Mr Muir part 1

The tiny blue alarm clock beeped softly in my room as I opened my eyes to a new day. I rolled over and pressed the button to turn it off. I ate my usual breakfast of toast followed by a glass of milk along with my medication. Finishing breakfast, I washed my hands, making sure I used two different kinds of soap. I then got ready for work: put on my work shirt, tied my tie, put on my black slacks, and put my sweater on. I check my schedule and saw that the only thing left I had to do for my morning routine was put on my shoes followed by my jacket. I took out a ballpoint pen and crossed out the tasks I completed so far.
 I took the number 22 bus down to Main street before taking the number 3 bus to 4th avenue and Moberly Road. It was a quiet area of the city where very little happened since post-industrialization. All the manufacturers had left, the saw mill closed down, and all that was left were these large buildings where the rent was cheap. I got to work at exactly 8:58 AM. The perfect time, that gave me 30 seconds to climb the stairs, put my coat on the coat rack and sit in my desk by 9 on the dot. Arriving to the office alerts my boss, the douchebag, and he rolls his chair out from his office right next to the entrance. His stupid sky-blue shirt and slicked-back black hair make me sick.
 “Kirby! Looking very green today! Alright, let’s get those phones dialing. The planet isn’t gonna save itself,” he says.
 “You got it, boss,” I say with a wry smile.
 He seems happy with my response and rolls back into the office. I walk past my coworker, Jack, who turns to give me a hello. I return the greeting and sit down at my desk, firing up my computer in the process. I look over at my work planner and cross out ‘Say hello to Jack: 9 AM’. Below that is ‘Say hello to Doreen: 9 AM’. She isn’t here. Why isn’t she here? She should be here by now. My body subtly, but uncontrollably, twitches. I reach into my pocket and take out my medication and ram it down my throat. The spasm stops and I relax. By now the computer has booted up and I sign in to my account. I pull up the list of phone numbers from the marketing software and filter for ‘Uncalled’. I select the first number that appears at the top of the list and dial it into the phone. It rings.
 “Hello?” croaks an old woman’s voice.
 “Hello, this is Kirby from Save the Forest, a sister organization of Save the Planet.”
 “Is this Marlene? You want me to save you a pomegranate?”
 “No ‘mam, I’m calling if you’d like to make a donation to help save the forest.”
 “I’m not expecting anything from the florist. Hold on a sec’, let me ask my husband.”
 There’s a clacking sound. The line goes dead. I put the phone down and mark the number as ‘Called’ in the marketing software. I move to the next phone number. Dialing. Ringing.
 A young woman’s voice answers the phone. “Hello?”
 “Hello, this is Kirby from Save the Forest, a sister organization of Save the Planet.”
 “I don’t know how you guys keep getting my number but stop calling me.”
 Another number to mark as ‘Called’.
 Let’s try another number. A young man answers this time.
 “Hello?”
 “Hello, this is Kirby from Save the Forest, a sister organization of Save the Planet.”
 “Oh, you guys! Yeah, I love the work you’re doing. I’ve been meaning to contact you to renew my monthly donations…”
 He’s not supposed to be this enthusiastic, he supposed to say an excuse for why he can’t donate and then hang up. No, no, this isn’t right. I feel myself losing control as my body trembles. I need to fix this. I slam the phone into the receiver and hold the pose for a moment. The tremors subside. I turn back to the marketing software and strike the number from the system. I look at the clock and decide to play some solitaire for a while. At about 9:30 Doreen finally shows up. Her eyes are red and her mascara has left black streaks down her face. She doesn’t greet me and instead rushes over to her desk–which is next to mine–and sits down, resting her face into her arms. I decide not to bother her and go back to playing my solitaire.
 At 11:30 I make a few more calls before lunch time strikes. Most of the callers hang up while I’m halfway through my opening sentence. At 12:00 I put the phone down and take out my lunch, spaghetti with tomato sauce. I go to office kitchen and procure a fork. When I return to my desk Doreen has sat upright and is staring fiercely at the phone in front of her. At about 12:04 she picks it up and dials some number without using the marketing software.
 “Hi… Tony?” her voice quivers. “Can we talk about this morning…”
 There’s a moment of silence as Tony talks to her.
 “No, Tony, please… Tony, I need you. Tony, please don’t leave me,” she whines as her face contorts and tears run down her face.
 I look over to Jack, unsure of what to do, and he meets my gaze with a cringing face. I hear Doreen start to sob just as my douchebag boss walks out of his office to see what the noise is all about. He sees the scene and pirouettes right back into his office. I try to eat my food but Doreen’s sobbing perturbs my meal.
 This woman needs to go…
 I turn my head slightly, looking out of the corner of my. Doreen must have sensed this because she looks at me. I instinctively whip my head back and look down at my meal.
 “S-Sorry about that, Kirby,” she says as her voice wavers.
 “Uh, don’t worry about it. Monday blues, huh?” I say. I wasn’t sure what to say so I said the first thing that popped into my head.
 Doreen gives me a look and then rests her head back into her arms, hiding her face. She remained like that for the rest of the day.
 I arrive back home at 4:48 PM and prepare my dinner and lunch for the next day. Tonight’s dinner is scrambled eggs served with a glass of milk. After dinner I grab my schedule and cross out the activities I’ve completed. My next activity is to watch TV until bedtime. The whole situation with Doreen ruined my work schedule; therefore, I need a good movie to watch. I’ll go with my favourite: Dirty Harry. I open my cupboard containing my Clint Eastwood shrine, grab my S&W Model 29 .44 Magnum revolver and the DVD. I turn on the TV, insert the DVD, and sit down in my chair. I begin to polish my revolver as the movie plays. The infamous shootout where Harry stops a bank robbery has me on the edge of my seat. My mouth moves on its own as I follow along with dialogue.
 “I know what you’re thinking: ‘Did he fire six shots or only five?’”
 A smile is taking over as he delivers the famous line.
 “Do I feel lucky? Well, do you, punk?”
 I finish polishing my revolver and set it aside. My phone rings and I pause the film. Looking at the caller ID I can see it’s my mother. She’s not supposed to call me. I told her to call me on Wednesdays, that’s when I have her scheduled. I better answer this or she won’t stop pestering me.
 “Hi, mother.”
 A frail voice speaks back. “Hi Kirby, it’s your mother calling. Did you get my cheque? I made sure your stipend came in early.”
 “Yes, mother, I got the money.”
 “Good. I know they don’t pay you enough at your job. Are you eating healthy, Kirby?”
 “Yes, mother.”
 “That’s good, dear.”
 “Mother, I need to go now. We’ll talk on Wednesday”
 “Okay, Kirby, I lov–”
 I hang up the phone and toss it aside. So many distractions today. I’ll need to get rid of them somehow. I return to watching the film.
 It’s 10:17 by the time the film is over. I gather my revolver and the DVD and put them back in the shrine. I take a moment to stare at the framed photo of Clint Eastwood from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. I kiss my index and middle fingers and transfer the kiss to the photo. I felt a shock run through my body.
 That’s it! I say to myself. An epiphany. A revelation.
 It’s suddenly clear and I know what I need to do about Doreen. About these disturbances.