Larry died. It wasn’t a new thing to him. He did it every day at work, tiny deaths that took a piece of him with each breath.
His bones protruded under flesh not dissimilar to the white picket fence he allowed himself to die to furnish. The dark circles above his cheeks were similar to the mounds of mulch meant to keep his bushes as green as his eyes. His neighbors admired his bushes and seemed to avoid his eyes, so it was worth it to him.
The bell rang, calling the first half of his day to an end, and Larry shuffled out of the cubicle, not making eye contact with the people he had shared the shift with. He straightened his tie and put on his jacket to cover his wrinkled and stained shirt.
He spent most of his break getting to the four-foot by four-foot approved smoking area, the rest of it by smoking and letting his mind drift. Do it for them; he found himself thinking. Not an unusual thought. What was unusual was that more and more, he had started to feel that they weren’t worth it. The bell rang, and he shuffled back to his five-foot by five-foot cubicle, careful to place his coat back in the closet. He checked his watch and put on a fresh but still wrinkled shirt.
“Ready, Larry?” Tom asked, the manager’s voice buzzing through the intercom placed on the wall.
The intercom was one of only a few decorations in Larry’s cubicle. That and a calendar that hadn’t been changed in months.
Larry nodded and sat, playing with the mouse to make the screen light up with an image of a family that most would mistake for his. The same three faces, a woman and two boys, were framed under the calendar, joined by a yellow dog.
“Excuse me. Larry was it?” A middle-aged man stepped around the corner, coffee mug in hand. He leaned against the wall of the cubicle, the way most people who had been enamored by Gary Cole’s nineteen ninety-nine performance did. Unlike Bill Lumbergh, this man was balding, with a gut that would compete for the space in Larry’s trunk.
“Yes,” Larry said, glancing back at the clock in the bottom right corner of his monitor.
“Hmph. Not the type to say, sir, eh?” The man asked. His grip tightened around the handle of his mug, and his right eye twitched.
Larry sighed. “What can I do for you, Sir?”
“It’s what you haven’t done that’s the issue.” The man took a long sip from his mug, his free hand trembling.
Larry licked his lips. Do it for them. “I’ll have the reports done before I leave today.” Larry looked down, the man’s shoes barely fitting in the slippers they gave the clients.
Larry clenched his jaw and flinched back as the coffee mug crashed into the computer monitor.
“The same shit you’ve said all week, Larry. We might as well start calling you Larry the liar. Or what about them? Do they call you Larry the loser?” The man leaned over Larry, shirt buttons doing a better job restraining his gut than the cubicle walls did his voice, and grabbed the photo frame from the desk.
“I’m sorry,” Larry said, rolling his chair back.
“Yeah, you are. I tried to give you chances, tried to make it work, but I’ve had it up to here with you and your Goddamned lackadaisical attitude,” the man said as he grabbed Larry’s chin, forcing him to stare into the man’s eyes. “I talked to HR, and they agreed a termination is in order.”
It wasn’t hard to look afraid. Just because he died before didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell or scare him. Larry tried to blink away the tears, but the way the man tightened his grip on Larry’s jaw, pressing his fingers between the muscles, prevented that from happening.
“The saddest thing, Larry, is that I won’t get to keep fucking your wife once she hears about this.” The man pushed Larry back, knocking him and the wheeled chair to the ground.
“So I’m not the only one with a poor performance evaluation?” Larry asked, a smile on his face as the man moved his hand from Larry’s chin to his throat, tightening his grip. He was allowed to antagonize the customers, but only if it went with their story, only if it helped the process.
Larry pushed, kicked, and struggled to do everything he could but injure the man.
“You’re worthless,” the man hissed, slamming Larry’s head against the carpet that did no good to cushion anything, let alone the back of Larry’s skull.
“Look at me!” the man yelled.
Larry did even as his vision pulsed black, purple, and red. Soon he was in the Between. He wasn’t sure what the Between was, but he knew it was where he went when he died.
Larry blinked, sucking in his first little breath.
“You good, Lar?” Tom stepped around the cubicle wall from the actual office, a new monitor in hand.
“I hate stranglers. They always want you to stare at them,” Larry said, rubbing his neck.
“True, good stuff today. Clean up, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tom said. He stepped around Larry and set the new monitor on the desk.
“Thanks,” Larry said. Cleanup was the easiest part of his job. He trashed the old monitor, righted the chair, and straightened the photo of the family that rested on the desk.
Larry left through the back door, past the designated smoking area, lighting up once he reached his car. It was a simple vehicle, four doors, four wheels, and all he needed to get home. The radio was a good enough distraction, but he couldn’t listen to the news, not as he used to before he started the job.
After a commute long enough to know if anyone followed him— an aspect of the job he had learned early on mattered— Larry pulled into his driveway, waiting for the garage to open. His home was modest, plain even compared to his neighbors, but the bushes were green, and the neighbors left him alone.
Larry sighed as he exited the car, brushed off stray ashes from his cigarette, and walked into his home. They waited for him inside as they always did— desire and detachment in their eyes. Only one of the cats approached him, weaving between his legs as its tail flicked side to side.
“Missed you too,” Larry said, scratching the small animal between its ears. Larry frowned, moving past the felines and looking around. How could he tell them that he wouldn’t keep working, no matter how good the pay was?
Hands wrapped around Larry’s shoulders and pulled him close, so far removed from the rough touches he dealt with daily that a serene smile broke across his face.
“You always greet them first, but I think I missed you more,” his wife whispered, blanket still draped across her shoulders from the nap she had clearly been taking on the couch.
“Where’s Kit?” Larry asked, matching his volume to hers.
“Sleeping. The appointment really wore him out today,” she said. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and let out a low sigh.
“Any word from the doctor?” Larry asked, turning to face her.
“Nothing that means anything. More tests.”
He felt her voice shake and pulled her in tight. Larry hated himself. Of course, his wife and son were worth it. They were the only thing in this whole damned world that was.
“What about you? How was work?” she asked through a sniffle.
Larry breathed her in. Let the moment solidify his resolve and wash away the earlier deaths.
“Actually, I wanted to tell you about that,” Larry said, pulling away and looking into her eyes.
“Another terrible day?” she asked.
He looked at her for a long moment, taking in the curls of her hair, the same curls Kit had. “Today wasn’t so bad. I got a raise.”
A slight grin took over her trembling lips. “I hate you.” she pulled tighter to him and laughed into his collar, the little laughs turning to stifled sobs. He had been saying that same joke now going on two years, and it never failed to at least lighten the mood.
“And I love you,” Larry said. If his little daily deaths paid for Kit’s treatments, it was worth it. At least when Larry was home. Tomorrow would be another day, another handful of deaths, but for now, Larry Lived.