Nightmare at 20,000 Feet

I told you about her then.”

“I don’t remember, Bob,” he said. “What about her?”

“I can’t find her. And I can’t find the girl Mike went out with. And Mike denies that he ever knew either of them.”

He looked confused so I told him again. Then he said, “What’s this? Two old married men gallivanting around with…”

“They were just friends,” I cut in. “I met them through a fellow I knew at college. Don’t get any bright ideas.”

“All right, all right, skip it. Where do I fit in?”

“I can’t find them. They’re gone. I can’t even prove they existed.”

He shrugged. “So what?” Then he asked me if Mary knew about it. I brushed that off.

“Didn’t I mention Jean in any of my letters?” I asked him.

“Couldn’t say. I never keep letters.”

I left soon after that. He was getting too curious. I can see it now. He tells his wife, his wife tells Mary- fireworks.

When I rode to work late this afternoon I had the most awful feeling that I was something temporary. When I sat down it was like resting on air.

I guess I must be cracking. Because I bumped into an old man deliberately to find out if he saw me or felt me. He snarled and called me a clumsy idiot.

I was grateful for that.

Thursday night

Tonight at work I called up Mike again to see if he remembered Dave from college.

The phone rang, then it clicked off. The operator cut in and asked, “What number are you calling, sir?”

A chill covered me. I gave her the number. She told me there wasn’t any such number.

The phone fell out of my hand and clattered on the floor. Mary stood up at her desk and looked over. The operator was saying, “Hello, hello, hello…” I hurriedly put the phone back in the cradle.

“What happened?” Mary asked when I came back to my desk.

“I dropped the phone.” I said.

I sat and worked and shivered with cold.

I’m afraid to tell Mary about Mike and his wife Gladys.

I’m afraid she’ll say she never heard of them.

Friday

Today I checked up on Design Handbook. Information told me there was no such publication listed. But I went over to the city anyway. Mary was angry about me going. But I had to go.

I went to the building. I looked at the directory in the lobby. And even though I knew I wouldn’t find the magazine listed there, it was still a shock that made me feel sick and hollow.

I was dizzy as I rode up the elevator. I felt as if I were drifting away from everything.

I got off at the third floor at the exact spot where I’d called for Jean that afternoon.

There was a textile company there.

“There never was a magazine here?” I asked the receptionist.

“Not as long as I can remember,” she said. “Of course I’ve only been here three years.”

I went home. I told Mary I was sick and didn’t want to go to work tonight. She said all right she wouldn’t go either. I went into the bedroom to be alone. I stood in the place where we’re going to put the new bed when it’s delivered next week.

Mary came in. She stood in the doorway restively.

“Bob, what’s the matter?” she asked. “Don’t I have a right to know?”

“Nothing,” I told her.

“Oh, please don’t tell me that,” she said. “I know there is.”

I started toward her. Then I turned away.

“I… I have to write a letter,” I said.

“Who to?”

I flared up. “That’s my business,” I said. Then I told her to Jim.

She turned away. “I wish I could believe you,” she said.

“What does that mean?” I asked. She looked at me for a long moment and then turned away again.

“Give Jim my best,” she said, and her voice shook. The way she said it made me shudder.

I sat down and wrote the letter to Jim. I decided he might help. Things were too desperate for secrecy. I told him that Mike was gone. I asked him if he remembered Mike.

Funny. My hand hardly shook at all. Maybe that’s the way it is when you’re almost gone.

Saturday

Mary had to work on some special typing today. She left early.

After I had breakfast I got the bank book out of the metal box in the bedroom closet. I was going down to the bank to get the money for the bed.

At the bank I filled out a withdrawal slip for $97. Then I waited in line and finally handed the slip and the book to the teller.

He opened it and looked up with a frown.

“This supposed to be funny?” he asked.

“What do you mean, funny?”

He pushed the book across to me. “Next,” he said.

I guess I shouted. “What’s the matter with you!”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the men at the front desks jump up and hurry over. A woman behind me said, “Let me at the window, if you please.”

The man came fussing up.

“What seems to be the trouble, sir?” he asked me.

“The teller refuses to honour my bank book,” I told him.

He asked for the book and I handed it to him. He opened it. Then he looked up in surprise. He spoke quietly.

“This book is blank,” he said.

I grabbed it and stared at it, my heart pounding.

It was completely unused.

“Oh, my God,” I moaned.

“Perhaps we can check on the number of the book,” the man said. “Why don’t you step over to my desk?”

But there wasn’t any number on the book. I saw that. And I felt tears coming into my eyes.

“No,” I said. “No.” I walked past him and started toward the doorway

“One moment, sir,” he called after me.

I ran out and ran all the way home.

I waited in the front room for Mary to come home. I’m waiting now. I’m looking at the bank book. At the line where we both signed our names. At the spaces where we had made our deposits. Fifty dollars from her parents on our first anniversary

Two hundred and thirty dollars from my veteran’s insurance dividend. Twenty dollars. Ten dollars.

All blank.

Everything is going. Jean. Sally. Mike. Names fluttering away and the people with them.

Now this. What’s next?

Later

I know.

Mary hasn’t come home.

I called up the office. I heard Sam answer and I asked him if Mary was there. He said I must have the wrong