Jack placed the pen down on the desk and started his day. Sunlight poked through the window as he opened the refrigerator. He pulled out the carton and cracked two eggs into a small bowl. He yawned and beat the yolks. His hands moved without much thought. Oil in the pan, little butter, eggs in the pan, sprinkle a little cheese on top, throw a bagel in the toaster, get out the cream cheese. It was so automatic, being the same breakfast he ate every day, except Sundays.
He closed his eyes and pushed his hair back, trying to remember what he dreamed about the night before. It was so close, but he couldn’t quite bring it back into his mind. Perhaps it was for the best. He sat at the small dining room table and ate, sipping on one glass of orange juice and one glass of water, alternately.
He used to drink coffee but he had to give that up. Coffee gave him an energized feeling, and sometimes it would help him work at a high pace. However, coffee, with all its wondrous aromas and warmth, produced another effect in Jack that he didn’t figure out for years. Normally, Jack thought thoughts. And those thoughts usually took the form of words. His internal monologue guided him throughout the day. But after two cups of coffee, a curious thing happened. Jack’s mind would get fuzzy, almost like television static rather than a clear image. His thoughts would shift from concrete words to abstract feelings. And when he didn’t think in words, his mind was liable to make bad decisions. Bad decisions often lead to more bad decisions.
When Jack made this discovery, he tried to switch to tea. But the same problem arose. It just took five cups instead of two. And he somehow always managed to get to five cups. No. Caffeine had to go altogether. He felt pathetic when he came to that conclusion, but, well, that’s just the way it was.
Jack stepped into his workshop and inhaled deeply. He looked at the bulletin board, where he pinned all his outstanding orders. There was just one paper hanging. It was for his piece called “Retro Sleek Vinyl Organizer.” The hardest part of his job was to think of stupid, catchy names for the things he built so he could put them on his stupid website. It was a simple end table that housed a person’s budding record collection. It was simple, but popular, so he set to work.
He measured and sawed and sanded and drilled and screwed. He had a tendency to get into a kind of zone when he built things, especially when he worked with wood. In fact, when the business first took off, Jack had a tendency to work on pieces for hours and hours, forgetting about lunch. He’d notice some time around 4PM, and suddenly he’d realize he felt slightly lightheaded, and his stomach ached and growled. To solve this issue, Jack bought an alarm clock that rang every day at 12:30, telling him to eat lunch.
The bell rang, and Jack set the piece, almost finished, on its legs on the workbench. For lunch, he prepared a tuna melt, a banana, and some almonds. He washed it down with a large glass of ice-cold water.
Now it was time to exercise. He jumped rope 500 times. When he first started, he could barely do 200. He’s increased slowly but surely, and maybe tomorrow he’d try for 550. After he caught his breath, he performed various sets of curls with various weights of dumbbells. After that, he put on some gloves and punched a heavy bag for ten minutes. When he was thoroughly worn out, he showered.
He finished up the piece and gave it one final look-through to ensure its quality. It was a simple piece, and it looked perfect, so he packed it up in a cardboard box. He started his drive into town towards the FedEx shop. It was just after three o’clock by now, a warm, late-spring day.
His business was fairly steady now, and all the FedEx staff knew Jack. A man in his early twenties, with freckles, curly hair, and a consistent appreciation for energy drinks stood at the cash register. A twelve ounce Red Bull can stood at his work space. He smiled as Jack entered.
“Jack, my man!”
“Hi, Elijah.”
Jack placed the box on the scales and handed over the order paper. Elijah clicked and clacked on the keyboard.
“Sticking with the Red Bull?”
“Oh yeah, you know how it is.”
Jack did know how it is.
“You’re keeping busy, yeah?” Elijah asked.
“Yeah, I’d say so. Business is steady.”
“Good, good. Always good to keep busy.”
Jack sighed. “It really is.”
He remembered that he was running out of toothpaste, so he pulled the truck into the parking lot of a CVS. He kept the motor running and spoke to himself in a quiet tone.
“Okay. I’m gonna go in. I’m gonna buy some toothpaste and nothing else, even if I see something else I need. I’m not gonna wander, I’m not gonna get a soda or a Gatorade or even go to that section cause it’s near that other section that I don’t want to go to. That’s it. Toothpaste only.”
He followed his advice exactly. He walked determinedly to the oral care aisle, picked a box of Colgate toothpaste, then scanned the item at the self-checkout. Once back in the truck, he spoke to himself again.
“Easy. Done. In and out, no wandering.”
Jack’s final stop for the day was always the library. He pulled out a stack of DVD’s from his backpack and placed them in the return bay. He sat down at one of the desks and logged into one of the computers.
Jack did not own a computer, and he did not have any internet service at his house. He used to, but he found the problem with computers is that they can be used to see pictures and videos of naked women. When Jack would employ this feature, it produced a similar effect as coffee. His mind would get fuzzy, even fuzzier than coffee, and it became incapable of forming coherent thoughts. Of course, when the two activities were combined, the effect compounded. It was better to just get rid of the computer altogether.
The same problem occurred with his cell phone because cell phones are computers now. He hadn’t gotten rid of his cell phone. Jack felt that, as owner of a small, growing business, he needed to take pictures of his products and post them on a social media site, so he did that occasionally, writing tags to lure in potential customers. It worked. Whenever he did this, he would turn the phone on, use it for this purpose, then immediately turn it off.
Two more orders came in, and Jack printed the order sheets from the library computer. Work was now done for the day, so he leisurely browsed the DVD section for fifteen minutes. He compiled a sizable stack, enough to last him one or two weeks, then he took them to the counter, where the nice older librarian, named Mary Anne, greeted him.
“You watching Julia’s boy tonight?” she asked.
“That’s right, ma’am. Every Wednesday.”
“That’s mighty nice of you.”
“Oh it’s nothing, really. She’s taking some night classes, and ever since… ever since, you know what happened. She wants someone to teach him about fishing and using tools and throwing a baseball. All that.”
“He’s a curious boy, isn’t he? He’s in here most Saturday’s checking out a new book on a new topic. Seems every week he’s got a new favorite thing.”
“Is he? Yeah, he’s a good kid.”
“And that Julia,” she started, looking up at Jack, “She’s a pretty girl isn’t she?”
“I never noticed. Thanks ma’am, I’ve got to go. Have a nice evening.”
He smiled, put the DVDs in his backpack, and left.
He drove off to Julia’s house, and she greeted him at the door.
“Hello, Jack.”
“Hi.”
“Come in, come in. Teddy’s finished his homework already so there’s no need for that. He’s got a big bucket of baseballs out back, so I think that’s… well, he’s been talking about how much he wants to strike you out.” They both smiled.
“We’ll see about that,” Jack said.
“Well, I’ve got to go, I’ll see you later tonight!” Julia walked out the door.
Jack stepped through the cluttered house, facing down to avoid stepping on any toys. He looked out the back window for a moment, watching Teddy throw baseballs at a wooden object. He opened the back door and walked outside. When Teddy noticed Jack, he ran over.
“Hi, Jack! Can’t say that on a plane, can you?”
Jack smiled. “No, you surely can’t. Have you ever been on a plane?”
“No, I surely haven’t. Look at this, I built a strike zone!”
“Wow, look at this!” Jack walked around the wooden strike zone, examining it. A rectangular frame made from two by two’s stood on a wooden stand. A tarp was attached to the back of the frame, to stop the baseball from rolling away, if a strike was thrown. “You’re gonna put me out of a job!”
“It was all cause you taught me,” Teddy explained.
“You’re quite the carpenter, aren’t you? A regular Jesus of Nazareth, or Harrison Ford.”
“Or you! Wanna play?”
“Sure. Do you want to pitch or hit?”
“I’ll pitch. I’ll be Cy Young.”
“Cy Young? Where’d you hear about him?” Jack stood by the strike zone and started waving the wooden bat.
“At the library. I got a book on baseball facts. Cy Young won the most games.”
“He certainly did. I’ll be Cal Ripken Junior then, how’s that?”
“Who’s that?”
Teddy bent down and squinted, staring at the wooden strike zone. He shook his head while an imaginary catcher gave him pitch signals. He settled on one and started his long, dramatic windup. He whipped the ball forward as fast as an eight year-old could. Jack swung big and missed.
“He played the most games in a row without missing one. Two thousand, six hundred, and thirty-two.”
“That’s a lot of games.”
Teddy grabbed another ball from the bucket and fired the second pitch, which flew outside the zone, missing by about a foot. Jack held his swing.
“It sure is. All right, one and one.”
The next pitch was the fastest yet, but it was much too low.
“Ball two.”
Teddy, or Cy Young rather, took a long time deciding his next pitch. Once ready, he fired one at the zone. In one smooth motion, Jack swung and crushed it. The bat made a large cracking noise and the ball flew out of the field and rolled into the trees.
The pair switched, Jack pitching to Teddy. Jack tried to pitch in such a way that it was a challenge for Teddy to get hits, but not impossible. After a while, they played catch. Once Teddy decided he was tired of baseball, they went inside, and watched a superhero movie. Jack sipped on some herbal tea that Julia had. The superhero in the film kissed the woman he loved.
“Jack. Do you have a girlfriend?”
Jack smiled. “No, I don’t. Do you?”
“Ew, no. Girls are… gross. But you’re older. Why don’t you have one?”
“I used to.”
“What happened?”
Jack took another sip, wondering how much he should explain. “Well, I didn’t treat her right, so she left me.”
“Well did you say you’re sorry?” Teddy asked innocently.
Jack chuckled, recalling the moment she dumped him. She yelled and yelled, throwing his possessions out of her second-story apartment. She unleashed her pent-up tirade of insults for the neighborhood to hear. He just stood on the sidewalk with a violent hangover, saying nothing. He only moved to dodge a bottle she threw at him.
“No, I didn’t. I should have. I learned my lesson though.”
“Hmm. So if you got a girlfriend again, you’d treat her good?”
“Of course.”
The two sat and watched the movie for a long minute. Jack knew what Teddy was going to say next.
“You know,” Teddy started, “my mom doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
“I know, kid,” Jack said as he stood up. Teddy watched him as he walked to the kitchen and fixed himself another cup of tea.
Before long, Julia returned. She told Teddy to start getting ready for bed.
“How was he?”
“Good, yeah,” Jack said. “We played baseball for a bit, Hot Wheels, and watched Spider-Man.”
“Dream day for a boy, isn’t it?”
“Sure is.”
“He likes you, Jack.” She reached out and touched his upper arm softly.
Jack’s brown eyes searched Julia’s bright green ones. She met his gaze without wavering.
“I hope he understands that I can’t be a, you know, a full-time father figure or anything.”
“You do what you gotta do. I’m grateful for you watching him every week.”
Jack nodded.
“It means a lot. I know we’re all broken people in our own way, but we do what we can to put each other back together, right?”
“I suppose that’s right, miss. Have a good night.”
Jack nodded to her and walked away. She watched him get in his truck and drive off. He didn’t look back.
In bed, he lay on his right side, breathing slowly, deeply, and intentionally. With each breath, he imagined a number in his head. His mind also said the number. Inhale slowly. One. Exhale slowly. Inhale slowly. Two. Exhale slowly. He did this all the way up to ten, then he started over. This was Jack’s method to induce sleep. It didn’t always work, but that night it did.
When he woke up, seven and a half hours later, ten minutes before his set alarm, he did the same thing he always did: he sat at his desk. He grabbed the same black pen and wrote the same sentence: As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly. It was the seventy-sixth day in a row he had written that sentence.
Lefty Forrester 