MNEMOSYNE, Chapter 4
MNEMOSYNE
Chapter 4
I should be working out—people say that all the time, don’t they? And I’ve never understood it until today.
I picked out my favorite Fit for Life shirt and my most comfortable workout shorts, I set aside the time for going to the gym, I encouraged myself the entire morning—yet I’m still just standing here in the locker room. Not to mention that I haven’t worked out in a week, maybe longer.
I’ve never had this problem. I should be excited to get back into my routine. I should be ready to claim the day. Instead, I’m distracted and meandering around, in my mind and in action.
It’s been happening ever since the night of the opening of the Yoga Center. Not just when I try to work out, either, but when I try to focus on work or anything else. I always end up distracted by thoughts of my failed inquiry that night, by thoughts of an order for trees that I couldn’t have really signed myself, by thoughts of that building looming before me as I stood on the bridge. By visions of it looming before me in my dreams.
I try to address the distraction by reminding myself of Jasper’s disinterest and Regina’s complaints, by reminding myself that they were both right, in certain ways, about my needing to stop. I remind myself of how I resolved, that day and many times afterward, to keep as much of all of these thoughts to myself. Then I remind myself that I can only rely on those who I can trust.
Which means, really, that I should only discuss it with Tiffany. I can trust Tiffany, can trust our plan to investigate, and I use that trust as an energy boost. It helps me get by, helps me take it all one step at a time. Even if the steps are the bare minimum, even when I’m simply delegating tasks at work, I end up distracted again.
Distracted again, like just now. Really, it seems like always. It’s because of my urge to investigate. It’s always there, despite the plan for today. The worst is how I’ll catch myself sneaking glances at the internet, sneakily rereading the same uninformative websites, all of them with nothing but vague references to a nature preserve or to something called the Nature Tower. I end up distracted by that preposterous name in particular. It gets me every time, that unfitting name. And there’s never any pictures, but they have to be talking about that tower by the bridge. It’s hard to be certain, though. How can they mean that tower? How can they call it that? Nothing about that thing is natural, despite how organically it seems to have sprouted into existence. How can anyone describe it that way?
While I may be getting distracted, at least I'm not obsessed. I’ve done good at avoiding obsession. I always try to forget about it and get to work, I try to just put it away and…
Wait, that’s why I’m here, at this locker, to put my phone away. Despite the fact that I’m waiting for a message from Tiffany, I’m putting the phone away. I’d made my mind up about it earlier. Tiffany said she’d text me after lunch, so I decided to leave my phone in here to help me focus. But how long is it until lunch...
No. I’m leaving the phone. I’m going. It’s time to work out.
I walk into the main gym of the Fitness Center and its unusually busy. That should be a good thing, but I feel apprehensive, like I’m on guard against having to be on guard. I can’t let that distract me. It’s time to work out, time to claim the day.
People are noticing me and engaging with me as I walk through the Fitness Center. I smile, I wave, I shake a few hands, the customers are happy to see me. The employees are mostly happy to see me, too, I think. Things have been tense this past week, and I think my employees are looking at me askance right now. At least somewhat. Or is it I who’s looking at them that way?
I need to work out.
I find a spot with completely unoccupied machinery. I see myself in the long workout mirror and I’m surprised by how good I look compared to how I feel. Except for my face, its deeper wrinkles and slightly dark circles showing signs of the strain and exhaustion from long, fruitless nights… Or is it exhaustion from keeping all of my questions to myself?
I should keep that question to myself. Focus.
I really don’t look that bad. I guess I’d expected my body to have lost its hard shape in just a couple of weeks. I laugh a little to myself, then notice the strained features around my mouth as I smile. I turn away from the mirror. I’m getting distracted again.
I face the giant window displaying the gym to the world, the bright lights inside creating a faded reflection in the glass. I see some people behind me, at the other side of the gym, and I see myself again, up close. I look past all of it, past my curiosity about myself and about the people looking at me, past my questions about why they’re watching me, toward the potential storm darkening everything outside. It’s not raining yet, maybe I could have gone for that run after all. That’s my normal routine, I could have done that and then I wouldn’t have to be around all of these people staring at me. Doubting me.
I need to work out.
I turn around and reach for a dumbbell, but they’re all such small weights. Stop with the excuses. Get on with this. I pick up a little dumbbell and it’s astonishing how feather-like it is. No matter. Do it. Just get to moving.
I switch arms. I keep moving. I don’t think about them or any of it. It’s not time for doubt, it’s time for movement. But the doubt is a big problem. My own doubt. I shouldn’t doubt myself so much, especially not when I have so many people doubting for me. As if they’re all—
Forget about them. Keep moving. Switch arms.
I shouldn’t be so hard on everyone. My facility, my work, is, in great part, for them. For helping people be Fit for Life. And isn’t that what I want with the tower, to get people to see it for what it is? They just can’t see it, they don’t get it, but they’re good people. They do a lot of good work. Even Regina, the biggest doubter, is doing a lot of good work. She’s enthusiastically taken on what I’ve delegated to her. Then again, isn’t she a bit too enthusiastic? And then there’s her doubt, that’s pretty enthusiastic as well.
But I hired her for a reason. Don’t be so hard on her. Keep moving. Keep switching arms.
Even Jasper doubts. Even Tiffany, despite our plan today, has doubts. And wasn’t I just thinking about my own doubts? I have them, but not like everyone else. I spend more time hiding my doubts than doubting, while, in reality, I know I have good reasons. I know I’m right to seek answers about that thing. It’s like when I pursued the Yoga Center. I knew I was right then, too. And, when I announced it, they all doubted me. They doubted my ability to turn a niche workout routine into an entire center. And, despite their doubts, I proved them wrong. Even Regina knows now. Regina, who told me there would be a price for taking such a risk on yoga. What price, Regina? Subscriptions are up, public reaction has been phenomenal, the doubters have been quieted. Just as I quieted them when I started this entire Fit for Life facility. They had their doubts then, too. I heard it all the time, their disbelief about a man such as me, a mere physical trainer, raising the capital, organizing the people, managing the construction, enacting his vision for the Fit for Life Facility. But look where I am now.
Lift the weight. Switch your arms.
It really does seem similar, doesn’t it? The people now and that white tower, compared to the people then and Fit for Life. The doubters and naysayers versus me and my achievement. There’s a connection there, between the then and the now. As if, yet again, it’s my achievement—lift—versus their doubt—switch arms. Except...
Except I don’t have an achievement to focus on—lift—this time it’s just a strange building alone in a field—switch—a strange building which everyone refuses to acknowledge—lift—a crystalline tower hiding something from everyone—switch—sapping my confidence more than any doubters—lift—but I won’t let it discourage me—switch—I’ll keep going as always—lift—just as I had to complete this facility then—switch—I’ll complete my investigation now—lift—just as I proved them wrong then—switch—I’ll prove them wrong now—lift—I’ll show them—switch—I’ll show that thing—lift—I won’t stop until—
My elbow, my damn elbow, feels like its on fire. A strain or something. I went too hard, too fast, with this tiny weight. Too much effort for something so light. What is it with this dumbbell and all the rest of them, why are they all so small? Where is what I need?
I should have listened to Tiffany, taken her up on that meditation. With all this stress I’m under, and my recent tendency to bottle things up, and—I’ll ask her about meditation after lunch. For now, I need to work out.
I turn to the machines. I’ll work on my legs. I sit on the chair of a leg press—but I feel cramped and it seems like I'll fall if I lean back all the way. I’m a tall, lanky man, but... It hasn’t always been this way, has it? It’s been a long time since I used the gym, but has it been so long that I forgot how the damn place works? I created it, didn’t I? And now it’s a mystery to me?
Maybe I should just ask someone for help, but I really don’t—
“Mr. Vance! Good to see you claiming the day!”
I realize now, looking at the large window in front of me, that I saw him coming, saw the vague reflection of everyone behind me before I started working out. Were they all watching me, or just him? I stand up to face him, but I tower over him and his compact, solid frame. I try to smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as when I saw it in the mirror a moment ago. He’s smiling too, and it’s definitely strained, almost insincere.
“You know it,” I say, reaching my hand down to him familiarly. “It’s been too long.”
“It has, Mr. Vance,” he says as he shakes my hand. “That probably explains it.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, sir, I don’t want to call you out, but you’re in the wrong section.”
“I was just trying to go off by myself,” I say. “Fewer distractions.”
“Sure, sure, but these weights, these machines,” he smiles again, and I can’t tell if this one is more or less insincere, “well, Mr. Vance, this is the kid’s section.”
I laugh until I realize that he’s right. What the hell am I doing?
“You know, I really just wanted to get by this window,” I say, affecting a casual attitude as best I can. “Wanted to check on that weather, you know.”
“Right. Looks like that rain is coming any minute, doesn’t it?”
He studies my face for a moment before telling me how he makes it his job, as a fitness manager, to help everyone with their fitness goals. Even you, boss, he says. Part of me likes that, part of me doubts it, because that wry smile keeps popping up. There’s some extra knowledge hidden in that smile.
I stiffen up, towering above him even more, and acquiesce to the assistance, looking out the window, not at him. I hear him telling me about other options around the gym, but something about it offends me, his thinking he knows more than me, as if he’s oblivious to my creation of this place.
If he’s so knowledgeable, I wonder if...
“Tell me, young man,” I say, looking at him directly. “What do you know of that building by the nature preserve, the one by the bridge?”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s tall, white, looks like it’s made of quartz.”
I like the effect it has, this interruption. He’s flustered.
“Well, Mr. Vance, I haven’t given it much thought. It’s not quite pertinent to the gym, is it, sir?”
Regina’s words. I knew it.
“So you’ve seen it?”
“I think so, a couple of times. But isn’t it just...“
“What?”
“It’s just some building, isn’t it, sir?”
It feels great to have finally broached the subject with someone, after all of this time. It also feels great to have thrown him off like that. I feel unrestrained, and I start to tell him about the mystery of the white tower, how it can’t be just a building, how I’m about to go with—
“Mr. Vance,” he says assertively. “I don’t want to talk with you about that building. I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but it’s not any of my business. It has nothing to do with me.”
Are people watching us? Is that it? He’s not smiling anymore, at least, not wryly or otherwise.
“There’s something to it, you have to admit,” I say. “A building doesn’t just appear like that.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Vance.”
“You don’t know what?”
“I have some clients coming in, sir. Just go right over there,” he’s backing away from me, looking back at someone near the entrance, then looking at me, nervously, back and forth. “There’s a leg press, dumbbells, the proper size and everything, right over there. It was great to see you, Mr. Vance. Claim the day!”
I look around, expecting to be the center of attention, feeling a strange weight in my shoulders and a sinking feeling in my gut—but no one is looking. Everyone is simply working out.
Wasn’t that what I was supposed to be doing? Why did I ask him about the building? What did I think would happen? It’s always like that, and he’s obviously been instructed by Regina to keep quiet, so why bring it up now? I look out the window, at the darkening sky, a gray thundercloud in the distance. I notice some low-hanging clouds skirting by, their off-white color reminding me of something. I reach into my pocket to check—but my phone is in the locker. The message from Tiffany, I’m supposed to be meeting Tiffany. I have no idea how long I’ve been in here. I need to hurry.
I just realized that I don’t know which locker is mine. I scan the room, thinking one of the lockers must have my name on it, but they’re only marked with initials. I could walk around this locker room for the entire day and not see the right nameplate. Why am I even concerned about it? Because of my suit? I brought a suit to wear to the government building, didn’t I? Is that why I’m in here?
No. My phone. I’m in here to see if Tiffany texted me.
I walk around the room, commanding my phone to alert me to its presence. Voice recognition should work, shouldn’t it? Through the metal of the locker? But there’s little vents and—
I hear it respond. I whirl around and go to the locker. It has no lock. But we have honest people, hard working people, surely it’s—yes, it’s here. And Tiffany has texted me. I look around the locker, but none of these things are mine. There’s no suit… because my suit is in the car. I’m so scattered. I’m all over the place. Why? Just because we’re finding out today what we’re going to find out? Maybe it’s not a good idea, why am I doing this to—
But it was her idea, wasn’t it? Her message reads that she’s gotten the clearance from her friend. A friend in the government, some sort of agent or cop or something. This was her idea. To go to this records building and find what we could. There has to be a physical record, if all else fails there’s at least physical records. There’s always physical records, even Tiffany said so. So it’s a good idea. Why am I so nervous?
I don’t have time for this. I slam the door of the locker and notice that it isn’t my locker. Foreign initials are engraved into the shining, golden nameplate just below eye level. The initials G.N. right there, staring at me, how did I miss them? G.N. the nameplate says. Go Now, it says, like it’s mocking me, mocking how unraveled I’ve become, all because of some records. All because of a little trip downtown. Why did I use this locker at all? What was I thinking? What am I doing?
The phone beeps as if in response to my question. It’s Tiffany asking if I’m almost there. Yes, I say, hoping the phone will tell her. I’m rushing to my car. No time to look. I have to change and everything. I hop in the back of the car with my hanging clothes and tell the car what to do, where to go. The car is going, I’m dressing, and then it’s stopping as I’m fitting my feet into my dress shoes. I get out and I realize that I’ve left my tie. This shouldn’t be so difficult. It’s a simple records search. But I do need to look my best, don’t I?
I don’t know if I even remember how to tie this thing. Around this way, up this way—no. Around the other way, down that way. I try to look at my reflection in the window of the car, but all I see is the lowering clouds above. The storm is coming. I’m about to rip this damn thing in half, this damn tie, why do people wear these things, what are they even for, why am I doing any of this—
“Why are you bent over like that?”
I turn around abruptly, startled by the voice that usually calms me, Tiffany’s soft, soothing voice.
“I can’t figure out this tie,” I say meekly, shrugging, but I feel a sense of relief as she smiles at me, her big green eyes squinting slightly, sparkling despite the darkness around us.
“Why are you all dressed up? We’re not going to court, silly.”
“I thought I should look nice. It’s the government, it’s important, right?” I pause, dropping my hands, one of them still holding the tie. “I don’t need a tie, do I?”
She laughs and I relax. I realize now that I haven’t been relaxed since the last time I saw her. Her warm, inviting face is a welcome contrast to the shadow of the approaching storm. She reaches out her hand and I almost grab it, but I see that she wants the tie. I hand it to her.
“If you want, I can tie it for you,” she says playfully. “But no, you really don’t need it. You don’t need a suit either. Look at me!”
She’s wearing a fit for life shirt and gym shorts, but she still looks elegant.
“I was wearing the same thing,” I say.
“It’s okay, Alex. We’re getting to the bottom of this, right? And that will be the end of it. You’re going to be so relieved.”
I hope she’s right and I try to muster up the best explanation I can. For her sake or mine, I don’t know.
“It’s just something I’ve been putting into the back of my mind, I guess. Something that’s been building up all week. I guess all rushing out of me at once.”
“There’s no worries, Alex. It’s no big deal. Remember what I said the other day? It’s not a monolithic task. You have to stop thinking about it that way. Think of it as simple as one step at a time. We’re going find out when that building was built and what it is. My friend assured me that they have comprehensive property records, so we’ll get all the info we need,” she begins to walk and I follow her. “Now, I’m going to put this tie in my bag just in case you need it,” she winks at me, then shouts cheerily: “Let’s go!”
Not a monolithic task. Why did she choose that word? Monolithic. I think I’d called it that, that day when she offered to help. That day when I panicked about signing the order for the trees. She came at just the right moment, as I brooded in the dark. I told her something like that. Monolithic. It feels monolithic. She said the same thing in my office, days ago, that it’s not a monolithic task. I didn’t respond then just as I don’t respond now. I didn’t want to argue with her, not when she was being so kind to me.
Maybe I should have told her. Maybe I should tell her now. But how? Just tell her that, yes, it is a monolithic task? But how could I explain it to her? Just tell her that I know, somehow, that it’s monolithic building? That’s what it is, isn’t it? A monolith. That’s it exactly. Not just because of its size or its grandiose entrance into my life, but because of how it’s changed me. Not just because of its monolithic shape, but because of its monolithic scope. When that thing popped into existence that day, when that light hit my eyes and I saw the tower jutting into the sky for the first time, something changed in me. Some switch flipped on—or maybe it switched off—I don’t know. But it’s changed me. It’s taken up my energy, my mind, my focus, my everything. I’ve tried to pretend it hasn’t, I’ve tried to put it aside as everyone’s advised, but I can’t, it won’t let me, it won’t leave me alone, that monolith, that building too big to ignore, too big on every level, that building responsible for everything that’s been going on. A building, a monolith, affecting me—and everyone else, albeit in different ways.
We’re at the foot of some stairs. I tell myself that, right now, it’s all about the records. They’ll explain how that monolith got there in that field. There will be paperwork about that tower, paperwork on who’s in charge of the bonsai trees, maybe even paperwork on how the same ones got to my facility. There has to be.
I see the building’s brick facade and pointless, Greek columns as we walk up the overly wide stairs. It’s such a typical government building, simultaneously designed to impose itself and apologize for itself. Nothing like the monolith. Something like this could never compare to the monolith.
So how could this building even hold the tiniest bit of information about it?
No, not now. Take it one step at a time. Like Tiffany said.
We enter the building and, yet again, I almost try to hold Tiffany’s hand. But she’s heading straight for the little old man at the desk in the foyer.
It’ll be all right. She’s got this. We’ve got this. We’re going to figure this out.
She’s saying something to that man, then she turns around to me, an embarrassed look on her face.
“Alex,” she says, “what was it we were looking up again?”
I remind her and try to drop it. But I have no idea how she forgot. I need to drop it. It’s not that unusual, right? Everyone seems to forget that thing.
Well, everyone except me.
