Chapter 2

  Operation Chiquita Banana

  I can’t believe dying isn’t considered a valid reason to take a half day. Next time, I’ll just die during my lunch break.

  After nearly getting flattened by his own version of Christine, Scott somehow made it to work, walking around like a microwaved chili dog. He wanders into the breakroom hunting for a four o’clock pick-me-up.

  He peels a banana like he’s unwrapping his fate.

  Slowly, deliberately.

  Maybe life is finally turning around for me.

  He takes a bite of the banana and chews slowly.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the universe isn’t out to get me.

  He mindlessly takes another bite.

  Or maybe, God is finally noticing me.

  He swallows.

  Uh oh.

  He drops his remaining banana on the floor as his hands fly to his throat. He’d nearly died this morning thanks to a rogue AI, and now fruit was joining in.

  He throws himself at a chair – the piece lodged in his throat doesn’t budge.

  Putting his hands to sternum, he begins pumping with all his might, but still no movement.

  He starts to panic and quickly walks out, beelining to Aaron's office.

  Aaron doesn’t glance up from his computer. Scott flails, clutching his throat, eyes bulging. Aaron is still as a statue.

  What the hell is wrong with him!? Is he really going to sit there and watch me die!?

  The edges of his vision start going dark, and he hears his heart pumping in his ears.

  And just as he feels the last bit of oxygen leaving his brain, the door swings open, slamming into his back, forcing the banana to fly out of his throat onto Aaron's lap.

  Aaron blinks hard, like a man waking from a dream.

  “Dude, what the fuck??” Aaron exclaims as he gets up and stares down at the goop on his lap. He looks up at Scott, who’s now gasping for his newly found air.

  “Oh, thank God!” Scott cries as he clumsily walks up to a chair in front of Aaron's desk.

  The mailman walks in with a cart full of boxes and envelopes. Whistling a tune. He drops a small box on Aaron's desk and leaves without a word.

  “Aaron,” Scott wheezes through raspy breaths, “I think the fruit’s trying to finish what the car started.” He says as he looks up at his friend.

  Aaron stares at Scott, confusion and concern written all over his face. “First of all, why did you just come and spit up baby food at me? Second of all, are you okay? You look like an Oompa Loompa!” Aaron says as he looks at the chewed-up banana still smeared on his lap.

  “Violet, you uncultured swine,” Scott quickly responds.

  “What?” Aaron looks more confused.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Violet Beauregarde. Willy Wonka. The one who turns blue, not an Oompa Loompa, they’re orange.” He says, his voice still raspy, his breath coming back to him.

  “Well, whatever you look like, it’s shit. What is going on with you?” Aaron asks as he grabs a tissue from his desk, wiping the goop off his lap.

  “I was trying to get your attention, waving my arms like a madman, but you were too busy to see your friend dying from banana asphyxiation!” Scott replies accusingly.

  “I was…” Aaron stops and looks down at his computer. Scott notices a shift in Aaron's face. He quickly gets up and circles the desk to see what Aaron was working on. On the screen is a video of a crudely drawn animated badger doing squats to a techno beat. The title says: “BADGER BOOTY BLAST VOL. 3.”

  Scott stares.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “I swear on my mother's life. I don’t even remember opening that window, or you even walking in here!” Aaron's cheeks flush.

  “Next time someone barges into your office choking, maybe help, instead of watching your furry fetish.” Scott gestures at the screen.

  Aaron pauses. “I don’t even remember you walking in…” he mutters.

  “It’s fine, I’m here, I’m fine, let’s just move on,” Scott says. He looks at the package dropped off on the desk, “The mailman left in a hurry, but I’m sure glad he came in when he did. At least someone decided to help save me from an embarrassing death.”

  Aaron follows Scott's gaze to the package. “I don’t remember ordering anything,” he says, picking up the box as he starts to open it.

  He wrestles with the paper inside for a minute: “It’s 90% paper. Did I order paper?”

  “Maybe the package is the friends we made along the way,” teases Scott, massaging his throat.

  As Aaron finally removes the last of the paper, his brow furrows, and he turns the box around to read the label.

  “Oh, no wonder,” he says as he turns the box to show Scott. “It’s for you. The new mailman must have gotten our offices mixed up.” He hands it to Scott.

  Scott looks at the label:

  To: Scott Murphy

  From: A Secret Admirer

  “Well, that’s weird.” He says as he looks at the contents of the box. Inside, there’s a star map and a note. He picks up the note and reads it aloud:

  “Use this if another light ever goes out.”

  Aaron’s curiosity gets the best of him as he leans over for a look. “I didn’t know you were into Astrology.”

  “How many times do I have to correct you today? It’s Astronomy.”

  Aaron brushes it away. “Tomato, Tomato.”

  Scott stares at the star map, noticing the burnt edges. It’s old and discolored, and there are constellations he doesn’t recognize. He could feel his stomach turning. There was something about the shape of the stars just beyond his memory—a ghost of something he’d forgotten, or something he kept buried.

  Aaron sighs, snapping Scott out of his thoughts. “I should get back to work. I have a meeting with the shareholders next week to pitch our new dessert, Mac and Cheese’d Cake.” He shivers.

  “Yeah, good luck with that one. At some point, you’re gonna have to tell them these are terrible ideas.”

  “Yeah well, until they pay me enough to care, I’ll sell whatever crap they cook up.”

  Aaron plops back into his chair. He quickly closes the tab on his screen.

  “Stupid badger…” he mutters under his breath.

  “Well, have fun, and thanks again for almost letting me die. Try not to make it a habit.” Scott mutters, still studying the map as he walks out.

  “You’re welcome! And you left your trash!” Aaron yells after him.

  “I don’t remember Scott walking in, or opening that tab…The last thing I remember was looking at my spreadsheets...”

  His head feels like he’s fighting off a dose of Nyquil. Still foggy, still not his own.

  He picks up the box, lost in thought, there’s a shift inside of it, a weight that wasn’t there before.

  “That’s weird.” He flips it upside down, black sand pours out onto his desk.

  He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh.

  Scott enters his office and places the map on his desk. He takes a seat and stares at it. One step from dying. One step from…something else. He wasn’t sure which should scare him more.

  Meanwhile, the mailman exits the main office area and enters the hallways, straightening his spine – adding almost another foot to his height. He turns the corner and slips through the stairwell door.

  As he descends, he begins removing his hat and jacket, discarding them along the way. He moves quickly and effortlessly – almost like he’s floating down the steps. He fixes his dark hair, then brushes a hand over his face, and where there was none, thick stubble blooms in an instant, like weeds pushing through the cracks of cement.

  Outside in the fading afternoon sun, he takes a deep breath. He turns the corner and slips into the long, stretching shadows — gone.