Aiden

Aiden (tentative)

Even before speaking to anyone that morning, Aiden felt strange. Immediately upon opening his eyes, he had all the sensations of a slight hangover, though he knew he hadn’t drunk anything the night before or even once in the past week. His mouth was dry, his joints were weak, and he could already tell he wouldn’t want to concentrate on anything very tasking, even once the day was in motion.
	He turned in his bed and reached his phone to turn off the buzzing morning alarm. Eight o’ clock. He put the phone back on the nightstand and sat up on the edge of his bed and yawned. He looked around the room in a bored haze and wondered if he was maybe sick but decided that, since he felt no nausea or stomachache, he probably wasn’t. And besides, it was borderline mandatory that he show up to work today. How he felt barely mattered. He did feel very strange, though. He wondered what was the cause of this quasi hangover. He figured he might as well just try and suffer through it, though, and got up to get the day started.
	Aiden turned the shining silver handles in his bathroom and watched cold water jet down violently, splashing hard inside the bowl, some of it splashing upward and outward onto the floor and the skin of Aiden’s belly. He adjusted the handles for seven seconds until the pressure was just right and started at brushing his teeth. He’d thought of calling the floor repairman before to come out and fix it, since Aiden knew next to nothing about the inner workings of his utilities, but never really got around to it. He wasn’t sure if this was out of apathy or mere laziness, but found that the degree to which his utilities’ inefficiency bothered him varied drastically from day to day. On this particular morning, Aiden found his mind too blurred to give much of a damn, but on some days he found their impracticality borderline infuriating, worthy of the harshest punishments and damnations. Still, the faucet had been an inconvenience for almost a year now, and Aiden never called.
	Once Aiden had dressed himself, he came back and wandered the creaking floor of his spacious bedroom, scanning for his shoes. Apparently either him or his wife had misplaced them last night—Aiden had no idea where they were. Though Brenna was lying right there perfectly available on her side of the bed, Aiden deliberately avoided waking her for help, knowing she didn’t have to wake up till around ten, and knowing how much they both valued sleep. Eventually, however, the passing time got the better of him and he felt the only viable option was to ask her assistance.
	“Brenna,” he said, lightly shaking her bare shoulder. “Brenna.”
	Brenna’s eyes flashed wide open and her head turned to face upward. She began stretching and breathed in, as if to rejuvenate. Aiden stood over her.
	“Brenna,” he said again. “Sorry for waking you up. I just need to know real quick if you know where my shoes are.”
	Brenna stretched her arms farther outward before curling them back. She opened her mouth to yawn. “Huh? What?”
	“Do you know where my shoes are?” he said. “I can’t find them anywhere and I need to go to work, like now.”
	Brenna scrunched her face, as if annoyed and slightly confused, but especially tired. “What are you doing?” she said.
	“I’ve looked everywhere in the room,” he said. “I know they’re somewhere in here. Come on, help me. I’m gonna be late.”
	Brenna opened her eyes and stared narrowly up at Aiden. “What the fuck are you doing?”
	Aiden stared back at her. “What are you talking about?” he said. “Brenna, I’ve already looked everywhere. Help me out.”
	“Dude. Stop,” she said, turning away. “Let me go back to sleep.”
	Aiden reached for her to turn her toward him again. “Brenna, just get up and help me a second. Just think—” He touched her shoulder.
	“Aiden!” she shouted, flinging around onto her back to face him. “Stop it. Seriously. You’re fucking freaking me out. I’m trying to sleep.”
	Aiden backed up a step and backed his hands away. “Alright. Jesus.”
	They stayed there staring at one another, half-afraid.
	“I just wanted a little help finding my shoes,” he said. He was walking round the bed, toward the door now. “I’ll just put on some sneakers.”
	He shut the door behind him. Brenna continued staring at it for a moment, sitting upright in their bed, before dropping back down to go back to sleep.

Aiden walked out of the lobby of his apartment building, briefcase in hand, onto a bustling sidewalk. At a casual glance, he appeared trim and even professional to anyone passing by, even naturally so. His face was clean-shaven, his hair smoothed, and the organization of his attire (typical of anyone who works in an office) suggested earnest commitment to his career. Anyone who happened to look at Aiden but failed to gaze down at his feet would have believed he was truly passionate about his job.
	Aiden walked forward toward the curb of the busy road, peering left for any taxis which might be coming his way. Of course, it didn’t take more than a few seconds to catch one. Aiden raised his arm to hail and watched the cab come to a quick but smooth halt up before him Aiden stepped forward and opened the door and climbed in.
	“Hey,” Aiden said. He closed the door. “Take me to 15th and Newman, this place called Fowler Benson.”
	“What?” the cab driver said. He spoke with an East European accent.
	Aiden turned to look at the driver. He looked at him in slight disbelief, knowing he had spoken perfectly clearly and even louder than was necessary.
	“To 15th and Newman,” he said. “It’s seven blocks away, up near the Fifth Corner.”
	“Sir,” the cab driver said. “You need to speak English. I can no understand. Need to speak English.”
	Aiden stared at the man, almost glaringly. He leaned forward in his seat and said, “I am speaking English. What the—” he flailed his arms and looked around for a second. He then leaned still more forward and stared at the driver, who was turned around to look at him now. “15th and Newman. Can you take me to 15th and Newman?”
	The driver looked at Aiden, almost apologetically, with a look of confusion on his face. His mouth hung open and his eyes were expanded, as though trying to see something he hadn’t yet perceived. He started to mutter something, as if about to offer his passenger an alternative, but then found himself watching as Aiden angrily grabbed his suitcase, flung the door open, and pulled himself out of the cab.
	Aiden started walking hastily down the street to hail the next cab that was approaching. After a few seconds, he heard the first cab behind him drive away and soon succeeded in getting a second one. The cab driver slowed down and stopped just a few feet behind him. Aiden opened the door and climbed in. A black man was driving the car.
	“Thank you,” Aiden said once he was inside. “Can you drive me to 15th and Newman? And please hurry, I—”
	“What?” the driver said.
	Aiden stopped and looked at him. “15th and Newman?” He pointed forward.
	The driver shook his head. “Look, man, I can’t understand what you’re saying. You need to either give me the name of a place or—”
	Aiden opened the door of the cab and stepped out, feeling more confused now than angry. He peered inside at the driver one more time. “Thank you,” and closed the door. He stepped back onto the sidewalk and watched silently as the driver pulled up maybe another forty feet and stopped next to another man who was hailing him down. The man—whose clothes actually resembled Aiden’s quite closely—opened the door to the cab and entered inside. After a few seconds, Aiden saw the cab door shut and the cab pull forward into the stream of traffic.

Aiden arrived at work some fifteen minutes later, 9:07, running smoothly along on his tennis shoes. His mind was occupied, at least more than usual. The first driver may simply have not understood English. Fine. But what about the second driver? It didn’t make sense. Was the man crazy? Was something off about Aiden? Was the driver simply an asshole who didn’t like the looks of him? The tennis shoes shouldn’t be that off-putting, he thought. Maybe he had misspoke? Though he felt pretty certain he hadn’t. Whatever it was, Aiden decided it wasn’t of any real cosmic significance and he shortly put it out of his head—an act which, after years of training, came pretty easily to Aiden. Anyway, it was time for work.
	Aiden put his briefcase down on his desk and walked back to his boss’s office, casually greeting some of his coworkers as he walked by. Most of them responded with a bored tone but one of them, Aiden noticed, shot him a somewhat bewildered look. Aiden ignored it and entered into his boss’s office.
	“Morning, Mr. Felman,” Aiden said.
	He left a pause after his greeting for Mr. Felman to either greet him back or point out his tardiness, but Mr. Felman simply peered away from his computer to acknowledge Aiden’s presence. He said nothing. Aiden, after a few seconds of this, began to feel uncomfortable.
	“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I had an odd morning. I got in one cab and I’m pretty sure the guy driving couldn’t even speak English. Then the next one I got in, the guy just acted like an asshole, acting like I couldn’t speak English. So I ended up having to run here and on top of that, I’m even feeling a little sick. Nothing contagious, but my joints are feeling pretty weak.”
	Mr. Felman remained unresponsive, continuing to stare, almost deafly, up at Aiden.
	Aiden tapped his sides lightly with his fingers, looking down and around the room. “So I just wanted to drop in and let you know I’m here,” he said. He became suddenly more confident and pointed at Mr. Felman. “Meeting and Ace & Ace still at two o’ clock?”
	It felt fluid. Aiden felt a surge of pride.
	Mr. Felman blinked slowly and looked coolly back at his computer. “It’s alright, Aiden,” he said. “Take it easy. Just be ready for Ace & Ace at two o’ clock. You got that presentation ready?”
	Aiden sighed, relieved. “Of course.”
	Mr. Felman looked back at Aiden and frowned. “Is that a yes?”
	What? “Yeah,” Aiden said. He cleared his throat. “It’s ready.”
	Mr. Felman kept looking at Aiden before doing anything else. His frown, while physically the same, seemed as though it grew graver. Heavier. Eventually Mr. Felman shook his head and looked back at his computer.
	“I’m trusting that it is,” he said. “Just go over it with Ben before they get here. And stop doing whatever it is you’re doing.”
	Aiden looked around the room vacantly for a second, wondering what the hell his boss was talking about. He didn’t seem to be joking. He checked himself, examining his clothes, but found nothing that would warrant such a comment as that. He then turned around, unassured, and slowly exited the room.
	Aiden walked along back to his desk and sat down. What the hell was going on? Why was everybody acting so strange? He turned on his desktop and leaned back in his chair. He started to feel very, but vaguely, afraid. What was happening?
	“Hey there, buddy,” a voice said behind him. Aiden felt a hand pat him on the back and turned in his chair to see Ben standing behind him.
	“Morning, Ben,” he said.
	“Feeling a little under the weather?” Ben said. He kept his hands in his pockets.
	“Just a little bit,” Aiden said. “Lot of weird stuff’s been happening this morning, though.”
	Ben grinned and started to chuckle a bit. Aiden stared at him, awaiting some response, but Ben remained silent.
	“I couldn’t find my shoes this morning, number one,” Aiden said, lifting his right foot to show Ben his sneaker. “Then when I asked Brenna for help, she just got pissed. Not really sure why.”
	Ben laughed a little—somewhat nervously, Aiden observed—and then nodded his head a bit. He seemed to think Aiden was poorly executing some poorly-constructed joke.
	“Come on, man,” Ben said. “You ready for the presentation this afternoon?”
	Aiden cleared his throat and turned back to his computer. “Yeah,” he saved. “It’s all saved here, I just have to transfer it to my flashdrive. It all looks good. Diana’s numbers are perfect. So once I move—”
	“Aiden,” Ben said sternly.
	Aiden turned up to Ben. “Yeah?”
	“Is the presentation ready?”
	Aiden kept looking up at Ben, then back at his desktop, then back at Ben. “Yes.”
	“Dude.”
	“Holy shit. Yes, it’s ready Ben!” Aiden said. “You want me to fucking walk you through it?”
	Ben sighed and stared more intently at Aiden. “Aiden, do you realize how big an account this is, how important this is for us? We don’t have time to be fucking around.”
	“Ben. It’s finished. What the—”
	Anna, another of Aiden’s coworker, walked up behind Ben and looked at Aiden.
	“What’s going on?” she said.
	“Ben is losing his—”
	“Mr. Fuckhead over here didn’t finish the presentation for Ace & Ace and now he’s babbling like an idiot, trying to make a joke of it, pretending like he doesn’t fucking know that the presentation is today and that he’s totally fucking us by fucking the biggest client this agency has right now!”
	“What the hell are you talking about?!” Aiden shouted.
	“Aiden,” Anna said. “Is that true?”
	Aiden turned to Anna to see the slight look of horror in her eyes. He had never felt such incredulity.
	“Did you forget to make the presentation?” she said.
	Aiden shifted back in his seat, looking back and forth between them. He began to mutter but at first didn’t even know what to say. “Have you guys… Have you both lost your minds?” he said. “The presentation is set. I finished it days ago. Look: check your e-mails. I’ll send it to you guys right now.”
	“This is unbelievable,” Ben said. He walked away toward the back of the office.
	“Aiden,” Anna said. “Do you realize what this might mean? Ace & Ace is our biggest client.”
	This was becoming more than Aiden could handle. “Has everyone gone crazy?” he shouted. He began to hear slight murmurs sounding around him. He stood up. “Do you even hear what I’m telling you?” He stepped toward Anna, who backed away.
	“What are you doing?” she said.
	“Listen to me: the presentation is done. There’s absolutely nothing to freak out about. And whatever prank or game that you’re all playing—whatever is going on, it needs to stop right now.”
	“Is everything OK?”
	This question was uttered by somebody standing behind Aiden. He turned away from Anna now to see people—his coworkers—nondescript faces floating on a sea of bodies—beginning to gather around, gazing at both him and Anna with looks of confusion and of worry. He couldn’t discern the person’s voice from the small crowd that had suddenly formed around him but wondered what such a question could mean.
	“Everything is fine,” Aiden said. “Everyone just needs to calm down.”
	“Aiden.”
	Aiden turned back around to see Ben and Mr. Felman now joined with Anna, Felman at the forefront, less than two feet from his face.
	“Aiden, what’s going on?” Mr. Felman said.
	Aiden stared at all three of them with his mouth gaping open, not knowing what the hell to say. He felt his mouth start to move, but nothing was coming out.
	“Aiden, I’m not fucking around,” Mr. Felman said.
	“You didn’t make the presentation, did you?” Ben said.
	“Listen, Mr. Felman, I think there’s something wrong with him,” Anna said. She stepped forward a bit. “Should I call his wife?”
	“Guys,” Aiden said. “Everyone. What’s wrong with all of you? Can you even hear me? I finished the presentation. I finished it.” He took a step back and looked into each of their faces. “It’s done. I finished it days ago. I—can none of you understand me?”
	“Has he been acting like this all morning?” Mr. Felman said, turning slightly to face Anna.
	“As long as I’ve been talking to him,” she said. Her voice was shaking now.
	“Where’s the presentation?” Ben said.
	“What’s going on?” somebody said in the humming.
	“Aiden’s been acting weird since he walked in.”
	“What the hell is he saying?”
	“Just look at his shoes!”
	Aiden suddenly felt Mr. Felman grab his wrist. The commotion grew in the background, expanding into his body and space.
	“Everybody try to calm down,” Mr. Felman said. “And somebody call 911, or his wife. Call his wife first.” He looked at Aiden and softened his voice slightly. “Aiden, come with me.”
	Aiden’s eyes, now wide and almost perfectly rounded, turned from Mr. Felman’s hand up to his face. He could hear himself breathing all of a sudden, even over the sound of his coworkers, and felt as though he was about to faint if he didn’t move. The sounds were coming from every corner in the office now and reminded him of a mob trying to contain an animal before things got out of hand. He closed his eyes to concentrate briefly before looking again at Mr. Felman, who remained unmoving. He opened his mouth to speak.
	“You,” he started to say, but couldn’t go on. He felt himself sweating and couldn’t. He swallowed hard. “If this is a joke.”
	“Come on, Aiden,” Mr. Felman said, beginning to pull at his wrist.
	Aiden stiffened.
	“You,” he started to say again. He felt that the effort and concentration required in controlling his tongue was almost too much. “You… You can’t understand what I’m saying? You think I’m crazy?”
	Mr. Felman stared, unblinking, into Aiden’s eyes.
	“You—”
	“Aiden,” Mr. Felman said calmly. “Come with me.”
	Aiden jerked his arm back and stepped backward into his desk. He heard his pencil holder fall over behind him.
	“Alright, somebody come help me,” Mr. Felman said.
	“I’m calling 911,” somebody said.
	“Aiden,” Mr. Felman said. “Just calm down. We’re gonna get you help.”
	“You fucking freak,” Ben said, walking closer.
	The insides of Aiden’s stomach twisted and he felt himself backed up more, practically on top of his desk now. He turned his head to scan his desk and picked up a stapler.
	“Just relax,” Mr. Felman said. Aiden felt a hand touch his wrist again.
	Aiden saw the room turn and suddenly Mr. Felman and Ben were standing right in front of him, reaching out. He saw his own arm lift and fling forward, stamping Mr. Felman square on the forehead with the butt of the stapler. Mr. Felman shouted and fell back, but still saying something to the others. He couldn’t hear what. Aiden looked at Ben now to see that he had backed away, but wasn’t sure if this was a move of fear or stealth. And he wasn’t sure which would be worse. He moved his gaze every which way and suddenly felt the briefcase’s handle in his hands, his briefcase held sternly at his side. People from all directions were moving toward him, then away, then toward, then away again. Some of them in packs, some of them on their own. All with wide, fiery white looks in their eyes. He saw the room expand as he backed away toward the door. His coworkers, none of them of appearing as defined individuals anymore, moved out and into his frame every second. They were all terrified. Some of them, he saw, were actually hiding.
	An arm stuck out, holding scissors, from behind a few workers who had formed a wall near Aiden. A man shot out from them, lashing at him, jumping at him. Aiden saw everything shift left and then Ben was standing near to him him, crouched down a bit, as if landing, holding the scissors. Aiden heard the people shouting louder and slammed the back of Ben’s head with his briefcase. Ben fell forward. Then the shouts began to rise, and fall, coming out like thunder, and the door opened and closed and they were gone. He ran—falling—down a flight of stairs and dropped the stapler, which he’d been gripping tightly this entire time, and threw himself out of the exit at the bottom. He ran out onto the street and started running out away from the building. After a few seconds he heard the door fling open again behind him and somebody shouting, but couldn’t make out the voice. And before long the entire scene had drowned off in his storming brain.