The Tin Box Read Free

William.”
    “Thanks.”
    He watched as she drove off. Even after her car had disappeared around a bend he could see the clouds of dust billowing behind her. That left him alone with his carefully parked car in the otherwise empty lot. He opened the Toyota’s hatch and began to unload his things. “This is good,” he said out loud, and then bit his tongue as he vowed to stop talking to himself.

Two

     
    W ILLIAM hung up his sport jacket, took off his tie, and shed his Oxford shirt. The heat felt less oppressive when he wore only an undershirt, and he began to empty his boxes and bags. By the time he found places to put everything, he was hungry, so he delved into the meager supply of groceries he’d brought with him—pasta and sauce, bread, cheese, and apples—and figured out where the cutlery, dishes, and pans were stored. He took his time washing up afterward.
    Finally, he booted up his computer to make sure the Internet was functional. He sent an e-mail to Dr. Ochoa to let him know he’d arrived and settled in and to thank him again for the opportunity. After a few moments of indecision, William sent an e-mail to his parents. He told them he had found a temporary place to stay, but he didn’t go into detail. They were still pissed off over the divorce.
    After that, there wasn’t anyone left to contact. He had a few grad school friends but wasn’t really that close to them, and in any case, they already knew about his new job. All his other friends had been Lisa’s friends too, and they’d distanced themselves after the breakup.
    He got up from the desk, stood in the middle of the room, and surveyed his new quarters. He’d already organized his books and papers, but they didn’t take up much of the ample shelf space. He wondered if the shelves had ever been filled. Maybe the hospital directors had bought books by the case to give the room a look of both wisdom and decorum.
    As he stood on a red-and-blue rug, thinking about why anyone would want to run a mental hospital in the middle of nowhere, he heard weird noises. Small creaks mostly, but occasionally a muffled pop or groan. It was a little creepy. But being a practical sort, William realized the sounds were nothing but a poorly kept old building slowly falling apart. Broken bits of something rattling in the evening breeze. Maybe mice or squirrels or birds.
    By then night had fallen and, he hoped, the temperature had dropped. After considerable huffing and puffing, he managed to pry open one of the windows and put the largest fan in front of it. The whir of the blades drowned out a lot of the background noises, and the evening air cooled the room a little.
    He turned on the desk light and spent some time shuffling papers restlessly, reading a few journal articles and some of his old notes. He knew he should get some serious work done, but he felt too unsettled. New places tended to do that to him. He shut off the computer and picked up a novel— A Light in August —but even in paperback it felt too heavy, and he put it back down. He glanced at the TV and almost turned it on. He knew there would be nothing worth watching, however, so didn’t bother trying.
    He was tired, and it suddenly occurred to him that he could go to sleep if he wanted to. He allowed himself a wicked smile at the prospect. Because of Lisa’s late working hours, and then because of night classes in his building at the university, he rarely turned in before midnight. And here it was, barely past nine and no one around to notice or care.
    Yes, he decided, early to bed. He’d wake up early, refreshed and eager to plug away at his data.
    Folded and stacked on the bed was his one set of sheets, a $4.99 purchase from a really depressing discount store. They were printed with blurry stripes in muddy colors, they were pilled and scratchy, and even after a couple of washes they still smelled like plastic. But at least they had fit the love seat in his office. They were much too small for