed Alice hers.  I sat back on the couch; Alice grabbed my arm and slung it around her shoulders.  I looked over at her, but she kept her gaze straight forward—I could see a smirk forming in the corner of her mouth.

When the movie finished, we sat there in silence as the credits rolled.  I didn’t want her to go, and she didn’t want to leave.  Not a word was spoken as the credits scrolled up the screen.  When the film had reached its ultimate end, she sighed as she sat up, pushing herself off me, and set her glass on the table.

“I should really get going,” she said as she looked back at me.

I looked up at the clock, it read “12:17.”

“It is pretty late,” I said.  “Let me walk you to your car.”

We stood up and walked to the door.  As I opened the door of my house for her, she reached for my hand.  I motioned with my head toward the exit, “After you.”

She led me to her car, which was parked on the street in front of my house.  I opened her car door and turned to her.  “I had a great time tonight,” I said as I held her door open.  “We should make a habit of this whole getting together thing.”

“We should.”  She paused, “You know… I have some plans this Sunday that I’d love to get out of.  You should come over!  I’ll return the favor and cook for you.”

“I’d like that.”

“So it’s a date, then?”

“Absolutely.”

We hugged one last time and kissed each other goodbye.  She sat down in the driver’s seat and I closed the door for her.  As she started the car, she shot me another smile.  The car roared to life and she drove off.

When she was out of sight, I approached my door and opened it.  Matt was standing on the other side and he looked pale and shocked to see me.  I gave him a nod and made my way to the kitchen—I desperately needed my morning coffee.

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

It was bright and warm this time.  No rain.  No storm.  The sun was on its way down and the streets were packed.  Pedestrians absent-mindedly walked onward to their destinations and the traffic hummed, buzzed, and honked beside me.  Rush hour, I concluded.

The tower, my destination, stood about five blocks south from the hotel with the green awning.  I walked with a determined pace.  Each step shouted my resolve.  I kept my eyes fixed on that damned building—I wouldn’t let it leave my sight for fear it might move to keep me from conquering it.  Tonight, I would climb to the top.  Tonight, I would know why I stood atop the tall building.  I would stand there with purpose.  I would climb to the top so that I could fly.

The people on the sidewalks served as obstacles impeding my progress.  They all marched along, side by side with seemingly little more purpose than to make my forward motion difficult.  They talked to each other about nonsensical things; random strings of thought that these figments of my fractured mind deemed interesting.  The ones not in groups marched with their heads down either buried in a magazine or their phones.  Reading manufactured articles or sending imaginary emails to convince me that this world in which I found myself was real.

I knew it wasn’t, but I dared not convince myself that I was dreaming—I was afraid I would awaken.  If I awoke, how could I conquer that building?  My great challenge—the thing that’s been keeping me awake for all these nights.  No, I fought against the determined hordes and progressed toward my destination.

After what must have been twenty minutes of walking around those mindless pedestrians and stopping for traffic, I arrived at the door to the building.  I felt a small sense of victory in finally arriving, but I knew I still had the climb to the top.  I reached out for the door and opened it.

I stepped into the office and the door closed behind me.  Terrance was walking into the kitchen, I decided to follow him.

He walked straight for the coffee pot and picked it up.  There was maybe enough coffee left for a full cup.  He set the pot down and looked back at me.  “Looks like there’s only enough for one of us.  Pretty sure the cupboards are empty, too.  Want it?”

“Yeah, but I don’t need it,” I chuckled.  “Go ahead, I’ll get some coffee with my lunch or something.”

Day 3—Thursday:

He shrugged in a way that said, “Don’t mind if I do,” and poured himself the last of the coffee.  He opened three packets of sugar and dumped them in; to finish, he added a healthy dose of creamer and stirred.  I watched as the last of the caffeine in the office was diluted and consumed in front of me.  I could have stopped it, too.

Shame, I thought as I turned and walked toward my workstation.

As I began to walk away, he turned back toward me and said, “Hey, Tom!”

I stopped and turned to face him.  “Yeah?”

“I sent you some new assets last night, like you asked.  They’re nothing special, but it beats reusing assets, I’m sure.”

“Good, I’ll go check them out now.”

He nodded at me as I turned away and walked to my desk.  I sat down, woke up my computer, and opened Outlook.  Terrance’s message was at the top of my inbox:

From:        Terrance Freis
Subject:   Re:  Assets
To:              Tom Larsson
CC:             Matt Butler

Hey, Tom, here’s the stuff you asked for.  You didn’t really give me much time, so they’re pretty crude—and, no, I didn’t make animation cycles.  It’s just for a prototype, though, so I’m sure they’ll be fine.  If you need anything else, let me know.

Terrance Freis

I downloaded the attachments.  He didn’t lie; they’re pretty basic.  They’ll work, though.  I moved the sprites and backgrounds to my project folder and opened up the code for my prototype.  I stared blankly at it for a few minutes—maybe wishing I had a cup of coffee to kick start my brain and help me think.

After letting out a heavy sigh, I began working on my project.  Fine tuning character navigation, tweaking the physics, replacing assets—it was all very tedious work, but seeing it come together was gratifying.  Each error became a new puzzle to solve—some incredibly easy to fix, but frustratingly difficult to find.  Despite the frustrations, each success gave me the motivation I needed to continue working; something I desperately needed since caffeine wasn’t readily available.

I hadn’t replaced all the old Mudd-Runn assets in my prototype, but I had reached a point where I wanted to see how it ran.  I plugged in my phone and deployed the program.  The game came to life and a crude collage of images filled the screen—leftover assets from Mudd-Runn I had repurposed for my prototype.  While those reused assets worked for me as I plugged away at my prototype, they certainly wouldn’t be acceptable to show off my idea for the meeting on Friday.  I opened Outlook and typed up a message for Terrance.

Day 2—Wednesday:

From:        Tom Larsson
Subject:   Assets
To:              Terrance Freis

Terrance, I’m working on a prototype for a new game and Matt’s setting up a meeting for Friday.  Right now I’m reusing assets from mudd runn, but I’d really like something a little more appropriate for what I’m working on.  It’s just a basic demo, so it doesn’t need to be anything too fancy, just a character sprite, some props, a background, foreground stuff with maybe three different environments (lava, water, ice, maybe?), platforms, etc.  This should keep you busy for a while.  Maybe stop by my cube sometime today so we can talk more about it?

Thanks,
Tom Larsson

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

Night 3—Thursday:

“Must not have had enough caffeine this morning, I guess,” I said shaking my head.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Dr. Taggart asked me.

“Yes, please… black.”

He paged his secretary and asked her to bring in a cup of coffee.  She set it down on the doctor’s desk in front of me and exited the room.  When she closed the door behind her, the doctor continued, “You were going to tell me something, Tom?”

“Oh, uh… yeah.  I’ve been having trouble making sense of things lately.  Like everything is jumbled together, you know?”

“I guess not.  How do you mean?”

“It’s like all my thoughts are just running together and I don’t know where one starts and the other ends.  Like I’m trying to make sense of things and everything is out of order.”

“I see.  Is this something that’s been going on for a while?”

“No.  I mean, I’ve been getting sleep since I got the CD, but it’s like sleeping has thrown everything out of whack.  It’s like my mind is jumping all over the place and I don’t know how to stop it.”

“I see,” he said looking down at his notepad.  He quickly wrote something down and peered up at me.  “Your brain is still adjusting to finally getting some sleep.  You’ve had a routine that consisted of as little rest as possible and now you’re getting a full eight hours of sleep.  As much as you need the sleep, your mind is still adjusting to this new routine, so it may take a while to sort things out.”

“So, it’s a temporary thing?”

“Yes.  Once you get into a normal sleep routine, I’m sure all of this will clear up.  But that comes back to finding the root of the nightmare.  When you find out what brings you to the top of the building, take hold of your dream, take the leap, and fly, I’m sure you’ll find it a lot easier to get some rest.  And you won’t need some easy listening CD to get some shuteye.”

We talked a little longer about the significance of my dream.  What I thought the building might be, why and how I got up on top of it, and why I always fell.  I don’t know if anything came of it, but it was an interesting discussion.

The doctor theorized that the building might be a challenge that I’m facing.  Climbing to the top of this tall structure seems like a sort of accomplishment, but I have this fear of failing—that’s why I fall.  Despite making it to the top, I’ve got the pressure of actually making it and the fear of what I’m going to do after I reach the top.  I keep trying to climb, but there’s nowhere else to go, so I fall.  That’s what the doctor thought, anyway.

My session ended and he suggested I keep in touch and continue coming back to talk—to see what kind of progress I’ve made.  I left the room and set up another appointment with his secretary.  Monday, next week.  I walked downstairs and exited the building.  Opening the door, I was welcomed into a familiar location that didn’t at all resemble the outside of Dr. Taggart’s office.

I looked up and saw I was standing under a green awning.  The street signs beside me indicated that I was on the corner of 3^rd and Washington.

Day #—@$73R1$Kday:

I knew exactly where I was.  This familiar scene I’ve walked dozens of times before; the one I had watched form itself right before my eyes.  I looked south, scanned the skyline, and finally saw the towering building —the monument to all my restless nights.  I stared at it and felt it beckoning me to stand on its peak.  I would not be defeated this night.  No, this night, I would fly.

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

Day 2—Wednesday:

“It’s almost one,” I said as I set my phone down beside my nearly empty plate of chicken lo mein.

“We should probably head back to the office,” Alice said as she raised her hand for the check.

“I’ll get it,” I said, motioning her to put her hand down.  Our server approached the table holding the bill and two fortune cookies; Alice grabbed hers and cracked it open almost immediately.  I handed the woman my credit card.

She unfolded her fortune as she popped half of the cookie into her mouth.  “’Take a break—enjoy the company of friends.’  That’s hardly a fortune,” she said as she finished the other half of her cookie.

“Fortune?  No.  But, good advice,” I shot her a smile.  She knew she worked too hard, but she was passionate about what she did.  She didn’t love the company, but she loved her job; more than anything, though, she just wanted to succeed.  I didn’t know much about her past or her family, but everything I’ve learned from her indicated that she distanced herself from them to prove that she could make it on her own.

“What does yours say?”

I picked my fortune cookie up from the table and opened it.  “’Strange opportunities are coming your way.  Take the leap!’”

“See, that’s a fortune!”

“Can’t deny that.  I wonder what kind of strange opportunities I have waiting for me.”

“Only time will tell.”

Our waitress returned with my card and receipt; I smiled at her as she handed them to me.  As she walked away, I pushed away from the table, reached for Alice’s hand as I motioned toward the door with the other, and said, “Shall we?”

When we got to the office, I sat down at my desk and connected my phone to my workstation.  The screen lit up and signaled to me that it was connected.  I launched my prototype.  I looked over at the large display to make sure that it was up for everybody to see.  Everything seemed to be running like it was supposed to.  I turned around and saw that everybody was there for the meeting.

Day 4—Friday:

All eyes were on me as everybody waited eagerly to see what I had dreamed up for our successor to Mudd-Runn.  There were only four of us in the company:  Matt, the owner; Alice, the programmer who did sound design work on the side; Terrance, our graphic designer; and me, the other programmer.  We had a bit of success with Mudd-Runn when it was suggested that our company develop mobile games, but customers had grown tired of our first title and we desperately needed something new to keep us afloat and maybe even allow us to turn a profit.

“So, what do you have to show us?” Matt asked with a bored expression on his face and his phone in hand.

“Well,” I explained, “I’m sure you’re all aware that sales for our first game are down drastically from where they used to be when we first launched.  There’s nothing we can really do about that because we’re in a crowded market that gets more and more crowded every day.  We’ve tried to keepMudd-Runn alive for a few months now and while we’ve seen some spikes in downloads here and there, it’s pretty apparent that the game is, for all intents and purposes, dead.

“Instead of trying to breathe life into the corpse of our last project, I think it’s time we move on to something new—something more exciting and innovative.”

The game was running a demo on the screen behind me as I spoke.  I touched the screen of my phone and was brought to the game’s menu.  I started up a new game and moved my character around on the screen.  There wasn’t much in the way of animation, but the new, albeit crude, sprites and environments that Terrance had sent me looked much better than the assets I was reusing from Mudd-Runn.

“What’s the point of the game?” Matt asked.

“To get to the end of the level,” I quipped.  He didn’t appear amused.

“We still have the physics engine from our last game,” I continued, “and it doesn’t make much sense to let that go to waste.  So, I’ve tweaked it a little so it can be used in this prototype.  It’s a physics-based puzzle platformer.  Each level will present players with a unique challenge centering on environmental attributes.  Gravity, destructible environments, water, ice, and so forth.  We’ll slowly ease players into these unique challenges and gradually combine environments in different ways to make the game fresh and interesting all the way through.”

With his eyes on his phone and completely oblivious to my presentation, Matt asked, “What are you thinking for longevity?”

“Well, there’s a lot we can do with the initial release… and this is something that can be easily expanded in the future.  We can introduce new environments with different gravities and surfaces with different frictions and so forth.  Since we’re going to be combining the challenges, we don’t need to have all the possibilities available right at launch.”

“Sounds good to me,” Matt concluded in a disinterested monotone.

“I like it,” Alice chimed excitedly.  Terrance nodded in agreement.

“Okay, then.  I want you all to focus exclusively on this new game,” Matt said decisively.  “Everything we have planned for Mudd-Runn is to be put on indefinite hold.”

It felt good to have such a positive reaction toward my idea.  I still felt like it was nowhere near ready to present for that meeting, but with everybody working on it, production on the game would go much smoother.

Everybody rose from their seats and made their way out of the conference room.  I nodded at them gratefully.

Alice was the last to leave; she stopped in front of me.  “We still on for tonight?”  She asked.

“Absolutely,” I responded.

“Good.  I’m looking forward to it,” she said as she exited the room.

I turned toward the screen and pressed the power button.  The screen went dark.  Blackness.  My eyes tightly clenched shut, the headache began to subside.  I opened my eyes.

Dr. Taggart sat across from me; a genuine concern was painted on his face.  “Are you sure you’re okay, Tom?”

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.

Alice sat across from me with a dish of lo mein in front of her.  She twirled her fork in the noodles without looking as she started a conversation, “How are things with the therapist going?”

An odd conversation starter, I thought.

“Didn’t really seem to be going anywhere at first, but I think I’m actually making progress now,” I replied.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I still think the sessions are a waste of time… and money, but he introduced me to a CD that actually helped.”

“What, like a hypnosis CD?”

“No, just nature sounds and other crap—you know, the kind of CD you can pull from any easy listening or New Age aisle.  Except this one actually worked.

“My mom sent me some old cassettes of classical music and other nonsense that she used to play for me when I was a kid.  They didn’t help,” I stopped.  Her light brown eyes stared intently at my boring life’s story—she seemed interested for some strange reason.

“I’m sorry; I must be boring you,” I said politely, trying to see if her interest was merely a façade.

“No,” she chuckled, “I don’t really get good conversation these days—what with work and all.”

“I can imagine.  You must be busy with your double duty.”

“I love it, but it’s hell—let’s just leave it at that.”

“Fine by me.”

We sat in silence for several minutes focusing more on our food than our company.  I had spent the past fifty days unable to sleep—unable to focus.  It’s been hard to do anything, so any conversation I could start would mostly relate to work, something I’m sure she’d rather not discuss over lunch break.  For several minutes I sat there hoping that she would just say something; instead, the only sounds I heard were the clanking of our silverware against the ceramic plates and the faint, melodic sounds of traditional music that fell from the overhead speakers.

Finally, she broke the silence, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

I replied through a half-sincere smile, “I don’t really have much to talk about.”

“And you seemed to be doing so well before,” she said sarcastically.

“Hey, now, I’m not the only one not talking here,” I quipped back.

“Good point.”

“Yeah, so, what about you?  Other than dedicate your every waking breath to work, what do you do for fun?”

“Fun?  I don’t understand,” she smiled a toothy grin before asking if I had the time.

My phone was resting on the table; I picked it up and illuminated the display.  A crude collage of images filled the screen—leftover assets fromMudd-Runn I had repurposed for my prototype.  I stared blankly at the screen for several moments trying to figure out why my prototype was running.

I terminated the program and was brought to my phone’s home screen—the clock read “12:17.”  That can’t be right, I thought as I shook the phone—hoping, for some reason, that would adjust the time on display to present.  It didn’t.  I set the phone back down on my desk and pushed my chair over toward my monitor—my computer’s clock agreed with my phone.

I looked up and saw Matt walking toward the office’s exit as he pointed toward me and shouted, “I sent you an email—meeting at 10:30 Friday.”

I waved in acknowledgment of his statement and opened up Outlook.  His appointment invite was at the top of my inbox; I accepted the invitation, synced the date with my phone, and set a reminder.

I scrolled through my calendar to see if there were any other appointments I had scheduled in that I may have forgotten about.  I discovered that I had an appointment with Dr. Taggart on Thursday that I forgot to cancel. Maybe I should keep it, I considered, maybe something could actually come of the session now that I’ve had some sleep.

When I finished checking my appointments, I logged out of my workstation; it was after noon and I was getting hungry.  I unplugged the USB cable from my phone and pushed in my chair.  I looked around the office as I walked toward the exit—it was empty.  I concluded that they must all be out to lunch.

It was rare that the entire office would take their lunch at the same time, but it has happened in the past.  Generally one or two people will take a later lunch so they can man the phones, but we never really received many calls and we all had voicemail in the event that a call was missed.  I didn’t feel bad about leaving the office empty; my stomach was beginning to growl and I had an overwhelming desire for Chinese.

To be continued…

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright laws.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.