The X-Ray Lab

"Hey, remember that strange, sad guy who used to work here?" Jimmy Gordon asked nobody in particular as he entered the break room and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Could you be a little more specific?" Bill MacKenzie said. "Credit & Collections is the department of strange, sad guys."

"Speak for yourself," Kate Summers said. 

"I am," Bill said.

Kate and Jimmy were junior accountants reporting to Bill, a senior manager working in the C&C department of SC Banque. The break room served as a necessary retreat from the grinding boredom of the day-to-day of working in an office; the searching for and filing of records, the retrieval and distribution of documents, and the search for the Holy Grail of the Knights of the Rolling Chairs: a stapler that works. 

Kate told herself she was gaining invaluable insights and experience she would leverage on her way up the corporate ladder. It was a vaguely shaped but reassuring dream she was sure would one day take her to a corner office in the executive suite. She had a poster in her cubicle of a cartoon mouse chasing a cartoon elephant with the caption: Dream Big or Go Home!

Jimmy was young, loud, and currently on probation for getting into a profanity-laced fight with a customer. (All calls are recorded for quality purposes.) The only thing that had saved Jimmy's job was that the customer in question was Carl Spenser, a well-known "frequent flier," as they referred to those "valued customers" of SC Banque who seemed to have made it their life's work to die in debt. Carl Spenser saw injustice lurking in every late notice he received for failing to pay off his since canceled credit card. Still, Jimmy's use of vernacular English on that particular call was deemed to be inappropriate and unprofessional. Unfortunately for his co-workers, and those customers in need of expert financial advice, the chances that Jimmy's band would be signed by a major record label weren't just slim and none, they were null and void. His co-workers knew this from first hand experience as they had (also unfortunately) agreed to come see Jimmy and his band, Food Truck, on an open mic night at The Stone Church. They found solace in the inevitability of Jimmy's termination for cause. 

Bill tended to be agnostic about the job. He didn't believe or not believe there was value in his work. Despite his title, he still performed the day-to-day duties of an accountant, with the added administrative responsibilities involved in managing his team. In addition to filling in spreadsheets, classifying and storing documents, filing completed forms, and keeping his stapler locked in his desk except when he was using it, he was also responsible for assessing the performance of his team in these selfsame tasks. At the end of every workday, he exchanged the boredom of his work life for the boredom of his personal life. He had been below average his entire life and had made his peace with it years ago. Bill was one of the few "old timers" in Credit & Collections. Boredom, burnout and turnover were a simple and - for most - inevitable reality of the job.

"His name was Barton. Evan Barton," Jimmy said. "Remember? He dressed like it was the 19th century. Wool suits. Vests. Always wore a tie. Suspenders." 

"Braces," Bill corrected.

"Braces?" Jimmy asked. "He didn't have braces. His teeth were fine. Immaculate, really. I think he used those whitening strips."

"No, not braces on his teeth. Braces are suspenders that attach to the pants with buttons," Bill said.

Jimmy shrugged. "Whatever. He spent a little too much time on his hair if you ask me."

"Maybe you should spend a little more time on your hair," Bill said. "They have this new thing I'm not sure you've heard of called shampoo."

"Okay. I know who you mean," Kate said. "Evan. Yeah. I think his picture is in the dictionary right next to 'strange, sad guy.' You definitely got that right, Jimmy." And you should know strange and sad, she thought. "Didn't he have a catchphrase? He said it all the time. Every time he got a work assignment."

"As you wish," Jimmy said.

"That wasn't it," Bill said.

"That's Wesley from 'The Princess Bride' you numbskull," Kate said. 

"It was from a movie," Bill said. "Evan was kind of a film buff."

"'Princess Bride' is a movie," Jimmy said. "How numb is my skull now?"

"But it wasn't that movie," Bill said.

"I got it!" Kate said. "So let it be written. That's from a movie?"

"It's from 'The Ten Commandments,'" Bill said. "I think he was being ironic."

"So?" Kate asked Jimmy.

"So what?" Jimmy asked Kate.

"So what's the story about Evan Barton?" Kate asked.

"That was him in that hostage thing at the Redi-Care on 6th street," Jimmy said.

*****

Bill recalled that when Evan Barton came to work at SC Banque, he seemed remarkably unremarkable, except, of course, for his fashion sense. Or was it a lack of fashion sense? It was impossible to tell if he was trying to escape the present for the past, or for some retro future. He was far more personable on the phone with customers than he was in person with his co-workers. He was quiet, he kept to himself, Bill thought. It's what they always say about the presidential assassin, the serial killer, or in this case, the hostage-taker. 

Sad and strange, Bill thought, might just be the best way to put it.

Evan Barton did quite well as an associate accountant. As was the case with all associates, he started on the Customer Service Desk or "phones" as it was more commonly referred to in the office. He passed his probationary period with high marks. After only a few weeks on the job, he started taking on the most difficult calls and handling the most challenging situations; the complaints, the pleas for the kind of sympathy financial institutions are incapable of, the truly tragic stories of sickness and loss, the Carl Spencer's. His fellow associates on call weren't sure what to make of him but they quickly learned to wait when the phone rang for Evan to pick up. 

His satisfaction surveys over his first six months on the job were exemplary - four and a half out of five stars - and he received a slight bump in pay on his 1-year anniversary, commensurate with his promotion from associate to assistant accountant. As noted in his annual review, he "...consistently meets and often exceeds expectations." Evan Barton seemingly had a bright future at SC Banque.

With the promotion, Evan moved from the Customer Service Desk to Credit & Collections. Bill was ecstatic when he read Evan's performance review; he was adding a rising star to his team. Evan's first three months on the job did nothing to change Bill's mind. Evan was strange, to be sure, and it wasn't just the haberdashery. His workspace had nary a trace of any evidence of a life lived. No pictures of loved ones, no tchotchkes from vacation trips, no "World's Greatest Dad" coffee mug filled with pens, no poster on the cubicle wall with a kitten "hanging in there" or anything else. Evan's desk looked like it had just been delivered. His workspace looked like it hadn't been assigned, like it was a hoteling space for SC Banque employees visiting the Springfield branch from another location.

And yet, Bill couldn't help but like the guy. Perhaps the reason for his sympathies was as simple as the coincidence of their shared birthday. Evan was polite, punctual and diligent, traits highly valued by middle managers like Bill, but it was more than that. Evan Barton may have been a broken little bird of a man but he was always kind and patient and helpful. Bill got the sense that life had not been easy for Evan, but despite this, he had never heard him swear, let alone get angry or say something mean. Bill wanted to ask Evan about his life but a cheerful "Good morning?" or "How are you?" only prompted a nod and a faint, seemingly wistful smile from Evan. If that. Bill would invite him to share lunch in the cafeteria, ask him if he watched the game, drag him along to an in office birthday cake for a fellow employee, but despite Bill's best efforts, Evan remained distant.  

After three months in Credits & Collection, as impossible as it seemed, Evan grew more distant; yet sadder and stranger. 

*****

"Evan," Bill said. "I was just talking to Kate and Jimmy and we were thinking about lunch." 

"Yes?" Evan asked.

Bill noticed the neatly stacked folders on Evan's desk and it stopped him short. He couldn't remember seeing more than a single work assignment on Evan's desk before and it looked like there might be six or seven folders piled up. Bill often struggled to get the next assignment to Evan before he completed the previous one. "You appear to be a little backlogged there."

Evan followed Bill's eyes to the stack of folders on his desk. Bill thought Evan looked surprised by his pending work assignments. "I suppose I am."

Bill wondered if he had taken Evan for granted, given him too much to do. He picked up the stack of folders and said, "I'm going to give some of these to Kate." He checked the folders contents quickly and made sure he pulled the three oldest cases - assignments he'd given Evan over a week ago. He put the remaining folders, five of them, back on Evan's desk.

"You okay?" Bill asked.

"I suppose I am," Evan answered.

Bill nodded. He realized he had no idea what "okay" meant when it came to Evan. "Hey, like I was saying, we were thinking of lunch at Margarita's this Friday. Me, Kate, and Jimmy. You know. The new guy."

"The guy with the band? They won't be playing, will they?" Evan asked.

Bill smiled. "No. They won't be playing.  Why don't you join us?"

"Okay," Evan answered.

"No excuses this time," Bill said.

"No excuses," Evan said.

"Okay," Bill said. "You can ride along with me, if you like."

"I envy him," Evan said.

"Who?" Bill asked. "Jimmy?"

Evan nodded. "His ignorance. His bliss. He seems completely and utterly oblivious to his own mortality."

"Mortality?" Bill asked. Evan had always been a bit odd but this was a troubling turn. 

"What?" Evan said. He smiled. "Mortality? I meant to say 'lack of talent'. He's oblivious to his own lack of talent." He paused. "I suppose ultimately that will kill his musical career so maybe I was right the first time." He frowned. "You won't tell him I said that, will you?"

"No," Bill said. "Of course not." Bill was surprised by Evan's sudden and surprising critique of Jimmy. Snark, heretofore, had not been in Evan's vocabulary.

"Everyone should have a dream they follow," Evan said. 

Bill nodded. "What's your dream, Evan?"

Evan smiled but Bill thought it was the saddest smile he had ever seen. "If I tell you, it won't come true," he said. 

Bill felt like Evan was suddenly a million miles away. In that moment, Bill wondered if it was more about nightmares than dreams, when it came to Evan Barton.

"I think that's only true for birthday wishes," Bill said. "Seriously, Evan. What's your dream?"

"My dream?" Evan said. "My dream is to have a dream."

*****

That Friday, Evan walked into Bill's office with his open work assignments - the stack of folders Bill had left on his desk - and a resignation letter that said simply "I quit." Bill tried to talk him out of it. He told Evan he would hold onto his resignation letter for a day and asked Evan to rethink his decision but somehow he knew that wouldn't change anything.

Bill, Kate, and Jimmy spent their lunch hour wondering aloud about their sad, strange, and now former co-worker. 

"Do you know what he did before he came to SC Banque?" Kate asked Bill. "You must've seen his resume when he applied for the job."

"I wasn't the hiring manager," Bill said, an indirect lie. It was true that he hadn't hired Evan but he had seen the man's resume. He knew the summary metadata of Evan Barton's life, though little else, and yet, he felt something like sympathy for the man. "But I did like him." That, too, wasn't exactly the truth. Bill couldn't help but see Evan as himself, but himself having taken a different path through the wilderness of life. Bill had reached a point in his own narrative where he often wondered how different his life would've been if he'd said hello to that girl on the bus, if he hadn't met his wife Linda in college, if he and Linda hadn't had children, if he hadn't swallowed his dreams and gotten a job as an accountant. If, if, if… Middle manager for a major financial institution. It was a far cry from fireman, or a singer in a rock and roll band - even a bad one like Jimmy - or starting pitcher for the Boston Red Sox, but he was happy. I am happy, Bill thought, aren't I?

"I thought he'd be a lifer," Jimmy said. "You know, like this was his last chance before becoming a greeter at WalMart. I mean, you know, he was kind of on the old side."

"The old side?" Bill said with narrowed eyes, doing his best to feign offense. "What do you mean by that?"

"Yeah, Jimmy," Kate said, enjoying Jimmy's obvious discomfort perhaps a little too much. "What do you mean by that?"

Jimmy took a sip of his margarita to gather himself. "I'm sorry, Bill. It's just that you're in such good shape that I sometimes forget you're old enough to be my father."

Bill smiled. Then he leaned in close as the smile disappeared.  "I've let a lot of things go with you Jimmy, but even kidding about the two of us being related? This I cannot forgive."

Jimmy's face flushed bright red. Kate laughed loudly enough that the people at nearby tables stopped and looked at the three of them. 

"It wasn't that funny," Jimmy said.

"The look on your face? Oh, it was definitely that funny," Kate said.

"I thought we were talking about Evan," Jimmy said.

"Was he old enough to be your father?" Kate asked.

"All I was saying - and I'm not saying it's fair - but given how things work in the job market, who's going to hire someone in their 50s when they can have a recent college grad at half the cost?" Jimmy said.

"Why should I hire expertise when I could hire comic relief, instead?" Bill asked.

"Exactly!" Jimmy said. "Wait! That's not what I said. You got it twisted."

"No," Bill said. "I don't think I did."

"Did he tell you why he quit?" Kate asked.

"He said the job wasn't working for him," Bill said.

*****

Evan Barton heard the knock on his apartment door. He waited, hoping whoever it was would leave, thinking there was no one home if he kept quiet. Knock, knock, knock. Each time, there were three knocks. After a few minutes, he realized the person on the other side of the door was not going to leave.

He opened the door.

"Bill!" Evan said. "This is a surprise."

"A happy one, I hope," Bill said.

"That depends, I suppose," Evan said. He noticed the envelope that Bill held in his hands. "Why are you here?"

"I brought your final paycheck," Bill said, holding out the envelope to Evan. 

"You could've just mailed it to me," Evan said.

"Really no problem," Bill said. "On my way home, so, I just thought -"

"Thanks," Evan said, taking the envelope from Bill and starting to close the door.

"Wait!" Bill said. "Could I come in? I mean, do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

Evan hesitated briefly, then stepped back and said, "Of course, yes, come in." He gestured behind him. "Take your first left."

It was a safe lie. As a man of a certain age, Bill could take a piss - had to, really - at least once every two hours. If Evan was listening, Bill would easily be able to confirm his "need" to use the bathroom. He finished his business and washed his hands. Evan was waiting for him when he opened the bathroom door. 

Evan smiled. He held up the envelope in his right hand. "Thanks for this." He turned and started up the short hallway to his apartment's front door. "My apologies for being such a poor host but I was actually on my way out to run some errands. Bill?"

Bill had not followed Evan. Instead, he had walked into the apartment's living room, drawn there by what he had at first thought was a large work of abstract art, with various patterns and shapes rendered in a greyscale. When he got closer he realized the wall was covered with x-rays.

"I suppose I was expecting classic movie posters," Bill said in a barely audible voice.

"Bill?" It was Evan, now standing next to him.

"I knew you worked in an x-ray lab before you came to SC Banque," Bill said. "Is this like some kind of abstract art installation?"

Evan's head tilted to one side. He smiled. "Yes," he said. "Objective, yet, evocative." He paused. "A mosaic of x-rays."

Bill looked closer at the x-rays. "But, isn't that illegal? I mean, medical records are supposed to be protected or confidential, aren't they?"

"I don't think they care," Evan said. "They're all dead."

"Dead?" Bill asked.

"These are x-rays from patients who died," Evan said, gesturing at the images as he listed the fatal afflictions they captured. "Metastatic brain tumor. Congestive heart failure. Breast cancer. Multiple gunshot wounds - he died in surgery. Too many bullets. Pancreatic cancer. Nephroblastoma. Lung cancer, a couple of lung cancers." He shrugged. "Incurables. Untreatables. Too much damage to be saved. Sometimes, even heroic measures are not enough." He paused. "I call it The Human Condition. The title is ironic, of course."

"Why do you…" Bill looked at Evan but could not find any more words.

Evan gestured with the envelope. "Thanks again for the paycheck, Bill, but like I said, I have some things I need to attend to." Evan walked to the front door. Bill followed because he didn't know what else to do. Evan opened the door, turned and smiled what Bill thought was a strange, sad smile. "Take care."

"You, too," Bill said.

*****

The guard escorted Bill into the visitor's area. After a few minutes, another guard walked Evan into the room, shackled at the ankles and wrists, wearing the orange jumpsuit Bill recognized from the true crime dramas he watched on TV.

"Bill!" Evan said with a mix of surprise and what Bill thought was relief. He smiled as he sat down. "What brings you here?"

"You seem glad to see me," Bill said. "I wasn't sure you would be."

Evan leaned in as if sharing a confidence. "I thought you were my lawyer. Everyone else is a pleasant surprise. By comparison." He paused. "As I said, what brings you here?"

"I'm, well, I'm not sure," Bill said. "I was wondering how you were doing so, well, here I am."

Evan nodded. Bill felt Evan studying him. "I came to think you believe that you could've been me. Same age - same birthday. Yeah, it wasn't that hard to find that out. Same background. White, middle class, college educated. You, plus a few bad mistakes, equals me. You're clearly smarter than me, but that's clearly unprovable math. Bad accounting. And yet, you can't help wondering what might have been if only you'd taken that left hand turn in Albuquerque. As the great philosopher once said."

"Great philosopher?" Bill asked.

"Bugs Bunny," Evan said. He paused. "I'm not you, Bill."

"I didn't think - " Bill began.

"Go home," Evan said. "Guard!" he called out. He stood up to leave. "This is where I belong, Bill. This is where I need to be. Let it go. You don't owe me anything. There's nothing more you need to do." He paused. "Do me a favor. Don't come back. You remind me of… everything."

The guard took Evan away. 

It was the last time Bill saw him, but he never forgot Evan, and thought of him often, and in every encounter with a stranger in need of kindness.