He’d never stood in front of someone knowing that a tiny moment in time could be felt with such immensity. He was reminded of the times he’d been fired even when he knew he should have been; that harsh drop of security and conventional understanding. The thoughts that came so quickly and instinctively, “Cancel the cable as soon as I get home. I don’t know how long the drought will be. Crap! How am I going to tell Julie? Oh my god, I hope I don’t get into a car accident driving home from getting fired.” He’d been fired so much that now he was almost good ad it. Last time he’d even helped the poor bastard they’d made messenger boy of his fate. “No, man, don’t even think about it … it’s a total blessing. Hell it’s not even in disguise – you know I need the time off. Seriously, man, you’ve been real decent.” Now he stood as the poor bastard-made-messenger.
Not in any official form, but just the one who had to produce the ax for the executioner. Like the Jews that fed Pontius Pilot, he’d sold out one of his own.
He’d been jumping back and forth in his mind all day about this. How’d he get to this point? How had he found himself in the space, after being sacked half a dozen times himself, how was it that he was now the hatchet man? He’d sent off the well crafted emails, scheduled the meetings, gotten things in order and it all seemed automated, as though he weren’t the one doing any of this.
He stared into the shifting eyes of his prey – a victim he wasn’t really interested in hurting, just getting him out of his way. The eyes were deep and sorrowful with splashes of anger occasionally flickering across the dullness of the waiting.
“Listen, I don’t want you to loose on this, it’s just that we can’t carry you here. I mean, we’ve been cut off at the knees and we can barely carry ourselves.” He sputtered and jerked at the words. Were these words actually coming out of his mouth? “Shit, man, it’s just that with all the deadlines and what not, you know, I just care about this crap. I don’t like to miss a target and you can’t keep up. It’s not that you can’t do it, it’s just that your not as fast.” His explanation was faltering. It was true, but truthfulness didn’t make anything any easier. And the silence from the condemned wasn’t helping the situation either. The axe man thought to himself that it was a little crappie of this guy not to help him out. “Christ, I’ve helped out dicks that were firing me.” he thought.
At last it was over and walking papers had been delivered.
As soon as he got home, he opened a beer and guzzled it down in three large tip backs. He rolled up a joint and sat down to disappear from the life he’d created. As he rose up under the heavy influence of the hallucinogen, he thought, “nothing ever works like you’ve planned it.”