nightmare. Where in the hell had those
thoughts come from? He knew Simmons had a girlfriend, but he couldn’t remember
her name.
Jack realized
the water running down on him from the shower head had turned lukewarm. He
pushed the thoughts from his mind again and escaped the now chilly shower. As
he toweled himself off, he forced his mind instead to his girls. That was the
only reality he needed. The thought of them and his life with them made any
attachment to the characters from some crazy dream seem ludicrous.
Pam and Claire
are my reality.
Jack looked at
himself in the foggy mirror, squinting to somehow see behind his own eyes. He
saw nothing but his own face. Why did these “memories” seem so goddamn real?
In contrast,
as he walked around his house, kissed his wife, and sipped his coffee, he felt
unnatural. Or staged, maybe. Yeah, that was more it. He felt like he was role‐playing,
almost. The undertone really bothered him and he couldn’t shake it. The only thing
that felt completely real and natural about the whole morning was Claire. He
picked her up from her high chair to kiss her good-bye, and she grabbed his
nose, burped, and then smiled a giggly smile.
“Daaa-dy,” she
cooed.
Jack felt
overwhelmed for a moment by his love for his little girl—by her look, and
touch, and smell. The feeling seemed to push his uneasiness into the
background. By the time he slid into the driver’s seat of his green Volvo, the
feeling was just noise, barely available to his senses, and easily drowned out
by Toby Keith singing about his “Whiskey Girl” on the radio.
The school day
passed by smoothly at first. As Jack got into his role of teacher, the
dreamlike quality dissipated. He taught his third‐period class a review of the
cell cycle, and answered his students’ questions without thinking. That was
good, because on the few occasions when he did think about the questions, he
would feel a momentary panic, as if he didn’t know what he was talking about. Then
the answers would just pour out as soon as he opened his mouth.
A few times he
felt the nagging sensation of getting away with a charade. The ten minute
breaks between classes, when the room was quiet and he had nothing to focus on,
brought the anxiety back and the surreal memories with it. He could almost
smell the distinctive odor of Iraqi dust. Then the next class would begin and
the images would fade away again. By lunch period the dreamlike feeling again
seemed only background noise, and he headed out of his classroom to get
something to eat.
“Hey, Jack!”
Jack turned
around and saw a man about his age looking at him with curiosity. He was
dressed in chinos and a black T-shirt under a blazer. Jack felt his heart
quicken, but he didn’t know why.
“Yeah?” he
answered uneasily.
“You may have
the others fooled, but I know what’s really going on here,” the man said in a
thick Chicago accent, his hands on his hips.
“What do you
mean?” Jack shifted uneasily and felt his mouth go dry. What was this guy’s
name? Chad?
“Lunch room is
this way, pal.” He looked stern. Jack stood still, unsure what to do. Then the
man laughed and strode over, wrapping an arm around Jack’s shoulder. “I thought
you quit smokin’, dude!”
Jack relaxed
and let out his breath.
“Yeah, I did.
Just habit I guess.” Jack didn’t remember ever smoking. He turned and walked in
the other direction with his friend.
“You bring
lunch or are we scoring burgers?”
“No…uh…I
didn’t bring anything,” Jack answered.
“Sweet!” his
friend replied, rubbing his palms together. “Finally took a stand against Pam’s
healthy life plan, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jack
laughed. That felt right somehow. Salad and dressing in separate Tupperware. He
relaxed again.
“Shapin’ the
young minds, pal?” his friend asked as they walked through the double doors
into the noisy lunch room. Young teens laughed and talked loudly at the