MNEMOSYNE, Chapter 2
Table of Contents
<-- Chapter 1
MNEMOSYNE
Chapter 2
I don’t know why I’m lying down in the backseat of my car, but the open door and the moist night air must have woke me up just now. I don’t know why I was asleep in the backseat of my car, either. My memory is fuzzy and my mind feels like a tire spinning in mud, but I remember something about Jasper. Didn’t he help me get into the car? No, before that, didn’t he interrupt some conversation I was having? Several conversations I was having?
He definitely helped me get into the car, physically helped me, almost lifted me, into the car. Then we told it where to go, I remember that, but why did we tell it to come here? Where is here? I crane my neck back, but I can’t get a good look out the door. I sit up, spin around, and get a bit dizzy—still tipsy—as I stand up slowly and see a white tower just beyond the railing of the bridge.
What is that thing?
I feel like I’m going to fall over. I need to get a hold of something. Of the railing over there. Nauseated, I look down at the grass below. The dizziness lessens. My eyes follow the grass until I see trees, large bonsai trees, just like the ones we received this morning. I follow the trees and the grass until they stop near the base of some sort of white structure. I look up from the base, my eyes following the straight lines of a crystalline formation until all I see is a glowing, white point in the middle of the darkness and the stars.
I saw this earlier today, didn’t I? Didn’t it break my meditation? Why is it like I’ve never seen it before—yet I have—both, at the same time? But it’s not just my memory, it’s as if something is wrong with my eyes as well. As if I’m fading in and out of nearsightedness.
I let go of the railing and turn away from the building. My vision clears up, and I can see my car right in front of me, parked diagonally like it had performed an emergency maneuver. I must have ordered it to stop here in my drunken stupor, but where was I coming from? From the facility? No, from the opening of Yoga Center. From the party.
I remember now. The preparations for the opening, how things went well throughout the day. I’d been distracted at first, but I managed to focus as more and more work piled up. I had no other choice but to buckle down and get the work done. And it got done, right before the sun began to set and the people began to arrive. Then it was all about the trees, everyone wanted to know about the trees, the same trees as the ones behind me now, at the base of that tower. Because Jasper hadn’t been able to hide the damn things completely.
I need to talk to him about that, or… did I already talk to him about it?
I stop leaning on the railing behind me and turn around. There it is again. It’s that strange building appearing out of nowhere. It’s doing it again, isn’t it? No, that’s not possible. Not just because that makes no sense, not just because I saw it a few minutes ago, but because I remember asking everyone about it at the party.
The festivities began smoothly and, at first, I kept this tower and its interruption of my morning to myself. It helped that Regina had organized everything so thoroughly. I kept my eye on her at first, noting her red hair let down in rare fashion, yet still orderly and controlled as she likes everything to be. She was in her best form, smoothly guiding the event, meeting the needs of everyone of importance, conversing or listening as needed, even acting as a cocktail waitress when appropriate. That’s why I hired her, that ability she has to work a crowd, and she did a great job. Following her lead tonight helped me, at first, her engagement spurring my own, pulling my mind away from this thing, this tower, and focusing me on the event.
At some point, it came time for speeches. Jasper gave his speech to constant laughter. Regina went next, her speech full of words of appreciation. Then I gave mine, a speech I’ve made dozens of times, but amended with references to yoga and, as Regina had suggested, to our new dedication to national health. I wrapped it up by recognizing Tiffany’s contribution to Fit for Life and handing her the mic for her to deliver her closing speech.
Her velvety voice echoed throughout the room as she explained her vision and her hope for the Yoga Center, but the spotlight shining down on her distracted me with thoughts of the light this morning, the one slipping through my eyelids—and my mind wandered to thoughts of the tower. Not now—I thought—focus! Fortunately, her speech was succinct, she finished quickly, the crowd applauded. Regina joined her on the dais and invited anyone interested to join her and Tiffany on a grand tour of the new building.
I decided not to join them, having already spent more than enough time designing the entire thing. Instead, I went to the open bar to ruminate with a glass of scotch, somewhat relieved that this day was almost over. Not fully relieved, however, because I still had some questions to ask. About the white tower by the bridge.
Looking at it now, it’s even more preposterous how everyone handled my questions and my simple curiosity. This tower is so unusual, so inexplicable, standing there all by itself like that, looking like a crystal had burst from the ground to then be precision cut into four lines rising carefully into a single point. Its structure alone is enough to have something to discuss, let alone its unknown origins. How could they all have ignored it the way they did? How had they all simply change the subject the way they did? There had always been some other subject, either the Yoga Center or some political topic or the weather, but never the tower, not for very long and not in any detail.
“There’s a field and a creek and... maybe there’s a building,” was the most common response.
“I don’t know,” others said, confused and indifferent. “Who ever worries about some random building?”
“I’m sure there’s some explanation,” Jasper said, his joviality slipping slightly as he asked, “But why tonight, boss?”
“You’re joking,” one young woman said, her tone impertinent. “Who cares?”
“Why even worry about it?” asked a businessman, one of our investors, who then insisted on having a drink with me. “It’s time to celebrate your building, isn’t it?”
I listened to him talk about the boon that this expansion would be, but I kept wishing that I could talk to Tiffany, kept thinking she could at least help me relax. But I wouldn’t disrupt her night, I couldn’t. So I was stuck with him and the rest of them. Doubters, all of them, all of them simply shunning my interest in the tower. I suppose it was a good thing that so much of the conversation was about the opening and the Facility, but there was also some rumor about the prison system that kept coming up. Over and over, whispered tones about inmates who were refusing to leave prison. I didn’t get it, couldn’t understand the interest in it at all. Especially because, as the night went on, I felt more and more like a prisoner eager to leave.
Eventually I saw Regina again, later on, and, wary of her interference, I tried to tone things down. I moved about the crowd naturally, indulging their congratulations and their prison talk—but it didn’t last. Maybe it was the alcohol, I don’t know. But I grew impatient. I dispensed with my tactful segues into the topic of the tower. I may have become slightly confrontational. It didn’t help, the mystery of the prisoners became more and more ubiquitous, and I was about to give up—when, finally, someone showed interest in my topic of discussion.
She was an older woman, and she seemed to be the leader of a similarly older group. She was tired of the prison talk, she said, tired of worrying about a bunch of institutionalized criminals. She was ready for something new, she said. I told her that I couldn’t have agreed with her more and asked her about the tower. She was enthusiastic in her response, she seemed ready to impart some special knowledge, her whole group became interested, ready to hear our exchange. Yes, she said, there is a building out there, there must be a building out there. She was absolutely certain of it. Wasn’t it a monument of some sort? She asked. That’s right, they all agreed, it’s a monument of some sort.
Ecstatic and a bit drunk, I pressed them on the details. I asked about the color, the shape, the size, asked about the quartz-like exterior and its odd glow. But neither her nor anyone in the group could recall a single detail. I tried to give more detail in hope of refreshing their memories, but it didn’t work, it had the opposite effect, with all of them, one by one, becoming uncertain and dismissive. Maybe she’d been mistaken, she said, her group in agreement. It’s hard to say, really, it could be something, it could be nothing. Besides, they said, almost in unison, isn’t this your facility? Aren’t you Alex Vance? Why harangue us about—
Then Jasper appeared by my side, bringing the lady and the group to laughter with his jokes. But I didn’t want to hear his jokes. I wanted fresh air, and I went outside… or did I stumble outside? I was in a hurry, that’s for sure, because I needed some relief from these people.
Outside, there was something more, something else... or someone else? Another conversation, perhaps, maybe even an affirmation—but Jasper distracted me again, his irresistible playfulness and his friendly hand on my shoulder luring me into my car. I need to talk to him about that. He interrupted something important, didn’t he? I feel as if I’d stumbled upon an answer—but I can’t remember it now. I only remember ending up dejected and lying down in the back of my car.
And now I’m here, white-knuckling the iron railing of a conservation bridge for no apparent reason. No, it’s because of this building. It’s like I forgot again. Something about being near it makes me have to hold it in my mind tightly, like my hands holding this railing. Or is it the alcohol and the exhaustion? No matter. It’s definitely here, in front of me, I know that much. Despite what everyone said and how everyone acted, it’s definitely here, now, a couple hundred yards away from me, rising from the ground below. There’s no visible path around it, no obvious approach, no road from any direction nearby or in the distance. There’s just the familiar trees and the green grass and then—a tower, all of a sudden, reflecting light into my eyes.
No. That’s not quite right. It’s not reflecting anything, not like glass or metal would. There’s no image of the foliage surrounding it, no reflection of the city lights or the stars, no shapes at all. There’s just a constant, hazy, off-white glow on its smooth surface. As if the light comes from within it, as if it’s some sort of gigantic beacon.
Why is it there? Why did it arrive this morning, this morning of all mornings? But… am I sure of that? That it arrived this morning? Maybe there’s some way to find out. There has to be some way, but… Should I even try to find out? Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this, obsessing like this...
I feel queasy again and I close my eyes. It must be vertigo or the alcohol or something. My head snaps down in response to the acid in my throat. Looking down, I feel somewhat better—it’s not vertigo. Whatever it is, I need to set it aside for tonight. I need to go home.
I look back up, and I feel myself hoping that the building is gone. It’s not, it’s standing there defiantly. So I look back at it in similar defiance—because I won’t let it beat me, I can do this. For now, I’ll make a strategic retreat, then, back home, I’ll schedule some time to investigate all of this. I’ll write down reminders, so that I don’t forget, I’ve been forgetting things. Then, tomorrow, I’ll talk to Jasper about the trees and his interruption at the party. I’ll discuss my plans with the always supportive Tiffany. And I’ll even see if Regina can help.
Assuming I have to deal with Regina. No, it won’t be like that. She’ll understand. Even if she’s upset for some reason, I’ll still be able to rely on her people skills, she’ll at least be able to explain how everyone reacted to my questions.
Stay positive, it’s all about the right mindset. This will all work out fine.
My stomach settles and I turn back to the car. I sit in the back and tell it to take me home. I look out the rear window, not at the tower, but at the skyscrapers downtown and their normal structures, their regular appearance and uniform mass comforting me. I look at the suburbs approaching me and the houses with their modest heights. There’s a comfort in normalcy, isn’t there? The car turns into my neighborhood and I see a homeless man standing on the corner, his beard and cardboard sign a sort of normalcy of their own. A strange comfort.
The car pulls into my driveway, but, as the garage door rises, I tell the car to stop. There’s a strange white object on my lawn. Not on the patio, not by the front door, but halfway between me and the door, standing there, taller than it is wide, glowingly off-white, all alone in the middle of the grass. It reminds me of—
I jump out of the car and race to pick up whatever it is and throw it off my property, like a soldier saving his comrades from a grenade. But, when I reach down, I see that it’s just a normal delivery box. From a normal delivery company. Nearly weightless, completely innocuous. Harmless. I try to laugh at myself, but something catches my attention from down the street to the left. Or was it down the street to the right?
There, to the left. The homeless man from before. Is he closer? Is he turned this way? He couldn’t be waving at me, could he? I remember Jasper interrupting something. Wasn’t there a bearded man in the parking lot of the Facility, waving like that as Jasper got me into my car? There’s something threatening about his presence and his strange waving of his hand, and I’m reminded of the prisoners everyone kept mentioning at the party. What was that incessant topic again? Escaped prisoners?
I feel cold all over. I grip the package in my hands. I have a sudden urge to approach the man. To confront him. Why would I confront an escaped prisoner? Wait, it wasn’t escaped prisoners. It was something else…
What am I doing?
Get inside.
I shout at the car to go park itself in the garage, then open the front door with my thumbprint. Ignoring the automated process, I slam the door shut behind me. The lights go on. I focus on the package, open it, pull out the packing material, and see—a yoga mat. A pink yoga mat and a letter. From Tiffany. She’s thanking me for everything and reminding me of my promise to become her best student. She hopes that I like pink, but I did say yoga is for girls, so this might help me fit in when I start class. It’s a funny letter, written by hand she’s such a caring person...
I feel sick. I drop the whole mess on the ground and rush to my bedroom and sit on the edge of my bed. It must be the alcohol. And the party, the big event. And… I could ask the house for my vitals, but I can tell now that it’s an adrenaline dump. I didn’t think I had gotten that worked up. And now the back of my neck is killing me.
I just need to rest.
I go down to pull off a shoe, but pulling my leg towards myself simply pulls me back onto the bed. I manage to remove the shoe, but I don’t know if I can get to the other one.
I give up and stare at the ceiling. The room is dark except for a sliver of light seeping through a crack in my bedroom door, a mostly white light that occasionally flashes red from taillights on the street. Red, like Regina’s hair. Or like her face will be when she comes to talk to me tomorrow. I gave her the entire opening event to organize and manage and she nailed it, while I spent the whole night sharing my new obsession. Yeah, she’s probably going to have some things to say about all of that.
But it’s not an obsession, is it? No, I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. It’s simply a curiosity, a natural, healthy curiosity. That building is too strange not to investigate it at least a little bit, who wouldn’t be curious about it? Regina will understand, she’ll see that my behavior makes sense, at least, from a certain perspective. As she likes to say. I don’t know why I avoided her the way I did, but I’ll talk to her in the morning, it’ll be fine, she’ll understand, everyone will understand...
Now that I think about it, about talking to her in the morning, isn’t it funny that I had this whole day, this whole night, and most of that party, to talk to Regina about the tower, but I never did? I wonder if she knows anything about it… I should have talked to her about it...
She might know… something… but I should ask her tomorrow, I’m too tired to talk about it right now, not that I would call her this late...
Yeah, I’ll ask her about it tomorrow... at the Facility. I’ll find her first thing, needed to find her first thing, anyways, needed to apologize, I may have gone a little overboard…
No, that’s not right...
Today was a...
