Termination
Finalist in Writer's Digest "Your Story" Competition
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The walls were the wrong color. Mint green, instead of the boring eggshell color Barriman and Co. had used for years. It wasn’t alarming in itself that my wife’s employers had painted the walls in the few weeks since the holiday party. But this was yet another change in my world I now had to add my list. The tree that had disappeared on the corner of Plymouth and 43rd. The little restaurant on Main Street I’d just been to weeks ago, now a music shop. The snow melting on the streets, even though it was the middle of January.
The fact that I didn’t remember waking up that morning.
Like splinters jabbing at my brain, these differences left me unsettled. As I stepped onto the elevator at Barriman and Co., I picked nervously at the corner of the picnic basket in my arms. It was my wife’s birthday, and I’d brought her croissant sandwiches to remind her of our first date. Hopefully the sight of Amanda would settle my dancing stomach.
Stepping off of the elevator, I could see Margaret, the receptionist, typing something at her desk. Her glasses, as usual, had slipped halfway down her nose. “Hey, Margaret,” I said.
Her face went white when she saw me. Her mouth fell open, and she began mouthing wordlessly.
“You okay?” I asked, taking a few steps toward the desk.
“You’re… I don’t understand,” she said, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses back up onto her nose. “Andrew?”
“Yeah,” I said, entirely alarmed. “I brought something in for Amanda’s birthday.” When Margaret didn’t respond, I kept rambling. “She’s thirty today, the big 3-0. I brought a picnic lunch, like our first date. Croissants. If we have any extras, I’ll sneak you one.”
She still remained silent, just gaping at me.
“I’ll just head in to see her, then,” I said, edging towards the office door.
Margaret finally spoke, her voice strained. “Andrew, Amanda hasn’t worked here for weeks.”
I laughed, though my stomach was still churning with nerves. “What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t work here anymore. She hasn’t since the beginning of September.” She studied my face, now, watching me battle with her nonsense words.
“September?” I spluttered. “But the holiday party was just a few—”
She cut me off. “What happened to you? Amanda was devastated when you left.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “I just talked to Amanda last night.”
“You disappeared ten months ago, Andrew. No trace. Police couldn’t find a trace.”
“This is… I don’t understand why you’re playing with me like this,” I said, pulling my cell phone out, still holding that stupid picnic basket. “I’m calling Amanda.”
My phone was disconnected.
“Something’s wrong with my phone,” I muttered.
“You haven’t paid the bill in ten months,” Margaret explained from behind me.
“I’m going home,” I said, stumbling to the elevator door and pressing the down button several times. “I need to find Amanda.”
“She’s gone, she moved to Des Moines,” I heard Margaret call out, but the doors were opening and I escaped into the elevator.
I leaned back against the cool metal wall. I could feel my chest heaving, as though I’d sprinted up a flight of stairs.
Ten months. Last night, I’d gone to bed next to my wife, and this morning… I couldn’t remember waking up. I couldn’t remember kissing Amanda goodbye before she left for work, calling in sick at the lab, packing the picnic lunch. Thinking back, the first thing I could remember was walking down the street towards her office.
Suddenly my cell rang.
“Hello, Andrew.”
The voice was female, and it was so cold I felt a chill sliver up my spine.
“Who is this?” I asked. “How are you calling this number?”
I swear I heard her smile.
“You woke up too early,” she responded, ignoring my questions. “Far too early. You were scheduled for ten years, but the cryo tech typed in months instead, and here we are.”
“The cryo tech?”
“Unfortunately, human bodies do not handle refreezing well.”
“Refreezing?” I asked, unable to do anything but dumbly parrot her words.
“Please await termination,” the voice said.
I dropped my cell phone.
Termination.