Early-July 32
I'm pretty sure I flickered today. On the one hand, if I really did flicker, at least nobody was around when it happened, because that would have been the end of life as I knew it. But on the other, I can't be sure it actually happened. I had an episode...that's for sure. Maybe I'm epileptic, on top of everything else. Except, as of a few years ago, I was definitely
not
epileptic. The number of brain scans I've had make that diagnosis pretty clear. So, just a seizure of some kind...maybe?
I blacked out. Kind of. One minute I'm coding, the next, I'm staring at the screen with a ton of blanks where there should have been code. Like, I'd fallen asleep, but I hadn't fallen asleep. At least, my head hadn't tipped forward. I looked down and saw my thumb was pressing on the space bar, the computer beeping into my headphones. Maybe that's what pulled me out of it?
I wasn't woozy. I wasn't emerging from a dream. There'd been nothing. Nothing between coding the prior line (I hadn't even stopped coding, as far as my brain was concerned, except...I had) and a bunch of blanks. I erased the lines of blanks and started a stop watch, pressing gently on the space bar until the computer beeped again. 7 seconds. So, I lost 7 seconds of my life.
I got up and stretched, looking around the room. It was the same room. Nothing changed. I grabbed my mug and went to the kitchen, trying not to freak out...on the outside...because on the inside it was like the baboon house at feeding time.
Late-June 32
"Congrats, Annie!" Henry raised his beer bottle to clink against my glass. I murmured something in response, keeping my eyes focused on the artwork, the ceiling, Henry's face, bottle, my glass, face, glass, soda, crowd, soda, faces, artwork, finally landing on his eyes in a rear-guard attempt to use the "social acknowledgment" template, but my timing was off. I could see an expression flash across his face that didn't look like the one the template was expecting.
I shrugged, shifting to a backup. "I...yeah. It's been a tough month...but, I'm super glad we made it through." That seemed to do the trick and I looked away, focusing on the art.
I moved off to a corner of the room, planting myself on a two-seater, my back to the crowd. We'd been invited to a celebration in a room I had never been in before: HQ02.04--some kind of lounge or reception area fitted out for visiting VIPs I figured. Several members of a different team had already claimed seats near me, but I knew I could handle them with my defaults. Nodding and murmuring congratulatory remarks to the five of them, I sat back, letting my head fall against the cushion, closing my eyes.
Tough month, hah!
Henry probably thought I was talking about work, but work had been a snap...for me, at least. My part of the release was pretty minimal. I took a moment and reconsidered. Okay, it would have been a snap if not for Hodgson, Marybeth and...fuck...Jimmie. And, sure, like usual, I was probably not giving myself credit for slicing through some of the tough stories I'd picked up and dispensed with in short order. But I could have done so much more...except for...everything.
Shit was getting complicated. I took a breath and exhaled, reflecting on the month's changes: Marybeth being a snitch, Jimmie being a complete kinkperv, me becoming a stooge for Hodgson. I sighed again, lifting my head enough to take a drink, my thoughts focused on the month and not on the room.
Marybeth. My heartbeat quickened just thinking her name. But I'd gone over her treachery again and again, still trying to find a way to box her in, to not freak out every time I saw her. I was still grieving the loss of her friendship; memories of my elementary and high school upwelling at the strangest times. But I couldn't just cut her off cold turkey; that would have definitely raised suspicions. Apparently, I realized, mentally reviewing the conversations we'd had over the month, my sex life seemed to be the safest topic. I shook my head at the thought: recounting Jimmie's and my after-work activities over coffees, lunches, whispered confessions on the way out the door; it all made me shiver to think that was what I was going to have to do to maintain our relationship. Under normal circumstances...and that train of thought made me laugh.
Normal? What the fuck does that look like?
...okay, so...under
other
circumstances, I could easily imagine Marybeth and me exchanging confidences about our sex lives. Except, I interrupted my thinking again, Marybeth was either extremely inexperienced or really should have gotten awards for her acting. It was all theater, as far as I could tell, since the bugs kept her fully up to speed on me, and she didn't share much about her dating life. I shook my head again. That that should be the
safest
topic was almost funny. But, I countered my thoughts again, it really
was
the safest topic. If she heard it from me, then I would know what she knew, and I wouldn't have to guess if she really was listening in. I shook my head and took another drink.
Dir
MiltHodgson HQ03.14.30. I sat up. Just the thought of Hodgson was enough to make me want to run from the building. I resisted the urge to look at the cameras on the ceiling, focusing again on my breathing. Having completed the training and having submitted enough reports to get into an approved rhythm, I was really only concerned about two things with Hodgson: how could I ever ever ever never be alone with him again; and, were my attempts at creative writing as inscrutable as my facial expressions?
Which of course led to Jimmie.
Everything leads to Jimmie!
I squeezed my thighs together and snapped back to the room, realizing I was probably calling attention to myself.
Hah!
As if...
It's one of the benefits of a crowded room, maybe the only one, which I always forgot: nobody actually cares about you when you're just one of a hundred people. As if the universe was making that very point, I noticed the noise had changed and looked over my shoulder: Peter had started to call everyone together. I shifted around, eventually finding a position that let me see him and ignore the others so I could suffer through whatever he needed to say before we could be released from this torture.
"You going to be okay?"
I nearly jumped off the lounge, Marybeth's words suddenly in my ear.
Where the fuck had she come from??
She sat down next to me, staring at my reaction. "Sorry!' She whispered, glancing over her shoulder at Peter.
I looked around quickly, but nobody was paying me any more attention than they had been before, the room still quieting down. I nodded, swallowing my anxiety, looking back at her face. Face, eyes, necklace, floral blouse, face, hair, eyes, freckles. I turned away to hide my confusion, my anger, my...I didn't know what I was feeling, but I had the excuse of paying attention to Peter's announcement to not deal with it.
"I'll keep my remarks brief," he started in, his face smiling broadly as he scanned the room. "As you're all aware, MEI hit an important milestone this month: successful sign-off on Phase 2 of our Unified Contract Agreement..."
Peter's voice droned on, but the message had already been delivered via email from Monty himself a week earlier, which Jimmie had translated for me. MEI had avoided penalties from a contract it had entered into with a prime government contractor for its part in delivering on whatever it was we were delivering on. I mentally shrugged, trying to both ignore and explore the image of a huge machine, filled with gears. My imagination zoomed in on one tiny area: a group of tiny wheels, one of which was MEI's. And zooming in further, like a fractal, I saw my contribution as a tiny cog on a tiny gear inside MEI's.
"...couldn't achieve this important step without this group's critical efforts." Peter's voice pulled me back. "I wanted to share a message I got from Monty this morning."
"What are you doing later?" Marybeth half-whispered in my ear, equally uninterested in Monty's congratulations as I was. "You have time for a drink? Or does Jimmie have plans for you?"
I turned back to her, thinking about my afternoon, her question snagging something in me.
Jimmie...plans...
for
you?
How much had I shared with her and how much was she getting from the recordings? I smiled thinly, my eyes narrowing. "Plans?" I countered, testing what she might mean. I thought that was a pretty shrewd response.
She raised her eyebrows slightly, her eyes locking on mine. "You know," her voice a ragged whisper. I think she was suggesting that she shouldn't have to spell it out; that it should be obvious. She waved her hands slightly between our laps, a gesture I assumed meant The Stuff Jimmie Is Doing To Me.
I grunted softly. "That was so two weeks ago..." I flashed a quick smile. "I told you that already, right?" I knew I had given her the highlights of my Great Orgasm, as Jimmie continued to refer to it, my thighs shifting at the memory. I caught Marybeth's eyes glancing down and shook my head slightly at how weird our relationship had become. She knew damn well what his plans were for me. She probably knew more than
I
did! "What did you have in mind?"
"I dunno," she said casually. "Conroy's? You think you can peel away for a couple of hours?"
The choice of words caught me up short.
Peel away...
the image of my clothes, peeling away, the memory of the belt, peeling away, the feeling that my self, the one I started with before meeting Jimmie, before that first night in April, before whatever he'd been grooming me to be, was peeling away. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry; I finished the wine and nodded. "Yeah. I'm useless here," setting the wine glass down for emphasis.
"...thank you again, everyone! Please feel free to hang out, enjoy this wonderful food and drink, and of course, take the rest of the day off!" Peter smiled and acknowledged the applause, moving away from the microphone to chat with the brownnosers who no doubt had important things to say.
We caught up at the front door after gathering our things, waiting for the shuttle, along with dozens of other "Meyers" all taking advantage of the half-day holiday.
"You think we'll find a seat?"
"Jinx!"
She meant on the shuttle; I meant at Conroy's. We were both wrong. There were plenty of seats in both places. Conroy's was an ancient Irish pub: dark paneled walls, booths along the sides and plenty of stools at a stained, polished bar. Whiskeys of all grades and nationalities lined a mirror backed wall, with more bric-a-brac hanging on any vertical surface than I could count. I know, cuz I'd tried several times. Football posters, schedules, photographs of long-dead celebrities, pictures of cows, horses, dogs.
There were plenty of Meyers, but nobody from our team. We took seats at the bar and I considered what I was doing here, what Marybeth was doing here. I mentally shrugged and thought about mending our relationship, how that would make things a lot less stressful if I didn't have her to worry about...beyond the obvious.
"What're you having, Annie?"
I realized she'd ordered a beer and I almost followed suit, but remembered it was 1 o'clock. I nodded at the barkeep and ordered a ginger beer. "I don't day drink," I reminded Marybeth. "I'm not sure I should drink at all, actually."
We looked around the room, waiting for our drinks, commenting on a couple of Meyers who were definitely sitting closer together than a friendly day at the pub would call for, and I saw her eyebrows go up when she turned to look at me. "Soooo....?"
