It’s been a long day. It’s almost ten p.m. and Ron is still in his office. The end of the month report is overdue and he was anxious to get it finished. He glanced again at the pile of memos on top of his inbox, and pushed them out of his mind.
He looked at his watch and let out a sigh of relie. It’s almost ten. The memos will still be there in the morning. He yawned and leaned back in his chair, and absentmindedly began to play with his pen. His mind was suddenly somewhere else.
He’s been married to Jenifer for three years; a pretty brunet, a little over five feet tall and very bright. Ron was handsome in a rugged way, of slim build and just under six feet tall. They had dated in high school for a while and after graduation they dated a few more times, then, began to drift apart. She pursued a career in biochemistry. Ron attended the MBA program at McGill University. After graduating Ron went to work for a company called MetalWorks Inc. Twenty years later he is still working for the same company. Although he’s achieved the position of Vice President of production he knew he would never go any higher. MetalWorks Inc. is a family owned business and VP is the highest position for anyone who isn’t a blood relative.
Four years ago, after noticing Jen’s name mentioned in the local newspaper in connection with a major breakthrough in cancer research, he decided to look her up to congratulate her for her achievement. They soon picked up where they had left off. They have now been married for three years.
Each morning Ron and Jen drive to the local Tim Horton’s for coffee, bagel and cream cheese, before heading off to work, each in their own car; she in her Mercedes and he in his Lexus. They eat lunch and dinner in restaurants or order in. They had discussed having a family, but Jen didn’t like the idea of having children. They would interfere with her career.
Ron had to admit, his life is pretty empty and uneventful; not exactly as he had imagined it would be. He shook his head and came back to the present. He glanced at his watch again and began to tidy up his desk. He picked up a file and was about to put it into his briefcase, hesitated, then changed his mind and put the file back on his desk, took his laptop and blackberry and left.
Driving home, he tried to put the events of the day behind him. He put on some classical music. Chopin seemed to work best to relax him.
His wife wasn’t home yet. She often got caught up in her research that she’d forget to come home until the next day, so he was not concerned when there was no message on the phone. He would check his e-mail later. He stood in the middle of the living room, seemingly at a loss, unable to decide what to do next, then, walked over to the liquor cabinet and took out the bottle of Scotch. He held it up to the light and shook his head. He made a mental note: “I must remember to pass by the Liquor Commission”. He drained the little bit that was left into a liquor glass and swigged it down. Irritated, he walked over to the fridge, opened the door and scanned its contents. His eye settled on the cans of beer in the far right corner. He reached in and untangled a beer from its plastic prison, pulled the metal tap and delighted in the hissing sound of the escaping gas. Realizing that he hadn’t brought in the newspaper, he walked back to the front door, beer in hand, took a sip and opened the door, picked up the paper, took another sip of beer and began to scan the headlines. A wry smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. Nothing exciting he thought. Same old bull shit.
His favourite chair was beckoning to him and as if guided by an internal GPS, with his eyes still on the paper, he continued to walk towards it. He sat down and put his feet up on the foot stool and breathed a sigh of satisfaction. He felt the soft white leather envelope him; secure as a baby in the mother’s womb. Another sip from the can and the stress of the day began to melt away. Then the phone rang. Letting the paper fall from his hands he stood up, his face a picture of frustration. “Damn, it never fails”. Trying to control his irritation, he spoke into the receiver.
“Hello”.
There was no immediate response.
Then, “Hello is this Ron? Ron McFarlane?”
“Yes, yes it is.”
“This is Rich. Richard Flanagan”. Ron thought for a moment and spoke to the voice on the phone.
“I’m sorry, my wife isn’t here and I don’t know anyone by that name”.
“Sure ya do. It’s old Rich”, the voice said. “You know, we were buddies in Middleborough High.”
Ron’s mind began to race as he tried to conjure up images from the past. Then, bam! It hit him.
“Rich?”
Rich was in his forties now. He had been a brilliant student and could have had a promising career in any field he wanted to pursue. Everything had always come easy to him. He possessed a photographic memory. He was also a brilliant mathematician. But, he was a restless soul. His interests were varied and fleeting. One day it was medicine the next it was physics. Then he took a fancy to astronomy, then, astrophysics. He never was able to concentrate on one field. As a result he drifted from one discipline to another and never finished any one. Life kept rolling along for Rich. Then one day he was 40 years old. Half his life was now behind him. He had missed out. He became depressed and started to drift from job to job. He refused all offers of promotion. To sustain himself he worked at all sorts of menial jobs in different parts of the world.
“Rich! Well, as I live and breath, Richard Flanagan. Where the hell have you been?”
“I’ve been to London to visit the Queen, where the hell do you think I’ve been?”
Ron’s face cracked a smile. Yep, that’s Rich all right, Ron’s mind conceded. No one else he knew would drop a sentence like that out of the blue; Rich’s quirky mind at work.
“It’s been a long time and I’ve been everywhere. I’m in town for a few days, to attend a conference. What do you say we meet at Marley’s? You remember Marley’s Pub. I checked it out. It’s still there, after all these years.”
“You’ve come into town for a conference? It sounds important Richard. What have you been up to all these years?”
“It’s a long story, Ron. I’ve been away for a long time and a lot has happened. Join me for a beer like old times. We’ll chat and I’ll fill you in on all the gory details. What do you say?”
“Rich, it sounds like fun. How about tomorrow after work? I’ll meet you at Marley’s around six.”
“Great! See you then. Bye for now.”
Ron put down the receiver and went back into the womb of his comfortable chair. He picked up his newspaper and began to scan the headlines again. He lifted his eyes and stared off into the distance. In his mind’s eye he was looking back. The details were small and far back in the past, like looking through the wrong side of a pair of binoculars.
With his body ensconced in the warmth and comfort of the soft leather chair, he made another attempt to read the paper and slowly nodded off.
Jen slowly inserted the key into the lock and carefully opened the door. She tiptoed into the living room, picked up blanket from the sofa and gently covered Ron with it.
Ron hasn’t seen Jen for a week now. He’s asleep when she comes home and leaves before he gets up in the morning. When they first got together again, they couldn’t leave each other alone. The sex was great. He felt like a man that was in love and was being loved in return. He doesn’t pursue this line of thinking for too long. Instead, he thinks: It will be nice to enjoy a beer with an old buddy! He is like a burn victim recovering from facial surgery; looking at the mirror obliquely; afraid to look too close or he might see the scars.
Ron parked his car a block away from Marley’s. The working class neighbourhood has not changed much. Except for some new buildings, everything stayed more or less the same.
As he was walking down the street towards Marley’s, in his mind’s eye, he was suddenly back in time. He could almost feel the years dropping away. Suddenly, there he was, a young man again, walking with his buddies, laughing and jostling each other. His spirit suddenly lightened; He let out a sigh.
He walked into Marley’s and stood in the entrance. His eyes scanned the bar then the lounge area. He walked slowly towards the lounge. Anyone in the lounge could have been Richard. Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and a deep voice say,
“Ron, Ronald McFarlane?”
He turned to look behind him and stared at the man.
“Richard! I never would have recognized you!” They stood for a moment looking at each other in silence, then,
“That’s because I’m not Richard.”
“Richard is tied up in a meeting. He sent me to take you to his hotel. He would like you to wait for him in the hotel lounge. He said to tell you that it won’t be long before he will join you there.”
Ron looked at the man suspiciously and began to feel uneasy. The man stood over six feet tall. He had a dark complexion and was heavy set. The man detected Ron’s unease and took out his cell phone, pressed some buttons, then spoke softly into it. Ron could not make out the words, but, thought he detected a Middle Eastern lilt in the short conversation. The man handed the phone to Ron. It is the same voice on the phone that he spoke to yesterday. Ron hands the phone back to the man.
He looks at the man. Uncertain, but intrigued, then says:
“My car is down the street. I don’t want to leave it in this neighbourhood”.
“Do you know where the Meridian Hotel is”?
“Yes I do, Ron replied”.
“O.K. then, we’ll see you there.”
Ron slides behind the wheel of his car and puts the key in the ignition but doesn’t start the engine. Instead, he sits and stares out the window. He is captivated by the intrigue. He feels a sense of adventure and excitement. His spirits are suddenly lifted. Imagine that, Rich has a personal valet.


Ron tells the clerk at the check-in counter of the Meridian Hotel to inform Mr. Flanagan that Ron MacFarlane has arrived. Then, walks over to the lounge and positions him self so that he would see who is coming into the lounge.
At last he will have something stronger than a beer. He orders a single malt Scotch, no ice. The waiter brings his drink and Ron leans back and sips his scotch slowly, savouring the woody aroma and mellow taste.
“Mr. Ron MacFarlane?”
Ron looks up, his eyes slightly watery from his first taste of scotch.
“Yes?”
“We do not have a Mr. Flanagan registered at this hotel”.
“This is the Meridian Hotel, is it not?”
“Yes, it is.”
Ron takes another sip of his scotch and feels a hint of discomfort as he thinks back to his meeting with the large Middle Eastern looking man at Marley’s. Then, a voice from behind the clerk says, “I will take it from here”. The clerk’s face lights up with recognition, then responds,
“Yes sir”, turns around and returns to the reception desk.


“Mr. MacFarlane, Richard is running a little late. He will be with you shortly.”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t introduce myself when we met at Marley’s”
“My name is Shlomo.”
Ron looks at the man quizzically and shakes his extended hand.
“Sorry for the confusion. It’s my fault. I should have tolled you at Marley’s. The room was booked under Triple X Enterprises, not under Mr. Flanagan’s name.”


To be continued

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 16.11.2010

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