Proxy

just something I whipped up out of boredom. Enjoy.

“Hey, did you hear that new restaurant finally opened up down the street? I swear it’s been months since they built that place.” Jessica was sitting across the living room from me. Strange, usually she sits right next to me on the couch when she asks if I want to go to that restaurant.

“Sure. What time?” I used to be able to say that with genuine enthusiasm, but now everything I say feels scripted.

“How about 7 o’clock? It’s a little late for regular dinner, but for a night out it’s just right.”

“Sounds good.” At this point I fold up the newspaper I had been pretending to read and tuck it snugly into the little woven basket on the coffee table.

Jess watches me get up and leave. The smile never left her face, but that, too, had come to feel scripted, and so it meant nothing to me. Sometimes I remember what it was like to see her smile and feel warm and loved inside. Now I feel nothing.

 

I’m sitting in a room that is not my apartment. It’s modern where mine is more traditional. A black leather couch with gleaming steel supports facing two similar chairs, black tiled floor, bleached white walls, all meticulously arranged with no curves, colors, or personality.

This is a first. I’m afraid to move off the couch. I’ve never been here before and the slightest movement could set something off.

There’s a glass of water on the table now that wasn’t there before. I looked at it for a while before deciding to venture out of what one might assume was a safe zone, but was lately feeling more and more like a prison. Suddenly I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, not for real, just a feeling. But the idea that had sprung in my head began to take shape, and soon the cup was coming up at me faster than I could react. I fell inside of it.

 

I’m at a restaurant now, but not the one I usually go to. The usual one is fancy, the kind that you always see snobby rich people at. Usually, Jessica and I are sitting around a large table of people. There’s always a doctor, an actor, an artist, an entrepreneur, and for reasons I never quite understood, a lion tamer. I am supposed to arrive there at 7:15-fashionably late-order the prime steak, medium rare, a Caesar salad easy on the dressing, and a bottle of merlot, a little dry, but appreciable. Several things are supposed to happen in the next hour. The doctor spills his wine, the actor gets up to go to the bathroom and never comes back, the lion tamer nearly chokes on the tail of a shrimp but is saved by the doctor, Jessica leans over and kisses me on the neck when I bring up the subject of marriage, a man a few tables over proposes to his girlfriend and I order the couple some champagne. The actor who disappeared is replaced by a police officer, and a parade begins outside, which we all go out to watch.

At least, that was what was supposed to happen. Now there is no restaurant, there is no doctor, no actor, no artist, no entrepreneur, and no lion tamer. There is no restaurant, no waiter, and no wine. There is only Jessica and I, and coffee.

Coffee . . . since when did I drink coffee? None of this is right. But it’s best to go along with things and hope that things will get better.

The restaurant we’re at is a café, did I mention that? A café of all places. . . .

“Domenic?”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Tom.”

“Tom again? Haven’t we discussed this enough?” I don’t know who Tom is, and I certainly don’t know why we’re talking about him.

“Honey, I know you. You always do that thing where you pretend nothing’s wrong, you go around saying ‘nothing’s wrong, nothing’s wrong’, but you pout and stick out your jaw, and everyone who knows you at all can tell that it’s bothering you. He was your brother. I just don’t understand why you can’t accept it and grieve like a normal person.”

I don’t have a brother. Who is this Tom? Jess isn’t supposed to be frowning like that, I don’t care if things have gone out of order, but this is something I can’t accept. “I’m sorry. I’ll go to the cemetery tomorrow and leave some flowers, maybe.”

Jess seemed to relax. Her smile returned. Her long fingers unwound from the coffee mug and reached over to grasp mine. That’s better.

I looked at my watch. 8:15. It’s late, we should have headed back home by now.

Jess is looking over a wall nearby covered in ivy with a backdrop of a forest. Potted plants sit around it. The café is nice; clean, but not sterile. Natural. I didn’t care for it.

 

I’m at that apartment again, and I don’t know why. This time I stood up and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I didn’t fall in this time. Instead, there was a knock at the door. Strange, I don’t remember a door being there. I answered it, and was greeted by a brown package wrapped badly in scotch tape. I grabbed a pair of scissors and started cutting it, but my hand slipped and I dropped the box. Blood ran down my hand. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was enough to draw a small flow.

The box was gone and so was the cut. We were at a dinner party for a friend. I don’t know what the celebration was, but I was greeting, hugging and shaking hands with people as if I did. I check my watch again. 3:14.

I’m at the right place, but at the wrong time. I should be getting out of the shower now because I had slept in. I shouldn’t be here until five.

At nine that night, I should have been home watching a movie curled up with Jess. She always falls asleep on my chest when we watch movies late at night. I’ve never been able to fall asleep during a movie, and I think it’s adorable when she makes whimpering sounds in her sleep.

Instead I am standing in an alleyway with a gun in my hand. The actor who never returns to the restaurant is lying in a pool of blood in front of me. Police sirens are growing louder. I panicked as anyone would, and ran.

The dream usually ends with me lying in bed with Jess, staring into her brown eyes as we both fall asleep.

But instead, I threw myself off a bridge into an icy cold river.

 

I called my psychologist that morning. She couldn’t believe it had changed. Well, she said that there were guaranteed to be slight discrepancies every now and again, but nothing large enough to change the outcome. “Thanks,” I said.

I hung up.

Author's Note

There might be more at some point, but this is it for now. I haven't written in a while, so I might be a little rusty.
P.S. tense changes on purpose, don't worry about it.

Reviews

[Proxy]

That was intense and very fast paced. I found my palms getting sweaty! Really nice and confusing at times but it adds to the story.

[VannahBanana]

This was very, very good. I like it a lot. I'm... shocked nobody has written a review yet. Anyhow. It was excellent. And. understandable. It's hard to have both all in one story sometimes. Great, great job.
If I could do anything to critique you, I'd just say add more description. But I understand that sometimes when you have something in your head, you have to get it down right then and there before you can think it out.
Good story set-up. I'd like to hear more about this. Maybe a sequal?