The Carnival Papers

Your Missed

(From the short story collection The Carnival Papers, available in paperback and Kindle ebook!)

[Author's Note:  The title is an intentional typo.]

He almost missed the memorial the first time he passed it.  The black cross, made of two posts no more than six inches thick, was planted behind the guardrail of northbound I-75 on the edge of a thicket of maple trees blazing in every hue of red, orange, and yellow.  Its sentiment was the same as the countless others Arnold Willis had seen along the highway on his trek from Grand Blanc; what made this particular cross stand out and prompt Arnold to chuckle were the words emblazoned on the short arm of the cross in white:  ‘Your Missed Nick’.  “Poor bastard,” Arnold said and continued north to deliver the good news to Tammy.

Two hours earlier, Arnold had sat in the atrium of AutoTech’s headquarters in Auburn Hills, blinded by the sun pouring in through the skylight and deafened by the rush of water cascading down the marble fountain.  Across the marble-topped table, Matt Zachary flashed a movie star smile and extended a tanned paw that eclipsed Arnold’s sweaty hand.  “Welcome aboard,” Matt said.

Arnold stared at his new boss, his mouth moving without making any sound.  “Thanks,” he said at last.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs so you can meet the rest of the team.”  As he followed Matt up the granite staircase to the second floor, where clusters of gray cubicles overlooked the atrium, Arnold shifted his pants downward to alleviate the pressure on his overflowing midsection.  He settled the elastic waistband into a comfortable position as they came to the first of a group of cubicles, where a woman as wrinkled as her tangerine suit looked up when they approached and tossed her bifocals onto a stack of papers.  “This is Doris White.  She’s worked here for what, fifteen years?”

“Twenty.  You must be the new man.  Good to meet you.”  Arnold stammered a greeting before Doris replaced her bifocals and turned back to her computer screen.  Matt nudged him ahead to the next cubicle, its walls covered with news clippings and photos from the latest Stanley Cup drive by the Red Wings.  The chair—the same dull gray as the cubicle walls—in front of the desk was empty and Matt craned his neck to search for its missing occupant.

A bald man huffed around the corner, clutching a pack of cigarettes in one hand and grasping Arnold’s hand with the other.  “Sorry, I didn’t know we had company.  Wallace Reid, but you can call me Wally.”  Wally pumped Arnold’s hand like a used car salesman who hadn’t made a sale in a month and slipped the cigarettes into a drawer.  “What school did you go to?”

“U of M Flint.”

“Great, another Wolverine.  You think they can get to the Rose Bowl this year?”

“I guess.”

“Well, it’s good meeting you, Arnold.  What do you like being called?”

They stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment before Arnold answered, “Arnold is fine.”

“I see we got our work cut out for us here, but Doris and I will get you out of your shell.”

“Speak for yourself,” Doris said.

Wally let go of Arnold’s hand at last and Matt guided him around the corner to an unoccupied cubicle, its computer screen blank and walls bare.  “This is where you’ll be working,” Matt said.

Arnold sat down in the chair and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the realization struck—his chair, his desk, his computer.  No more bagging groceries or waiting tables.  It’s all mine, he thought and the smile blossomed to reveal his crooked teeth.  The grin remained on his face long after he passed Nick’s memorial on the way home to tell his soon-to-be-fiancée that he had his first real job.