Crazy

He woke in the dark as he would sometimes do, the city lights filtering through the blinds, the noises of the outside loud in his ears. He rolled over, grateful for the fan, walked over to the window and looked out, the city towers standing tall, housing all the solitary people, some with families cramped inside. He looked down at the traffic and the roads below, lines of ants going this way and that, took a glass of water from the tap, swallowed aspirin for his headache, decided to take a walk.

He found his keys and walked out into the landing, half expecting to come across one of the other residents but there was nothing, pressed the elevator button. It lurched its way up the building and finally opened and he stepped inside and stood, pressed the ground floor button, the lights inside flickering on and off. It wouldn’t have surprised him if at any moment the whole thing would have ceased to work altogether, leaving him trapped inside. It stopped and a woman stepped inside, turned her back on him and they made their way down to the ground floor and then the doors opened and he stepped out.

A hot wind blew in his face, the traffic, loud on the street, people walking in groups, a voice in his ear, ‘hey, man, you like to party?’ Was gone. He kept walking, enjoying his own company as he was prone to do, and yet if he was honest with himself, he was lonely. The same old conundrum: too young to retire, and yet he was retired, and now there was nothing but time, and seemingly oceans of it, and yet, after twenty-five years in the force, he knew that he was one of the lucky ones, he’d seen enough of life to know, and yet, there was all this down-time and he would find himself wondering what to do with himself. What he had to do was watch his health, but he didn’t fancy spending his time in parks doing Tai-Chi with all the oldies, or gyms. At fifty-six, he had hit the eight ball; he was in between, too young to be doing nothing, and yet he couldn’t go back to the force, not even for one year, he was completely burnt out, had had enough of profiling bad people, wanted to look at the nicer side of life, to enjoy the simple beautiful things, had always fancied that he would one day marry, maybe start a family, but never had the time. Well, now, he had the time to look at it, but suddenly worried that he had left his run too late. He kept walking, caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, didn’t like what he saw, came to his favourite diner and stepped inside.

It was lit up like it always was, the décor and lighting from another era. He stepped inside and found the usual derelicts. Was that what he was now? The same old guy on the counter, rolls of fat bulging over his white waiter’s uniform, or was that his fate, to be working a place like this? And yet, suddenly, the thought didn’t seem that bad, and yet, why would he bother? He didn’t need the money, the cop pension was more than enough. Funny, how things don’t always seem as good once you finally get them, and yet, if he was honest, he would have to confess that he actually liked this lackadaisical lifestyle and couldn’t bring himself to do anything else. He was a burnout, nothing more and nothing less. 

He found his usual stool and slumped over it, looked up at the cook and wondered if he was staring at himself in another life.

‘Hey, ray.’

‘Hey.’

‘You gonna get the pancakes?’

He looked up at the man and nodded and the other man turned and started it and he spun around on the stool and looked around, and wondered if this was going to be his life, and didn’t mind even if it was the case, and it was in that moment that he felt a chill go up spine for no apparent reason, the hairs on his arms stand up. Ray sat and ate his pancakes and turned and watched a man approach him, his face sliced in half and gouged, his clothes ripped up. The others in the diner were all staring, their mouths agape. The man sat and looked at ray and smiled.

‘You don’t remember me, do ya?’

He felt a piece of pancake fall out of his mouth and land on his lap, tried to make sense of what he was looking at, but it was impossible.

‘Why would I remember you?’

‘Oh, come on, Mr. big time detective, it can’t’ be that hard, can it?’

‘Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal, if you can remember who I am, I’ll leave here right now, how’s that?’

Ray kept looking at the other man, could take his eyes off the charred skin, the face that was not a face. The other man took one more bite of the food and put the fork down.

‘No, well, you lose.’

And with that, he put the fork down, got off the stool and made his way to the door. Ray watched the figure walk out into the night and then all of a sudden, it was gone and the conversations started up again as if time itself had been suspended. Ray looked back at the waiter and the waiter looked back at him.

‘You know that guy, Ray?’

‘No.’

‘Well, he sure as hell, seems to know you.’

‘Yeah, seemed to.’

‘Well, what are you gonna, do about it, Ray?’

He racked his brain but came up with nothing.