NervousMan and the Trip to the Bank Part 1

"Forgiveness" thought NervousMan, for reasons he could not even fathom.

NervousMan sat in the darkness of his room and regarded the unseen walls around him. It was daytime, but he had the blinds drawn. He was distant and away from all the noises of the day. The garish noon-day sun did not bother his eyes and the sound of screams and laughter outside did not reach his ears.

NervousMan sighed.

Getting up from his bed, head bowed, he looked on the floor for his shirt. Maybe there was another day's wear from it. It seemed as if the activity of laundry was forever, thought NervousMan. Where was that shirt, he thought.

Turning on a light, NervousMan spied a piece of paper on the carpet, next to the light stand.

Pick it up and put it in the trash, he thought. But what was it?

NervousMan unfolded the piece of paper.

Oh, this was the check that he had gotten from The 59 Club contest that he had won. But it had been so long ago. Was it still good?

NervousMan squinted and looked at the fine print.

The date read: August 21st, 2007

and underneath this - This check is payable up to 20 months from date of issuance.

Let's see, thought NervousMan. April, May, June, July, August.... in 4 months it would have been 2 years! That's 24 months. So minus 4 months, cuz it's 4 months away... that's ... TODAY!

NervousMan looked around for his pants. He had to get to the bank before it closed. He had one hour to cash this check!

He looked again at the amount the money was for.

$59,000.00

NervousMan thought that must be a lot of money. It seemed like it was.

NervousMan felt nervous.

Quickly, he pulled on his shirt and pants, not even bothering to locate his underwear. I can bathe later, he thought. NervousMan hadn't bathed in two days.

Locking the door to his room, NervousMan walked as briskly as he could down the hall. His eyes squinted involuntarily at the lights in the hallway. His teeth felt on edge. NervousMan could feel the sock bunched up under his foot from his mismatched sock, but he did not stop to fix it. The bank was only 3 blocks away.

As NervousMan rode the elevator down, he was glad he was in it by himself. He probably didn't smell very good.

"I have my wallet?" NervousMan thought. He felt his back pocket again and pulled it out, making sure the check was still within.

Good, NervousMan thought, his thumb feeling the edge of the soft paper. Good.

The doors to the elevator opened with a sharp ding.

NervousMan saw a dour-faced lady standing by the door, waiting to use the car. Her right arm propping herself up with the use of a crutch, the kind that goes around the forearm.

"I'm sorry" NervousMan said at once. The woman scowled at him as he brushed past her and made his way outside.

The sun assaulted NervousMan's eyes, practically blinding him. He could feel a sneeze welling up inside.

Which way was the bank? From behind him, NervousMan heard laughter erupt and he felt momentarily a laughingstock. Which way was the bank?

NervousMan padded his way along the hard cement almost tripping over the curb. A car honked and NervousMan held up his hand as if to say 'thank you for stopping'. Still, NervousMan couldn't really see.

He walked on.

NervousMan and the TV That Wasn't There

NervousMan woke up in the morning, at least that's what time he thought it was.

The sunlight cascaded through the window into his bedroom brightening the white walls that surrounded him. He breathed the first awakened breath of the day.

He could vaguely remember his dreams. In them, he seemed to remember, he was searching for something. Slogging through mud puddles somewhere out in the badlands. Searching.

Badlands, thought NervousMan. What were badlands? Lands that were bad? Why had he thought of that?

Motes of dust drifted through the sunbeams. NervousMan blinked at them, and sighed.

NervousMan could hear the sound of cars passing by outside his window, somewhere beyond the trees. A steady woosh woosh like the sound of an ocean. An ocean of tires. A tired ocean. NervousMan felt like a tired ocean. Or a lazy wave thrown finally onto the shore of a new day.

He longed for the world of dreams from which he had just emerged. He wanted to return to them. Anything but facing this nervous day.

NervousMan looked over at the desk in the corner. Years ago someone had given him that desk, but he had forgotten who. On it had set a television set and NervousMan used to watch it. A lot.

But a few years ago he had gotten rid of the TV set, resigning to just be alone with his thoughts. He had just unplugged it, lifted it up and put it out by the trash for someone else to find. The things it showed, the garish parade of atrocities which it offered forth each day at regular feeding hours, made NervousMan's head hurt. So out it went.

NervousMan glanced at the clock radio on the desk, but it's electronic face was dark. He had unplugged it. The sounds that came out of it made NervousMan nervous. But someday, maybe, he would plug it back in. It would be nice to know what time it is.

NervousMan didn't know if it was morning or just past noon. In fact, he was not sure what day it was. Sometime in January, NervousMan thought. Or February. Yes, February that's it. NervousMan had read the headlines about a new president now when he walked passed newspaper kiosks on the street, although NervousMan did not read newspapers.

Sometime, NervousMan would sit in the McDonald's, down the block, eating. Sometimes, out of curiousity, he would watch the TV they had there, just to see what was going on in the world. Often, they would show cartoons. But other times, they showed news.

One time, they were showing something on the news about the war that was going on overseas. On the screen, NervousMan remembered, a man who looked Arabic picked up half of somebody's severed hand out of a dirty gutter and showed it to the news camera. Just, a dirty filth- covered half of a hand. The index finger and the thumb were gone. Blown away.

NervousMan remembered feeling nervous when he saw that, and remembering this, he felt nervous now. He remembered  that at the time, he had looked about at his dining companions who watched the horrific display in dispassionate silence, chewing on their burgers and whatnot.

It was a while before he went back to that McDonald's.

Television is the great 'rhythm-setter' of our nation, thought NervousMan. You're supposed to watch it to get a certain rhythm. You're supposed to listen to the radio too. To get the rhythms. They are the beat that everyone dances to, thinks to, acts to. At work, at play. You can rest on those rhythms, thought NervousMan.

The TV tells us how long to pause before we answer. It tells us what to say. It tells us what's on everyone else's minds. The catch-phrases, the issues of the day. It presents the stories we are all supposed to be thinking about. It's like the guy on the slave ship beating the drum so everyone is synced up in what they are doing, rowing their way through life. 

One of the questions they ask you is 'do you watch TV?' thought NervousMan. But who are 'they'? 'They' are the ones who ask if the TV talks to you. Then, they put you in a room with a TV. To wait. And wait.

NervousMan sighed again and sat on the side of the bed and stared at the floor. He needed to vacuum. Silence.

NervousMan breathed again and looked out the window, his eyes adjusting to the light. His stomach growled.

When you utterly don't watch TV, NervousMan reflected, when you are out of tune with what is going on in the world, and then you go out there, you're just terribly out of sync with everybody around you. People can see it. People can tell. In the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you breathe, the way your eyes go, what you do with your hands. Because you're moving with your own rhythm, your own sync, your own vibration, your own... reality. Which is different from those around you.

After a while, you find yourself trembling and shaking while waiting in a line, or waiting for a light to change, or waiting for your food to arrive. Idle times. Times when you're nervous. And in those idle times, which make up the bulk of your day, or indeed all of it, even while negotiating the purchase of a sandwich, the other people around sense there is 'something wrong with you'. And depending on your size, NervousMan thought, you become either a target, or something to avoid. 

The phone rang.

NervousMan came out of his reverie with a sharp intake of breath.

Who could be calling? Another obscene phone call thought NervousMan, or a telemarketer again. Maybe a wrong number. Those were the only kind of calls NervousMan got.

The phone rang.

Who could be calling? NervousMan was not expecting a call. NervousMan didn't know anybody. Maybe I should answer it, NervousMan thought to himself. After all, people don't 'book' phone calls. They just call.

The phone rang.

NervousMan reached over to his nightstand and lifted the receiver before the answering machine kicked in. He put it to his ear but did not say anything.

"James?" a voice said on the other end of the line. The voice sounded familiar. "James Christansen?"

NervousMan didn't speak.

"Are you there?" the voice said.

NervousMan knew the voice. Nasal. New York. Jewish sounding. Accent, thought NervousMan. He knew the voice from somewhere.

And somehow, he felt that the voice knew him too.

"James, this is Doctor Shelby. Can you hear me?" the voice said.

Instinctively, NervousMan hung up the phone.

NervousMan felt nervous. Somehow, they had found him. The same people who had asked him about the television set. Wasn't it? Could he remember? He had just been thinking about them.

Maybe, thought NervousMan, they had sensed his thoughts about the TV and found him that way.

But NervousMan felt like this idea was, ear... ear rational. Irrational. Isn't that what they told him? He was 'irrational'.

NervousMan considered this for a few seconds, and then pushed such thoughts out of his mind. He got out of bed.

The phone rang again.