Leaving II
Chapter 2
Memphis, Tennessee
John sat motionless at his desk staring at his inbox. There were 112 messages, all considerably past due for a response. He moved the cursor to close the program, but before he could complete the task a new message appeared. It was from his boss, and the subject line read
FORECAST
It was the message he dreaded the most every week, the request for his tally of successes and failures as a sales representative at Zapnet. His appointments, prospects identified, proposals presented, deals won and deals lost, and most importantly, his tally verses his overbearing and impossible quota.
He stared at the ominous message for a moment or two before deciding to open it. Firmly grasping the mouse with his sweating palms, he double clicked and within a nanosecond, it exploded upon the screen:
John,
I need your forecast by COB today. Please also plan on our weekly one-on-one this Thursday. Your slot is 3:00 PM.
Keep up the great work!
Regards,
Dave
John’s work wasn’t great but for good reasons. He was failing miserably, running about 40% of quota, and the office gossip mill was churning along at warp speed. Busybodies circled the cubicle farm like vultures trying to pick up a blood scent.
“Why has he kept him this long?” “Do you think he’s looking?” “I bet he doesn’t last until June.”
It hadn’t always been this way, however. John had been the rising star, the golden boy that could close even the toughest deal. Unlike most sales reps, he was technical, knew his product and often knew his competition’s product better than they knew it. He was honest and never mislead a client, a rare combination for an industry known for its sleazy, incompetent personnel.
But things began to change for John around 1991 when he discovered Desert Solitaire. The book opened his eyes to a whole new world and inspired him to probe even deeper into all life, not just his own.
His study exposed gaping wounds, not only in his own life, but also within civilization in general. Over the years he’d become more and more cynical about things, especially the corporate game. He’d come to view corporations as the enemy of the environment and human rights. He couldn’t stand working for people whose lives revolved around money and power and who spent more time playing golf than reading books, gardening or wandering through the mountains and deserts. He was totally out of place, a classically re-educated desert rat lost in a sea of yuppies that believed an MBA signified a good education and the size of the estate was an accurate measure of the size of the man.
Edward Abbey’s writing got the ball rolling, but “The Professor,” as John liked to call him, was the one that really made him think. John discovered him on an Internet discussion list and immediately became enthralled with his writing and his ideas. They’d become good friends over the years, confidants that buoyed one another upward during periods of despair and disillusionment.
Eventually, old Professor was discovered. He published a book, became popular and started to “get the word out” to too many folks, which of course attracted the government’s attention. Last John heard, Hayduke (as his close friends sometimes called him), was sitting in a detainee holding facility and being questioned for “anti-American activities,” including “fostering decentralized opposition to authority,” and “supporting tax revolt,” a real no-no after the big financial collapse in 2012. The Big Kahuna, as folks called it.
No one really knew where the facility was located these days, although it was rumored to be in Texas. John figured there was one person he could get to that knew where it was, and he also figured that person was most likely aiming to do something about it.
“Maybe he needs a hand,” John thought. Too often, John’s desires to act were beaten back by his fears. It was an increasing source of despondency, one he’d have to conquer if he was to find real happiness.
Each day became a struggle as more and more he lamented his lack of accomplishment. He’d never taught a class, never written a book, never worked a summer to help save a threatened species or rebuild an impoverished neighborhood. He never felt like he’d given enough back. His whole goddamned adult life had been spent in corporate Amerika, and he hated it.
Suddenly, however, he found clarity and courage. The courage to act.
John minimized the message as well as the mail program so the only thing remaining on the screen was the background image, a lovely rock outcrop in New Mexico. It was a favorite of his, a photo he took while vacationing with his wife, Susie, in Bandelier National Monument several years before. They were happy there, in fact, they were always happiest when they were on the road together or with their kids. His plan was to return permanently, but Susie was reluctant to leave the East and the disagreement had spawned more than a few heated arguments. He pushed aside the stack of papers sat on his desk and picked up a book concealed beneath. Most days, he’d read the book while pretending to make cold calls and important notes on a list of sales leads.
The book sat motionless and open, calling to him:
“Under the desert sun, in that dogmatic clarity, the fables of theology and the myths of classical philosophy dissolve like mist. The air is clean; the rock cuts cruelly into flesh; shatter the rock and the odor of flint rises into nostrils, bitter and sharp. Whirlwinds dance across the salt flats, a pillar of dust by day; the thornbush breaks into flame at night. What does it mean? It means nothing. It is as it is and has need for meaning. The desert lies beneath and soars beyond any possible human qualification. Therefore, sublime.”
John’s mind raced quickly as dozens and dozens of constrasting images swarmed his brain. A solitary hawk circling over a multicolored mesa, faces of ghoulish Chamber of Commerce representatives, strands of golden Aspen in the Uncompahgre, a sea of cubicles, majestic saguaros, guards behind towering fences, glistening heat on lonely stretches of highway and hundreds of “human resource” agents presenting termination papers to single moms that were only making a fraction of what their bosses made.
And that was it. The combination of the mail message, the photo and the Edward Abbey passage sent him hurling over the edge of the cliff, spiraling to the freedom that waited below. John stood up, closed the book, shoved it into his backpack, pushed his chair gently back to the desk and then slung the pack over his right shoulder. He started to walk out when he realized that he hadn’t shut down the computer. Green faux pax. He mumbled “fuck it” and walked out without turning it off fearing the excessive shutdown time would slow his progress and give his mind an opportunity to reconsider.
Without saying a word to anyone, he walked out the front door, jumped into his Tacoma pickup and exited through the gate, slowing only just enough to flash a sarcastic smile and wave at the guard. Once outside of the gate, he turned his cellphone off and put it on the seat and started his journey.
Having expected this moment for months, he left prepared. Camping gear loaded into the back. Travel cash stowed carefully in the inside pocket of His Marmot jacket. Enough food for five days. A Marlin lever action rifle and cartridges were stored in the back, just in case he got the chance to live out his dreamy but unrealistic Jeremiah Johnson fantasy life.
He drove home quickly and picked up the dog and his food pausing only to leave a brief note for Susie.
“Sorry. I couldn’t go on another day like this. You knew it was coming. I’ll call when I get where I’m going and figure things out. I love you. Don’t worry…I went southwest.-John”
Once he crossed the Mississippi River, he slowed down and pulled off the side of the road, just beyond the water and the bridge. After turning on his flashers, he grabbed his cellphone, walked to the edge of the bridge and with a single sweeping motion of his right arm, heaved the pestiferous little device as far as he could. Tempted to shoot at with his rifle, he decided to just watch it fly upward and away, then downward until he saw a small white ripple as it slipped into mighty river and began to sink into the muddy abyss.