K. Marvin Bruce

Circumstance of Victims

 

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I stung a wasp on work’s way to me. From the time I woke up my alarm clock something was obvious I was wrong. Never had bad omens believed in me, but I had haunted stress so long that sleep began to interfere with me. This night, for example, I fled from sleep although it was really fatigued. Too little coffee had drank me, I was wondered, from tomorrow. As the mirror stared at me I was clear it was wrong. My eyes blinked me. Eyes bloodshot. Will happen it again?

 

New city moves in me. City in millions of possibilities. Place were maids are dreamed of. Country in a small house. Stress from relief, deeply the air breathes me. Air clean. This would’ve approved of Anna. Big city near to small town, limited possibilities. Each night blooms optimistic. The horrid, slow-moving recession is over me. Limited possibilities! Job edits me. Hours long but busy. Grammar perfect, never out of place a comma,

 

The sky touches the building that works me. Movement constant, like hives in a bee. Like head with its chicken cut off. Clients meet me, their books read me. Decisions make me. Daily decisions make me. Their past determines me. Lunch martinis; what a big deal this makes me! Six big of one.

 

Recession is before me. I worry the future, however. It will never escape me. In dreams it replays me, under and under. “End at the beginning,” self tells me. Nests living in a wasp. This house just moved into me. Put future behind me. Fat man forgets me, little white beard wears the fat man. I sit in front of. I smile at him, amiably, reassuringly.  Official paper reads me; shock is in me. Sweat breaks out in me, as shudders a great chill. Smiles the fat man still. Naked feeling. Like a firing squad unfeeling before a man.

 

Darkness fumbling in me. Far in the future. Try today to live in you. Contract signs me, trembling my hand. Calm stays me. Breathe deep. This will be thrilled to hear Anna!

 

4 a.m. reads the clock. I feel so empty to the bed. Yesterday will take care of me for that. Yesterday has so many possibilities, self keeps telling me. Forget tomorrow!

 

Boss says my vacation needs me. Deserves me after that amazing contract. Hawaii goes to me, black beaches lay on me. Great jets of earth spew into magma, like the melt is grounding. Great waves of fall heating. Forests rain. Exotic animals see me, colorful and rare. Ten books read me in a week. Well read.

 

The plane climbs on me, pleasantly tanned from sun in a week. Back home, I am falling in rain. I bring the weather down sometimes. Although my job likes me, it finds me difficult to come back. I am happy to see my boss. I joke that clients are so bronzed and relaxed. They politely laugh at me. I greet email so full of computer it wonders how all of me fits. A week will take it just to sort me alone.

 

My work digs into me. More manuscripts read me, unfolding my private thoughts. Revealing myself to strangers. Like a bee full of hives busied am I. Even weekends work on me to catch up.

 

White fades my skin. Like the beard white of man fat. His office still sees me. Opulent, arrogant. His knees rest on his great belly. A sardonic face on his smile. Power in sanguine. The paper reads me. The blood feels me drain. Shock. Cold. Fear.

 

Concentrate. This must forget me! Word follows word, page follows page. Time is behind me, pressure is under me. I question my boss; is he alright? Just very busy, I am told. The clock stares at me. It can’t believe how late I am. The office has to be back in me in only a few hours. What will think Anna? Still subway on the people. People weary.

 

A drink could use me, but I told my doctor I would only worsen its situation. Reality must learn to cope with me.

 

Why doesn’t bed go to you? I ask my boss. He insists I am alright, just a few moments need me, maybe a coffee break. Gray are city streets; they are raining again. My coat spreads on large spatters of water. I make it think of Anna. She wonders where I am. My thumb burns hot coffee, why does it pour them in such a flimsy cup? The rain watches me slide down the window. I ring, the cell answers me. Why doesn’t home come to me? Tomorrow will improve me. Slowly my coffee sips me, bitter and sweet.

 

Home doesn’t feel like going to me. A cab catches me. Library public. It works Anna, she knows I am busy, so it stays out of my sight. She watches me without me knowing she’s there. Face pretty, hair long and soft. A tight sweater wears her, all the right spots so snug. My coat still soaks the rain, silently it shivers.

 

I feel so empty to our house. All the lights go around to me and turn me on. They try to create a cheerful scene. When home comes to Anna, candles will be burning me, soft music will be playing me, she will show me she can change. A bottle of wine unstops me, and I am poured into two elegant glasses. Dark red. I won’t mind if she drinks one first. My glass refills me.

 

I call to the couch. I am heavy on my eyes; suddenly I seem long to the day. My eyes beam into early sunlight. My clothes still wear me. She is still full in her glass. Alone am I. My watch stares at me in disbelief. An appointment has made an important client; quickly the shower rushes to me. The door runs through me, the train catches me. Crowded, it has to stand in me. All the city to the way. Anna thinks of me. Client thinks of me. Constantly I remind my boss that major is this account. It knows the client, he wants other publishing houses too. He treats me with special care, money is his name.

 

In the crowded lobby the elevator waits for me. A rabbit’s warren is like our office, a maze that finds its way through me. I am already there, his watch frowns at him. He apologizes to me--cities in the train, I know how they are. I give him curious looks, but say nothing. My doorway leans on my boss, listening in. His handsome face spreads across a welcoming smile. His hand extending him, the client greets him. The New York Times bestseller list is already on his name. The room is left alone with me. Trouble knows I’m in.

 

My desk sits on a large pile of manuscripts. First time authors of a slush file. The kind of intern we usually assign work. Unless this illness addresses me, not even this will read me. How will the mortgage pay me? Do the streets want to end up on me? Why can straight thoughts not figure me out? Why did home not come to Anna last night? What am I happening to?

 

The cell snatches me up, Anna’s number dials me. Impatient, my ear presses to it. Her number has changed her? My work can’t leave me, but this needs to find me out. Penn Station comes down to me after work. Tawdry shops illuminate artificial light. Homes, clubs, appointments go to thousands of people. Expensive cheap food, city smells like the air. Which train rides Anna? There’s my memory with nothing wrong. She is where?  Penn Station can’t remember how long she’s been waiting for me. The train catches me without her.

 

In her full wine glass still stands the living room. I look threatening to the sky, clouds dark rolling in. Anna? My own voice hears me. I answer only silence as outside the window heavy drops see me fall.

 

Will remember Otto. I am his best friend since college. He shared me with an apartment. Years ago regard me; how long since he called me? Maybe I am going, supposes my memory. The address book flips me open. His number punches me on the keypad. The sky crosses lightning, sudden thunder of crash. A mechanical voice hears me: in service not this number. The blackbook double checks me. The phone tries again; message the same gets me. Perplexed the receiver hangs me up.

 

Immediately I ring to get its attention. I am falling fast now from black clouds, rain is glad to be inside. “Ohell,” I say, “you are here. Otto, are you here?” 

 

My phone is on the boss. I am sorry he had to ring me at home. First, the contract signed my client, and the good work thanks me. But serious concern has him. Work left me without a message leaving. Is it okay? What is wrong with it?

 

“Anna,” he explains to me. “Home did not come to Anna last night. She doesn’t know where I am.”

 

He is on the line, silence awkward fills him. Does he have a friend he can call? Maybe he shouldn’t be alone. The clock stares at me. 4 p.m. Work is at him. His best friend Otto, he tried to call me, but his phone wouldn’t answer his calls. The house is alright, home is me.

 

The house should wait in me. The next train will be on him. Good editors hate to lose the company, authors who win great editors.

 

The door hears me knock. 6:06 p.m. The door opens me, my boss sees me. “Wine would like to have you?” he asks, the bottle pointing to my hand. On the glass, Anna’s table is still full.

 

My telephone picks him up. Rapidly the keys dial him. “Otto is calling?” I am asked. “Anna knows where he is?”

 

My stare fixes him. “Don’t I remember,” I ask, “last year?” Blankly he stares at me. “Anna is dead. Otto ran off with her last year, she killed him. Prison has been in Otto ever since. Home is never coming Anna. I haven’t worked for you for the months six last. You are coming to take them away.”

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K. Marvin Bruce has been published by DM and Jersey Devil Press.  His first novel, The Passion of the Titans, is from Vagabondage Press. 

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