The Words

Walking Nowhere

I believe Purgatory exists as well.

Breaking into the penthouse, Bob and my brother dragged me to the bathroom, undressed me, turned on the shower, and shoved me in. I fought them to escape the freezing, sobering spray. I think I hit Bob, but he was a large, gentle man, and it couldn't have been my best punch. He told me he wasn't washing me, thrust a bottle of shampoo against my chest, and pointed to the soap in the dish. He eventually had the courtesy to turn on the hot water. In addition to a towel, Bob had a razor and shave cream waiting for me when I stepped out of the shower, but looking at the length of beard I'd grown, he said, fuck it, and handed me the towel. I was startled further awake since Bob rarely swore. They insisted I wear a sports jacket but decided it wasn't worth fighting me over wearing a tie.

On our way to the corporate offices, my brother informed me that I should give my executive assistant a raise after the amount of abuse I'd given her.

I said, "I thought I'd fired her."

"Yes," my brother informed me, "You did. And I repeatedly hired her back, so she'd continued returning every day to check on you, whether you were abusive and fired her again or not."

I asked my brother, "Please arrange to give her another raise."

He told me, "I've already given her several, plus a bonus. It is your turn. Make it a big raise, a bigger bonus, and apologize for being such as asshole."

I recall giving my executive assistant another raise, a bigger bonus, and apologizing for how I'd mistreated her. I vaguely remember her being gracious and grateful, telling me it was okay. She understood, having also suffered a loss of her own - her fiancé a year earlier. I don't remember her name or the circumstances of her fiancé's death.

Addressing the board, with my presence as proof of life, I insisted they elect someone new as chairman. My brother, who was only a few years younger, told me he didn't want the position. He was thinking about retiring. I looked from him to Bob and realized neither was far behind me on their way to being senior citizens. Still, I begged my brother to wait and accept the position until he could groom someone to replace him. I also vaguely remember asking whether he'd ever considered having the procedure. He'd given Bob a looked, then shaken his head and told me not quite yet.

Afterward, I left the meeting with Bob, who didn't drive, so we road together in the back of a limousine. I inquired where we were going when we headed out of the city rather than returning to the penthouse. Concerned about the possibilities, such as a rehab facility, I was relieved to learn that he was only taking me to the oceanfront estate. I needed a change of scenery and some fresh air, and I needed to take better care of myself. Get up in the morning and take a walk. I had a lot of property that I'd never taken the time to see. Explore every inch of it. He would return and check on me every week.

I sensed he had something on his mind and asked what it was. When he didn't respond, I asked, "Do you want to retire too?"

"No," Bob insisted, "I'll never retire. What would I do with my time? And I'm happy doing what I do."

I asked him the same as my brother, "Have you considered having the procedure?"

He hesitated, then deferred, saying, "We'll talk about it in a week or so. Do some walking and allow yourself to grieve without drinking yourself to death."

The sun woke me in the morning. I grudgingly put on shorts, a t-shirt, and walking shoes and took Bob's advice. I walked. I didn't remember buying the walking shoes I wore, but they were my size and comfortably broken in. But that was far from the first time I'd found things where they needed to be, in the condition they needed to be, as though they'd magically appeared in response to passing thoughts I couldn't recall having. My administrative team had previously remained attuned to my every thought or wish. None of which they now had any way to know since the destruction of the Magick Hat I'd refused to replace. So, the nicely broken-in shoes remained a mystery.

I continued to be profoundly depressed. I'd often stop walking as tears suddenly overwhelmed me and streamed down my face. This loneliness, pain, and grief hadn't been our plan. My wife was supposed to be with me forever, not gone forever. How could that be? I had no idea what to do next. I couldn't yet begin to think of 'a next.' I was having an impossible time trying to grasp my present. How had living our lives in our pursuit of immortality been any different than devoting our entire lives to religious beliefs in anticipation of their promise of life after death?

I walked and walked. Alone. Except, I eventually grew aware that I couldn't have ever been entirely alone. Someone mowed the meadow that sloped down to the edge of the beach. Someone trimmed the grass surrounding the house, which someone regularly cleaned. Someone shopped for food and kept the refrigerator and bar stocked. Otherwise, I had a magical decanter of twenty-five-year-old single malt Scotch that was somehow never empty. Although, it came close to being empty on more than the occasional late-night spent in the gazebo where I'd left it behind with barely enough whiskey remaining that I couldn't be accused of drinking the entire decanter. I'd promised Bob I'd take better care of myself, and did.

But I still needed to numb my mind before I collapsed into bed each night; otherwise, my racing thoughts would never have allowed me to sleep. But the decanter always returned to its proper spot behind the bar, refilled by morning. There were also meals left for me with heating instructions. I ate a small portion of most, cold since I still had little appetite or attention span to follow the instructions. But I never saw anyone other than Bob, who, good to his promise, arrived nearly every weekend, still not prepared to share whatever bothersome thing that remained on his mind.

I continued refusing the Magick Hats Bob brought each visit in little boxes containing the latest prototype. I promptly tossed the boxes from as near the cliff's edge a few yards beyond the gazabo as I could force my feet to take me. I had no more interest in tumbling over that edge than in stumbling through Virtuality. I had no curiosity about what fabulous new things my VR development team created or the latest discoveries generated through telepathic collaboration sessions. I most emphatically did not want to listen to all those, 'How are you doing,' 'are you okay,' inquiries continually popping into my head like some form of psychological torture.

No one had used phones for decades, not even the Smartphones that became so ubiquitous during a few decades. So, if my brother, or anyone else, wanted to speak with me, they'd have to do as Bob and get into a car or borrow the helicopter and haul their ass out to the estate. I was not ready to face the world in any form, Virtual or Real.