Harley Ralph
Alec James
Harley Ralph always left work late. He had a deal worked out with his boss, in which he would come in at ten in the morning instead of nine, and leave at six in the evening instead of five. He told his boss that this is because he takes sleep aid medicine and he was concerned that his medically-induced weariness might result in occasional tardiness. The real reason is because he likes taking his time in the morning, and shifting the schedule by an hour allows him to miss both traffic climaxes in the day. He does not like driving in the heavy traffic rush- it irritates him easily. Since his work is typically immaculate, his boss usually doesn’t object to small requests like that, even though Harley believes him to be an absolute fool. On his first day twenty-two years, three months and a week ago, the moron insisted on calling him “Har-Har,” asking if that was okay. What self-disrespecting brainless fool would allow himself to accept such a ridiculous ridicule? But Harley said that it was fine with a plaster smile. Every time he comes in, he says “What’s happening, Har-Har?” and it fills Harley with so much frustration he just wants to yell and smash things into his skull, play around in the soup of his insides. But every day for twenty-two years, three months, and a week, he hasn’t.
Each day after he leaves work at six, Harley drives relatively undisturbed to a sandwich shop on Eve street, just a few blocks from his house where his wife tends to this or that on 267 Oak Street. There are thirty-two tables separated into three different sections. He always takes the table with the cushioned chair in the third section, furthest from the door in the back corner. The third section is comprised of smaller tables, so he can avoid the larger parties that just holler and make noise, distracting Harley. This table is typically open because when he arrives, usually between 6:13 and 6:17 in the evening, the masses of the idiots who go there after they get off work at five and who can’t figure out that everyone goes there when they get off work at five have mostly dissipated by then. However, if Harley’s table isn’t available, he sits at the table four down in the same row, in the south-facing chair so he is pointed at his table. As soon as it becomes available, he moves. He stays there usually until 7:13 to 7:17 in the evening, depending on when he first arrived. He does this every day of the week, except Fridays.
When he leaves Sal’s Sandwiches today, he will go home and meet his wife. She will greet him with exuberance, hugs, and kisses. She will tell him that she missed him all day, and she will tell him about how glad she is that he is home. She will ask Harley about his day, and Harley will insert a generic comment about the demand of his work, and how it is not fair of his boss to ask him to stay until seven at night every day. His wife will hug him and say “awe, I know honey. I’m sorry,” in the same way one’s dreadfully overwhelming aunt does to young pouting toddlers at family Christmases. Harley cringed.
In the morning, this woman will leave for work an hour and ten minutes before Harley does. The commute to her office nears twenty-five minutes while Harley’s averages about fifteen, and considering the fact that his wife works the conventional shift starting at 9:00 in the morning, that also gives Harley an hour and ten minutes in solitude. She will greet him in the morning in the same way she greets him in the evening, as if the eight hours they just spent sleeping not a foot away from each other was just as difficult to endure due to unconsciousness. She will ask how he slept, and he will say he slept fine having her next to him. Harley will then insert a generic statement about the dread he feels having to go into work. His wife will hug him and encourage him, telling him how she cannot even imagine how difficult ten-hour shifts can be all week. When she leaves, Harley will tend to his business, sometimes reading, sometimes crosswords, for an hour and ten minutes.
For the last twenty-two years, three months, and a week, he has gotten off work at seven and rushed home through the thirteen-to-seventeen-minute commute from his office on Washington Way to his home on 267 Oak Street to be greeted by his wife. He has kept his sandwich shop hour secret every single day for that stretch, every single day except one. Tomorrow will be the fifth anniversary of that day.
Four years, eleven months, three weeks, and six days ago, he was second in line at Sal’s Sandwiches waiting to order his six-inch herbed turkey sandwich with no onions and extra tomatoes with a cup of basil tomato soup on the side instead of the kettle cooked potato chips and a foam cup for decaffeinated coffee, which he refills twice. About thirteen years ago, he switched from the kettle cooked potato chips to the basil tomato soup because a sharp shard of potato chip somehow got caught in his gum, between one of his right canine and incisor teeth where it pestered him for nearly twenty-four hours before he finally managed to knock it loose with his tongue. He orders the foam disposable cup because he does not entirely trust the potentially subpar dishwashing methods of the staff’s machinery there. He was next in line to order this when he became aware of an awkward presence next to him, too close for him to feel comfortable with it persisting. Perhaps it was a space-occupying person attempting to analyze the menu, or maybe someone was scanning the tables for someone they were going to meet, too oblivious to acknowledge that he or she was certainly standing far too close to Harley. He turned slowly to make sense of the annoyance, and was met by his wife staring back into his eyes.
What? She’s here at Sal’s Sandwiches! This was undeniably a disaster. His secret was known. Never again would he be able to have the hour to himself, for now his wife would see through his scheme and realize that he actually leaves work at six! Perhaps he could at least cover his past tracks by saying that from this point on, he will be allowed to leave at six. But even if that approach worked, it would be met with exuberance from his wife. “That’s amazing,” she would say, “an extra hour we can have to ourselves!” This was horrible. Absolutely horrible.
Harley fixed his face immediately at the sight- if her presence was not welcomed with a warm smile, she would inquire far too thoroughly about her various curiosities concerning Harley’s internal thoughts. Sometimes even a smile was not enough. Her ability to sense any inauthenticity in the subtle features of one’s face was impeccable. The act of constructing genuinely happy and welcoming features using one’s brows, cheeks, and mouth became an instinctual practice. The entire face and body had to be theatricalized toward that aim. One had to completely abandon all internalized repulsions and actually believe that they did not exist, otherwise her insecurities would permit her to see through the dramatization. Even in times of surprise such as that instance, this reaction had to be practiced into instinct so it was allowed to occur in its final form within the split-second timeframe of a typical human being’s reaction, as to convince this woman that there were no conscious or subconscious repressions taking place behind the sheer physical engineering of facial musculature.
“Hello, Harley!” This woman was greeting him excitedly, speaking at a bothersome volume. Any layperson would not notice anything peculiar about this, however the absence of the standard embrace and kiss sequence told Harley that behind her burlesque falsifications of excitability, she was already suspicious of the fact that he was clearly at Sal’s Sandwiches, clearly at a time where he had been at work every day for over seventeen years prior. She was a lady of detail- her vast reservoirs of attention looked past not the slightest peculiarity, and as such there was exceptional danger in Harley’s position there, since the entire situation was grossly out of the ordinary. During times like these, keeping calm and preventing rushing thoughts was imperative.
By the time Harley greeted her back only a half-second later, initiating the hug and kiss sequence, limbs and facial expressions in place exactly where they needed to be, he already had his story figured out. This woman would alert him of the earliness of the time, and give him a curious look which she could not mask as is the case with genuine insecurity. He would then say that he was able to leave work early today due to pressing and atypical circumstances in his boss’ life. His wife called him, apparently, and his child has endured a terrible accident resulting in a broken arm! He had to leave the office early to meet his family at the hospital and due to his impending absence, relieved the rest of the workforce when he left, apologizing for the circumstances of course. He made the decision that since he was off so early, he thought he would stop by this curious sandwich shop and bring them both home a sandwich as so the chore of cooking dinner could be averted. He would say that he was glad she happened to wander in right at this moment, for she could now order exactly what she wanted, eliminating Harley’s guesswork and they could get out of the house instead of being cooped up in there like chickens. In the face of this kind act calling for genuine concern and thoughtfulness, her mind would replace her suspicion with the warmth and welcoming she desired. When he presented this story, her eyes relaxed their analyzing squint and gazed up at Harley with the glint of a grateful child, her head tilted to the side in acceptance with her mouth opening a bit as if to say how sweet he was for the thought. It worked- Harley’s improvisation was sufficient and better yet, he had secured his hour after work through her belief of it being a rarity.
Nonetheless, that day nearly five years ago was the day Harley realized that he must leave her.
Yes, it had gone too far that day. On Fridays, Harley’s wife attends an evening book club with other like-minded people to discuss their thoughts of what, in Harley’s mind, were literature’s newest dull dramas. They meet at a coffee house on the South side of town promptly at six, and leave promptly at eight-thirty in the evening. Initially, she had wanted Harley to join her, however both knew he would have to regretfully refrain from this empty interest of hers, since he works until seven. Since that day nearly five years ago, Harley has been frequenting various restaurants, motels, and pharmacies between the hours of 7:03 and 8:19 in the evening, the starting time depending fully on the placement of the specific establishment of that week, and how long it would conceivably take for Harley to traverse the roads from the office.
Every Friday since that day, perhaps one would find him at Antonio’s Italian Eatery at 7:09pm, attempting to complete two entrees by himself. Perhaps the next Friday, he could be seen swiftly leaving the Discount Motel at 7:24pm. Six minutes prior, he could be at the HealthMart down the road, purchasing contraception and tossing it in the trash on the way out. He was always back at 267 Oak street by 8:33pm, in time to greet his returning wife at the door with rehearsed love. He made sure to purchase all of this suspicious solitude using an extraneous checking account he opened strictly for this purpose, all clues of its existence being left in a manila folder in his top desk drawer at the office, which locks. It was taken out every Friday for use, and returned every Friday before 8:19pm. It sat in that drawer overnight, every night since his wife found him at Sal’s Sandwiches. Every night except tonight. Tonight the folder was in his suitcase. Harley glanced at his watch, which read 7:09pm. He started to chew a mint to mask the smell of coffee.
When he leaves Sal’s Sandwiches today, he will go home and meet his wife. She will greet him with exuberance, hugs, and kisses. She will tell him that she missed him all day, and she will tell him about how glad she is that he is home. She will ask Harley about his day, and Harley will insert a generic comment about the demand of his work, and how it is not fair of his boss to ask him to stay until seven at night every day. His wife will hug him and say “awe, I know honey. I’m sorry,” in the same way one’s dreadfully overwhelming aunt does to young pouting toddlers at family Christmases. Harley cringed.
In the morning, this woman will leave for work an hour and ten minutes before Harley does. The commute to her office nears twenty-five minutes while Harley’s averages at about fifteen, and considering the fact that his wife works the conventional shift starting at 9:00 in the morning, that also gives Harley an hour and ten minutes in solitude. She will greet him in the morning in the same way she greets him in the evening, as if the eight hours they just spent sleeping not a foot away from each other was just as difficult to endure due to unconsciousness. She will ask how he slept, and he will say he slept fine having her next to him. Harley will then insert a generic statement about the dread he feels having to go into work. His wife will hug him and encourage him, telling him how she cannot even imagine how difficult ten-hour shifts can be all week. When she leaves, Harley will tend to his business, sometimes reading, sometimes crosswords, for an hour and ten minutes.
However tomorrow morning, his business will be balancing his checkbook. When this woman leaves, Harley will neatly stack five years’ worth of bank statements, receipts, and transaction charts under the insufficient cover of a single book in the lower drawer of the living room desk and leave the door slightly cracked. Then as a garnish, Harley will leave a blue ballpoint pen on the surface of the desk. What a mistake! For a woman who picks up on every twitch of the eye, certainly this peculiarity would be plenty to stir her attention. She would arrive home at about 5:25 in the evening, notice the pen and the drawer askew, and investigate. She will find all of the papers and drag them out. When Harley arrives at 267 Oak Street, lain expanded across the entire surface of the desk will be undeniable proof of Harley’s infidelity. Dinners for two, swift visits to motels, family planning. Harley smiled.
Harley will finish all of his preparations for work around 9:40 in the morning. He will take one last look at his innocent crime, turn, pick up his suitcase, and drive to work relatively undisturbed.