Remember The Time

Chapter 1

Dirty blonde hair soaking with sweat, John Stockwell lay sleepless in his bed. Although he was exhausted by the enormous effort it had required to keep it together all day- in spite of his certainty now that he must be going mad- there was no way he could sleep.

He had a few bruises, and fairly nasty gash on his scalp, but that wasn't the reason his head was throbbing. Is this real? Is this some sort of dream, he asked himself for the thousandth time since waking. He simply couldn't believe that anymore. And again, what about my family? Where were they? What had happened to them?

John's heart began to race again in desperation and horror; he thought absentmindedly that he should calm down- with his high cholesterol he could have a heart attack.

Then he remembered, and the absurdity of the thought was almost enough to make him stop shaking:

...Can't have a heart attack...after all, I'm only 14 years old...

How in the Blue Fuck is that possible?!?

His emotions were running wild, veering between the urge to sob and the feeling that he just had to laugh. He gripped his sheets up between his fingers while lying there on his back, the stains from his perspiration slowly spreading over the linen. He realized he needed to get it under control before he started screaming.

Okay, Relax...Breathe, John commanded himself. Think! Try to figure this out...

Trying to focus his mind actually did help him to calm down a bit. John breathed a little easier as he tired to think, tried to remember. Alright. I can't remember having any kind of accident today... he thought to himself. Earlier, the thought had occurred to him that something unremembered could have happened- and he was in a coma. But...no. No, he couldn't convince himself of that any more now than he could this morning. Everything just felt too real. Just so incredibly real! So, not a dream (but maybe a nightmare) and not in a coma.

So, think. Before today, the last time I woke up; yesterday of course, back when everything was normal, what's the first thing you remember? John asked the ceiling, eyes unfocused as he concentrated Retrace your steps...

Chapter 2

John dipped his toast into his coffee, and took a soggy bite. The breakfast table that morning was a bit above the usual chaos. Because he had to shave and put on his tie, John had taken longer in the bathroom, which had made the kids late in getting ready for school. After all, no self-respecting teenage boys could go to school without showers, hair-fixing, clothing check and the like.

Anyway, as a result, Eric and Ben were rushing around the kitchen table, simultaneously toasting and devouring pop tarts, getting their backpacks ready and bumping into everything.

Boys! Get up here and brush your teeth! Jessica, John's wife called from upstairs. If you miss the bus, you're walking! Neither one of us can drive you today! She reminded them. Still eating and bustling, neither boy acted as if they had heard a word.

Eric, Ben, go brush your teeth, guys. John told them quietly as he stood up and drained off the last of his coffee. They both looked at the clock, and went to do as they were told.

Jessica came down as they walked out, giving the youngest, Ben, a light smack to the back of his head as he passed. She looked at her husband and smiled as she went to get her own cup of coffee.

It made John feel just a little bit un-masculine, they way he felt about her. And that didn't bother him a bit. Over 15 years of marriage, and two kids later he still thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and to hell with how cliché that sounded. He'd never say it, but he would have preferred that she kept her light brown hair long, but like most Moms, after a certain age, it didn't seem worth the time and effort. Still though, at 41, her skin was smooth, her body slim and she still had that cute hind end, that John swatted playfully with a mornin' babe to top it off.

Watch it pal, my other man doesn't like bruises on the merchandise She turned to him while taking a sip of the steaming mug she had just poured and frowned. Shaking her head and setting the cup aside, she reached up to straighten his tie. I guess when you only wear a tie once a decade, you sorta forget how to put one on properly, she chided.

John dutifully lifted his chin, the height of which was almost even with the top of her head, so she could perform whatever adjustment was required. She was of average height, unlike her husband who was pushing six and a half feet.

I hope that toast didn't have butter on it, Mister. Jessica chided. You know you have to be careful, with your cholesterol. John wanted to argue, to say that yes, my cholesterol was a little high; but that was over a year ago- the last time he had had it tested.

John knew better, however; She would just say that it's probably even worse now.

The boys came back through the kitchen then, with Eric tossing the empty shell of a juice box into the trash. Recycle bin, kid, John reminded his oldest son. With a typical oppressed teenager sigh, Eric said, I don't have basketball today, but I'm going over to the park with Freddie after school to skateboard... He began, then changed it up a bit as his father raised an eyebrow at him. CAN I go to the park after school?

That's better, his father replied, Just be home by 5

Six? the boy asked hopefully. John shook his head, No, 5 o'clock pal, we're going to Grandma's for dinner tonight John was glad to see his son didn't seem the least bit bothered by that like most teen's might. Well, he thought, why would he?

His paternal grandmother was a hell of a lady. Ben came back downstairs then as well, kissed his mom, got a bye Dad, good luck today! she got another one from Eric too, and they were out the door that quick. Eric poked his head back in before he shut the door, Yeah, good luck today Dad, see ya and he was off.

Luck, Jessica scoffed, My husband doesn't need luck, he's got skill John winked at her. She looked up at the clock, You better get going too John, just in case traffic is backed up He looked at the clock as well, she was right, almost 7:30. Giving his wife a quick embrace, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. After he left, his wife closed her eyes and said a brief prayer.

They needed this.

Chapter 3

John, as unobtrusively as he could, waved his hands back and forth beneath the table. His palms were sweaty, and it was gross shaking hands with someone like that. He was more nervous than he had expected. He'd hadn't been to a job interview in years. He went over the things he had read on the internet; Maintain eye contact, speak clear and confident, and make sure you ask some questions. Being rusty on interviews wasn't his main problem here however.

Getting this job was. John had been laid off almost four months ago, and things were getting serious. Over 60 days behind on the mortgage, cable already off, internet and maybe even telephone next. And after that of course...homeless. He shivered. Yes, John was scared of how badly he needed this job. And this wasn't just any job, either.

Preston Tool and Die wasn't an easy place to get into, because everyone wanted to work there. You started out at almost $20 an hour, full benefits-they had it all. Even Dental and Optical! That was rare these days.

And John knew he could do the job. He'd been a machinist since high school; lathes, mills, even CNC...John knew it all. John had worked at the old Empire Manufacturing, down on the bank of the Cuyahoga river, where his father had worked his entire life as well. Until his death in the late 80's.

John was laid off from Empire five years ago, along with everyone else when the company was bought out by some venture capital, hedge fund something-or-other, and now the former manufacturing complex was a collection of lakeside condos that cost 7 figures.

John started when the door to the conference room opened to his left, and the man who was interviewing him stepped in.

Mr. Stockwell? I'm Bob Benson, it's nice to meet you. John rose to take the man's hand, and returned the greeting. Did Mary offer you something to drink? Would you like some coffee? The man was referring to the nice young receptionist who had escorted him into this nicely appointed room, with it's one wall being all windows, apologizing for this Mr. Benson; saying he had been delayed, and would be here shortly.

Yes, Miss Burton was very polite. Thank you sir, I'm fine. John had taken the trouble to remember the receptionist's name. Another tip from the internet: Always be nice to the receptionist. The person interviewing you might ask her about you. John was starting to feel more confident. He was tagging all the bases pretty good so far. His hands hadn't even been sweaty anymore when he shook the man's hand.

Please, sit down, Bob invited taking a seat in in another of the large, comfortable leather executive-style chairs. I've been looking over you resume, and it's not bad, Mr. Stockwell. You have about twenty years experience in this field, I see John was encouraged. The man seemed friendly towards John, and he looked a bit like his old grandfather, with that thinning gray hair comb-over, and lean, dry face that all men seemed to start acquiring once they hit their sixties, which Mr. Benson clearly had.

And Mr. Benson had probably spent 40 or so of those years, working in this shop. Hard work. John had worked with a lot of men who'd looked like this; strong, thin, but worn down. He figured he'd look pretty much the same someday as well.

He realized his mind was wandering, and focused back on the interview. Yes Sir, he began, but Mr. Benson held up his hand, Please. Just call me Bob. and smiled.

Thank you Bob, John replied, rather gallantly, he thought. Yes, I started at Empire Manufacturing in June of 1984. During my time there, I did the setup and operation of just about everything. Bridgeport Mills, lathes...in 1992, I went to Cuyahoga Community College, and got an associate degree in CNC programming and operation. John said with a bit of pride.

Those classes had not been easy for him. Up until they closed down, I helped construct molds for Lockheed, Goodyear and lots of others. Also, I want you to know that the only time I ever missed work was for the birth of my sons, and once when I got pneumonia when I was 22. Mr. Benson nodded, seemingly pleased at all he had heard. But you've been out of machining since 2007, is that correct? John instantly became wary. He thought he detected a note of doubt in the man's voice.

Your resume says you spent a couple of years after Empire at Target doing night stock, and you most recent job was... he looked at the paper in his hand, Ah...for the City of Cleveland, working on a leaf sweeping crew.

John's face went a little red at that. It was the only job he could find, and he was ashamed of it. Typically, the kind of people on a leaf collection crew were, well, not your model citizens. Parolees, bums...the kind of people that Carol would worry about. John tried to defend himself, and came across as defensive.

Well, I have a mortgage, plus a wife and two kids. The way the economy is, I didn't have much choice John attempted a weak smile to cover his embarrassment at how peevish that sounded.

No, hey, it's okay... Mr Benson said earnestly. Believe me, I understand. I wake up everyday, thinking how lucky I am to still have a job! He chuckled. John was relieved. The man hadn't seemed to take offense had his snide comment. However...

Still though, it has been a while since you've done this sort of thing. And here, as I'm sure your aware, we don't make enormous molds, the core of our business these days is making tooling used to manufacture medical equipment. Tiny stuff. Our smallest tool has a diameter of only .020 of an inch.

John's heart was sinking at the direction this interview had suddenly taken. It got worse. All our machines are CNC, just like you're used to, but mostly do grinding, not machining. It's different.

John looked at him neutrally, but his mind was racing. You've got to respond, he thought...Say Something! But he couldn't really think of anything because the man was pretty much right. Machining and grinding were different. Wait...Well, yes sir, but, um...I do learn new things pretty quickly. I'm sure I could learn very easily John put as much confidence into his voice as he could, but it didn't matter. He saw it on Bob's face, it was over.

Damn.

Well, Mr. Stockwell, I have your application and resume...I still have a few more people to interview... Mr. Benson said while rising, John rose along with him, not really hearing the rest- he'd heard it all before. He shook the hand as he was guided to the door, and that was it. Exiting through the glass and stainless steel lobby, such a contrast with the browns of the conference room, John instinctively nodded, but did not smile at the receptionist. She said goodbye cheerily and felt bad for the man. It hadn't gone well, it showed on his face. Too bad, he seemed like a nice man. Oh well.

John walked slowly to his car, an old Buick, wondering how things could be so bad on such a beautiful late summer day. He'd never speak to Mr. Benson again, he was pretty sure about that. Well, unless the guy called to tell him they decided to go with someone else.

The man could see on my application that what kind of machining experience he'd had. Why did he even bother to grant the interview? It didn't matter, John thought bleakly. His next meeting was in about an hour, and he had no reason to expect that it would go any better. He would have felt much more confident had the interview gone well, but today- just like all the recent previous days lately- was just not his day.

He briefly considered walking, but it occurred to him they might tow his car if he left it in the Visitor's space, and that was something he definitely couldn't afford.

John fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Plopping down on the velor seat, he felt almost too weary to put the key in the ignition.

It was the bank next. John and Jessica had submitted an application for a mortgage modification a couple of weeks ago, and now it was time to go and get the verdict. He'd asked the nice lady why she couldn't give him the answer over the phone, but it was bank 'policy' that someone had to meet personally with the loan officer. Jessica had to work today, and certainly couldn't afford to miss. Whatever. Finally twisting the key in the ignition, the car eventually started.

Hoping against hope, he set off.

Chapter 4

And here's your call light, Mr. Carlson if you need anything. The elderly man nodded with his little smile as Jessica took the food tray off his bedside table and carried it with her out of the room.

Sliding the tray into the slot on the meal cart, she pushed the cart up the hall of the nursing home where Jessica had worked for the last three years. She gave a little tap at the next door she came to, Mrs. Noonan? she asked upon entering the room. Come in, dear the 98 year old woman called in a cheerful voice. She was nice to everyone, but she especially liked Jessie. The girl was so nice, and you knew that when she was working and you hit that call light, she'd be right there without delay.

Hey, finished your whole dinner I see... stomach feeling better? Jessica asked.

Earlier this morning Mrs. Noonan had gotten sick. Jessica had held the bucket under her chin for her while stroking her shoulder the entire time. Lovely girl.

Any plans for your weekend off? Mrs. Noonan asked while Jessica cleared up the silverware and wiped down the tray table with a sanitary wipe. Jessica got every other weekend off.

I don't think so, Mrs. Noonan. John's still out of work, so money's a bit tight. She replied wistfully. Then Mrs. Noonan remebered; Didn't John have that big interview today? How did that go?

I haven't talked to him, Jessie replied. I tried calling at lunch, but he didn't pick up. I guess he wasn't home yet. Jessica felt encouraged by that. Maybe John was taking so long because they had sent him to get a physical or something. Maybe he got the job. She could hope, couldn't she?

Well, I'll say a prayer for you both, dearie Mrs. Noonan smiled as Jessica left with her tray and a friendly goodbye.

Mrs. Noonan had been her last dinner clean-up. Jessica parked the tray cart at the end of the wide, main hall for pickup by the cafeteria ladies. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was almost ten after 5. Five o'clock was the end of her shift.

Hi Jessie, Said the floor nurse, seated behind the beige counter of the nurse's station. "Beth and Willie are doing a bed change on Mr. Carter.