Plural
Workman opened his eyes to see the clock flash from 3:59 to 4:00 – the alarm buzzed. He jumped out of bed and smiled at the silence coming from the bathroom. “Yes! I get the shower first!” He showered quickly, thinking about getting out the door not only on time, but a little early. “If I’m lucky, I might even beat the worst of the traffic.”
Workman hustled together a breakfast of coffee and an energy bar, and reached for his briefcase. He looked down the hall at Morphey’s bedroom door. “4:20, not even up yet! “ he chuckled.
Workman found himself in quite a bit of traffic, but he wasn’t too upset, as he had a new book on tape for company. He fast-forwarded past the intro piece to get to the chapter on efficiency in planning. He hustled into his cubicle, sorting through his pages as he waited for his P.C. to boot up. Finally a message popped up, “A. Workman, you have 36 new messages. 13 Tasks are due today, 0 tasks are overdue.”
Morphey turned his head slowly, successfully confirming that it was indeed the sun that was casting the rays of light that now were scattered about the shag rug in his bedroom. Rising seemed particularly out of the question, so he settled for rolling over, wondering what time it was, remembering that he didn’t care, and gazing back at the spot on his bedside table where a clock was not.
Later, Morphey was fumbling about in the kitchen, trying to scramble some eggs, and also to not set his bathrobe on fire. He sat at the window’s edge to eat his breakfast, and was immediately struck by the beauty of a robin feeding her babies in her nest. He watched for a while, and soon found he had a poem nearly completed in his head, and a plate of cold eggs.
Workman hurried down to the parking garage, looking at his watch as he ran. It was 5:45, only 15 minutes t run his errand before his next meeting. “Guess I’ll be skipping lunch again, he thought.”
He ran clear across the garage before he realized he had passed his car.
“Damn, - I knew I parked bank towards the middle!” he scolded.
Workman ran back to where he’d left his car this morning, but found only an empty space. “This place is secure,” he thought, “you need a badge to get in. How could someone steal my car?”
He grabbed his cell phone and was dialing the police, when he glanced over the low concrete wall of the garage at the street below. He was just in time to see the traffic light outside of the garage turn green, and his car speed off. He couldn’t see much inside the car, but he could see a green piece of cloth dangling from the driver’s side door. The driver had his coat tail caught in the door, apparently unnoticed.
“Morphey! I can’t believe he took my car again!”
Morphey hummed to the tunes from the radio., peppering with fragments of lyrics as they popped into his head. “Oops,” he scolded himself, “I think that was my turn…”
He chuckled as he lade a u-turn in the middle of the road, and sped back to the left – now a right – that he should have made.
Morphey loved driving Workman’s car. The bright red sports car made him feel so free, especially on a sunny day like this, when he could put the top down and let his hair blow in the wind. He pulled into the parking lot of the café and grabbed his mandolin, strolling in to meet his friends.
Workman escaped from his last meeting of the day at 8:45 and quickly tied up the most urgent items in his inbox. He grabbed his briefcase and took his keys from his pocket.
“My car better be back in the garage,” he thought, “Damn Morphey.”
When he got to the spot he had parked in, he found a post note stuck to the wall of the garage:
Hey, thanks for the loan of the car. I left it down on the street, you know – near that taco place? C ya.
“Damn Morphey,” he repeated to himself as he headed down to the street. The rain was coming down heavy now, and it made the leather interior of Workman’s car glisten as it fell on the seats. Workman pulled at the convertible top as quickly as he could, repeating his mantra. “Damn Morphey.”
Workman shook the nightmare of rush hour off, climbed out of his car and continued through the door.
“Hey, I’m home!” he growled. Nothing. He continued into the kitchen, and glanced down the hallway. Nothing.
He glanced at the clock: 9:30.
“I can’t believe he’s not home. Where can he go? He didn’t steal my car again, at least.”
Morphey looked out the window at the people on the sidewalk, watching them gawk at the limo as they rode by. The long black sedan turned down the local roads towards Morpheys’ house.
“This the street, Morph?” Tom asked from across the car.
“Yeah, the 6th house on the left,” Morphey replied. “Man, you sure don’t look like a rock star, Tom.’
“Thanks, buddy,” Tom smiled.
The limo slowed as it approached Morphey’s house. Morphey hopped out, thanking his friend again, and jogged across the lawn to the front steps.
Workman put the casserole into the oven and set the timer, noticing the time wasa 10:00. He heard a noise in the front hall, and turned to see Morphey standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He looked like he had walked halfway across the county, his clothes wrinkled and his hair mussed. He wore a look on his face as if he had just woken up.
“Where have you been?” Workman asked.
“Not here,” Morphey replied, with a broad smile on his face.
“Stolen any cars lately?” Workman scowled.
“Heh,” Morphey laughed.
“You have gone too far now,” Workman shouted, pointing at Morphey with the carving knife.
“Hey, come on,” Morphey offered as he crossed the room towards Workman.
“Yes, come on…” Workman whispered, holding perfectly still.
“OK, now you’re freaking me out, man – put the knife down” Morphey said, stopping in his tracks just short of Workman.
“Yes – I’ll put it away, then,” Workman said slowly.
“Good, now…” Morphey replied, turning away back towards the front hall.
“Aaah!” Workman said, and lunged forward, slashing the knife towards Morphey’s neck.
Morphey turned towards Workman, and the knife just missed his temple. Workman fell forward, hit the ground, and rolled across the floor. His head stopped at the oven, but the rest of his body continued with momentum, and Workman ended up in a ball on the floor. Morphey bent down to get a closer look. The knife was stuck in Workman’s chest up to the handle. Blood gushed from several gashes in his head, and his gaze was fixed on something far away.
Morphey closed the front door, waving to the police officers, who seemed to accept the explanation of the events leading up to Workman’s body being taken away by the coroner. The clock turned to 12:00. He cleaned up in the kitchen and went to bed.
Morphey woke up the next morning and looked at the clock, but it had stopped – the batteries must have died. He hurried through breakfast, then ran out the door, down the street to the bus stop at the corner. He waited patiently for the bus, which was apparently running late this morning. At last he spotted the bus turn onto the street several blocks away. Morphey looked around, but didn’t see anyone else around – perhaps he was the only one waiting for the bus. Morphey walked down the street, towards the approaching bus. As he got close to the bus, he could see a blank look on the driver’s face as he scanned the bus stop ahead. Morphey stepped off of the curb into the path of the bus, and was immediately crushed under its’ wheels.