A Faraway State of Mind

Thomas More (not the Sir Thomas More ["http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/tmore.htm"], but he was named after him) gets up at 6 AM every day to get ready for work. It's your typical office job, spend eight boring, lonely, mind-numbing hours a day staring at a computer screen with flickering lights zooming at an insanely fast rate. Work starts at eight, but he needs to get up early enough -- without disturbing his roommate Sam, of course -- to get dressed, shower, eat, and get out of the house in time for the 7:15 bus.

Out of the house at 7:05, Thomas trudges through the late-winter sludge that used to be snow. It is, quite frankly, a depressing grey day -- kinda the norm for February -- perfectly suiting his thoughts and his attitude.

 

Thomas: (walking across a college campus, on the phone with Maggie) Hey Mags, how's your paper coming?

Maggie: Oh! Hey Thomas! You've caught me -- haven't written it yet, as I haven't even read the book! Eek!

Thomas: Oh geez, sorry to hear that! Listen, I'm on my way to Carson Hall right now, gotta make some photocopies for my project. Mind if I drop by for a bit?

Maggie: Yeah! Sure! That'd be great!

Thomas: Alright, see you in a bit.

Maggie: See ya!

Thomas and Maggie went to college together a few years back. They'd gotten to be pretty good friends, until life sent them to different parts of the continent after graduation. The funny thing was, their running into each other the first time was kind of an accident. Thomas had been working on a term paper for a something-or-other class one day and decided to take a lunch break. After lunch, he checked his email at nearby Carson Hall, a building he'd scarcely been in the whole time he'd gone to school. Midway through checking said email, a gorgeous female sat down across from him. They'd both been in school together for a year and they'd never ran across each other before. I tell you what, she was stunning. Not only that, but a heckuva conversationalist. Next thing you know, they were pooling their coupons and setting up pizza dates together.

They'd gotten to be quite good friends. You see, in college they shared a couple classes and sang together in a church choir in town. Every Friday evening, they would get together with a few friends and have game nights, playing Settlers of Catan, Mille Bornes, cards... and of course, the occasional meal where they'd chat about school and life and whatever's on their minds. They'd gotten to be quite good friends, indeed.

 

The bus ride to downtown Centropolis takes about a half-hour. Imagine riding a bus down Western Ave from Howard to Lawrence, or riding down Nicollet from Diamond Lake Rd to Lake St. Yeah, it takes about that long. It's enough time for Thomas to sneak in a legitimate nap if he's still really tired. Of course, he might haplessly run into a character on the bus: a tattoo artist who sings in a famous a cappella group, a microbiologist who moonlights as a breakdancer, an auto mechanic who studies string theory on the weekends. But that's only if he's lucky. Most of the busfolk are humdrum bores like Thomas, or whiny minimum-wage earners always complaining about their bosses, customers, or both. And sadly, he usually isn't that lucky. Or so he says. Not that the depressing February weather helps much.

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Thomas' best friend Bosendorfer lives about an hour away, on the other side of the metro area. They grew up together in Centropolis, went to college together, and even roomed together after graduation for a couple years until Bosendorfer received a more lucrative job offer out in the rich suburb of Baxter. But the two of them had been through thick and thin of life together over the years, and Bosendorfer always seemed to be a reliable refuge. So it was no surprised when, one recent evening, Thomas gave him a call.

Bosendorfer: Hey!

Thomas: Hey Bose, how are you doing?

Bosendorfer: Hey Thomas. I'm alright. How about you?

Thomas: Eh, not too bad. Just been working and trying to save up and get by.

The conversation was pretty basic at first. They talked about whatever it is that friends talk about, ranging from work to occasional dreams and aspirations; to current events, whether in sports or politics or news in general. The local minor-league basketball team, the Centropolis Hot Shots, have been doing well this year. They were often a hot conversation topic as a result. A recent beatdown of the venerable but rival LeBaillyopolis Secrets happened to be a large point of discussion on this particular evening.

 

But then the conversation turned serious. You see, during their many years of best-friendship, Thomas and Bosendorfer developed a habit of checking to make sure each has told the other absolutely everything that's been going on in his life before hanging up for the night. Aside from the adage that "best friends tell each other everything," the two have been quite busy with their own lives lately that phone calls have been their main mode of conversation.

So of course, Bosendorfer naturally had to ask: "Anything else going on in your life that you want to talk to me about?" Now Thomas generally doesn't just spill stuff, especially if it's personal. But with Bosendorfer on the line, he felt he would have to oblige. "Well," Thomas started, "there is something that's kinda just been on my mind for awhile..." He paused, then sighed while collecting his thoughts. "There's this girl..."

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The bus stops at a terminal a block away from Thomas' work at around 7:45. The whole bus empties out all at once. Given that this is the big city in winter, mountains of snow and God-knows-what litter the curbsides, forcing all those who leave the bus to endure at least two irritating steps through the frozen, light-brown glop. Lucky Thomas; after stepping through said glop, he gets to cut through a parking garage to an elevator that takes him up to his eighth-floor company. Like the cubicle at which he works, the elevator is predictably cramped. At best it fits four people. But that's what Thomas gets for working in a fourteen-story building that couldn't have been built after 1960. From there, Thomas enjoys a day in which the brightest light comes -- unhealthily -- from his computer screen; and every half-hour some drone of a superior or a whiny coworker sonically invades his ears with words that he generally believes should never succeed each other in the English language.

Thomas: I just need to move on. It's been what, four years? Four flippin' years since I last saw her. It's too flippin' late. I shouldn't be doing this to myself.

Bosendorfer: I hear what you're saying. It sucks, it really does. But, you know, the two of you were pretty good friends and you do still talk on occasion.

Thomas: Yeah, that's true. But always just wondered -- you change this, do that a little differently, change another couple things -- I just thought that much of her, but didn't have the guts to say anything.

Bosendorfer: (sighs) Yeah... it happens... happens to a lot more people than you think.

Thomas: I... I just think... what if I'd known her longer, how much would that have changed things?

Bosendorfer: I know. A lot of things could've happened. But you also knew what would happen if you did ask her and she said no. Sometime people who are friends, just... are happy being friends.

Thomas: Yeah... that's very much true. Problem though, is for some reason I can't even do that; it's like I just don't have the ability. I want to be happy just being friends with Maggie, but I just can't.

Bosendorfer: I dunno ... I think you've done quite well being her friend, from what I saw. I know you don't feel like it, but you have. I mean, even though she's been busy all this time all the way out in Fordstate doing what she's been doing, she's always going to remember you for being the good friend that you've been.

Thomas: (pauses, taking in Bosendorfer's wisdom) I guess it's just going to have to take longer than I thought it was gonna take. he sighed. (glances at the clock) Well, I should probably let you go. It's getting late and I gotta get up early tomorrow.

Bosendorfer: Yeah, same here. Got work tomorrow, myself.

Thomas: But hey, thanks for being a great friend. It's always good to talk to you.

Bosendorfer: Yeah! You too. I mean, I'm always glad to help.

Thomas: Thanks! Definitely. Well, catch you later?

Bosendorfer: Yeah, you take care.

Thomas: Have a good night.

Bosendorfer: G'night.

 

It generally takes about ten minutes for Thomas to walk from Roland Library to Carson Hall, where Maggie happened to be at the time. Some have said it takes Bosendorfer only three minutes; but he denies it, saying it's impossible, and that it would still take five minutes while running. Others say ol' Bosey has a trick up his sleeve or something that enables him to walk certain distances in a much shorter amount of time. Either way, it's generally just crazy and it boggles the mind just to comprehend that.

It was getting late in the semester. It wasn't quite finals season -- those were at least 2-3 weeks away -- but it was at a point in the semester where projects were beginning to be due. Hence Thomas' trip to Carson Hall to make some photocopies. There's no reason he likes that particular building's copier machines; but he sensed that Maggie was a bit stressed, and getting to see her would undoubtedly be worthwhile. She was in the computer lab when Thomas walked in.

Thomas: (whispers, settles in the workstation next to Maggie) Hey.

Maggie: Hey.

Thomas: How's your book coming?

Maggie: I just started. I'm about five pages in.

Thomas: What book d'ya have to read?

Maggie: (holds up book) It's for my Ethics of War class.

Thomas: (reading the book's title) "Faith and Force." Oh, hey, cool, religion!

Maggie: (scoffs) Ha, not really... (Thomas gives her a puzzled look) I mean, not that religion isn't cool, it's more this book is giving me fits.

Thomas: Oh... sorry to hear that. Work gettin' you down?

Maggie: A bit, yeah... how's your project coming?

Thomas: (shrugs) It's coming. I've got my main points all lined up, but I had to grab a couple books -- I'm using some of their data for a few graphs that I'm going to throw in my presentation.

Maggie: (eyes widen) Wow... That sounds like a lot of work.

Thomas: I guess. I'll just be glad to get it done... when's your paper due?

Maggie: Monday morning.

Thomas: Dang, you're gonna have a fun weekend.

Maggie: No kidding.

Thomas: Hey, are you gonna be alright though?

Maggie: (sighs) I suppose. I mean, it's definitely overwhelming...

Thomas: (nods, glances at the clock on the wall) Hey, I should probably get going.

Maggie: Yeah... hey, you wanna get dinner sometime soon?

Thomas: Yeah, that would be great!

Maggie: How does tomorrow night sound?

Thomas: Ugh, no can do. I have to give my presentation the next morning, so I'll be spending all of tomorrow working on it. What about sometime this weekend?

Maggie: Aw, geez. I'll probably be working on this paper all weekend.

Thomas: (sighs) We'll figure it out.

Maggie: Why don't I call you when I need another break?

Thomas: Yeah, that'll work. (Maggie smiles) I should probably let you get back to your reading.

Maggie: OK.

Thomas: You take care, alright?

Maggie: You too.

 

The buses start lining up around 3:45 at the terminal one block away from Thomas' workplace. Usually rush isn't until an hour later, but the more successful people who work for more successful and prestigious businesses and corporations are the ones who get off at 5. Not Thomas. Because he's still just starting out, he's also lucky enough to be able to drag himself back outside in the cold, grey February weather and begin his evening commute an hour earlier.

On the bus, Thomas keeps reflecting. On the day back in college when he ran into Maggie before making photocopies for a project that seems utterly meaningless now, he had thoughts running through his head. Thoughts about his feelings for Maggie. Irritation at the fact that he couldn't act on them. Regret that he didn't say goodbye at graduation. Couldn't say goodbye. Couldn't fathom the thought that, because of his thoughts and failing to make them known, the next time he'd see her could possibly be his last.

The bus crosses 5th St, 10th St, and 15th St. It crosses 20th, 30th Parkway, and 40th. Thomas finally signals his stop at 44th St, and after exiting he walks two blocks east to 2nd Ave, to the apartment he shares with Sam. Sam is out until 6 working at Starbuck's ten blocks away. Thomas has some time to kill, perhaps listening to music while playing Solitaire will do the trick.

Right before 6:00, his cell phone rings. It's Bosendorfer. Thomas picks up. Bosendorfer wants to know if Thomas would like to go to the Ribbon Star Club tonight. Yes he does. Jazz musician Steinway Coleman and his combo band are playing. Just then, Sam gets home from work. Would Sam like to go along as well? Yes he would. The three meet at the Ribbon Star Club at 6:45. They exchange greetings, grab a table, and order food and drinks. They start catching up on life: Sam is being considered for a promotion at the Starbuck's at which he works; Bosendorfer's submission for his workplace's new magazine design was accepted, and will take effect beginning with the next issue, scheduled to be a couple weeks away; Thomas, as far as we know, is doing well at his job, but has an eye at continuing education at the graduate school level. In other news, the Centropolis Hot Shots continue their winning streak, having demolished the Delano City Swords on the road the previous evening. The playoffs start in a couple months; this could be the year! Centropolis' minor league baseball team, the Rattlesnakes, will be starting their season soon, and they seem to have some talent on their squad as well.

But then, after the food has been mostly eaten, and a beer or two consumed, Thomas turns the conversation.

Thomas: You know, you guys, I always love hanging out with you and talking with you, but it seems that all we ever talk about these days are our jobs.

Sam: Yeah, that's true, I guess.

Bosendorfer: What's on your mind, Thomas?

Thomas: I've just been thinking... is this it? Is this what life's supposed to be about... about moving up the career ladder and making money? Is personal success all that matters anymore?

Bosendorfer: This is about Maggie, isn't it?

Thomas: (sighs) Maybe.

Sam: Who is this?

Bosendorfer: Some girl we, uh... we knew in college. Thomas really liked her ... still does, I think.

Sam: Really?

Thomas: Maybe. I'm not sure anymore.

Bosendorfer: What do you mean?

Thomas: It's just... it's been so long now. She's all the way down in Fordstate doing her thing, and I'm here doing my thing. If thinking about Maggie and ... (agonizing over this) ... being with her... or anyone else, for that matter... if it isn't the point of my life, then I ... I need to know what IS. I'm just tired of dealing with this.

Sam: Why don't you just call her or email her and tell her how you feel?

Thomas: Dude... it would be awkward. I haven't seen her in a long time.

Sam: Well, then... well, we're in a bar. Look around you, there's got to be at least several attractive and available ladies around you. Check out that cute one at the table over there.

Thomas: (sighs) I don't know. Maybe this isn't even worth it. But I don't want to be some drone caught up in the allure of personal success either. I just want my life to be worth living.

Bosendorfer: Well, what makes you happy? What do you want to do with your life?

Thomas: For starters, live...

Bosendorfer: You know what you could do, save up some money and then take a trip somewhere. If you wanted, you could go visit Maggie in Fordstate.

Sam: At the very least, you'll be doing something want to do, instead of hoping something happens.

Thomas: Aw, darn it, you guys are so right! The three of us should go on a road trip sometime, maybe this summer.

Bosendorfer: Well, it's a possibility; I'd definitely be up for it ... But seriously, I actually do think it would be a good idea to go visit Maggie in Fordstate. I'm sure she misses you.

Thomas: (chuckles) Haha, alright, get off my case already!

The emcee interrupts the conversations of Thomas, Bosendorfer, Sam, and everyone else in the room to announce the band for the night. Soon afterward, Steinway Coleman and his gang send all the guests in the room to a faraway state of mind, intoxicated and lost from their troubles.