.o0O00.
Sadness overcame him, rending his bones and muscles in fits of pain, sickening him to the pit of his stomach, even to the core of his soul. Such a simple thing it had seemed, living life, providing for one’s family. So many had done it before him, so many did it still, yet no matter how he tried, he seemed to make a mess of things. And now it stood before him; poor choices in education, poor choices in career, poor choices everywhere he looked. Those who depended on him, his wife and family, how could they bear to be with him after all the mistakes he made. He cried quietly inside, deep inside, so no one would see the depth of his pain. All he wanted was something simple, so very simple, yet so intangibly far away; a way to provide for his family, to pay the mounting bills, to be the father and husband he was supposed to be rather than the wreck he seemed to have become.
A year of school to get his life back on track. A year’s investment away from his family to rebuild his failing career. It seemed to have gone so well back then. He picked up things quickly, and found ways to explain them back to others so easily. They had even offered to let him teach, but the hours and the pay wasn’t nearly enough to cover the bills, so he had to search elsewhere. So elsewhere he went, further away still. By then the loneliness of being away was eating at him, but the desperation of getting his life back on track seemed to have forced his hand into taking the job. It seemed perplexing at first. Two weeks forgotten, but then the training began, and it began like a typhoon overtaking a small island. Drowning in information, he quickly forgot more than what he remembered. The others in the class seemed to be able to follow along without problems, but now he was the one left behind. How they ridiculed him for being left behind. How they put him down, to the core of his beliefs, without ever even realizing it. And because of their ridicule, he just quietly went along. How overwhelming it all seemed. Occasionally they would guide him to making the right choices, but often it seemed he made these by chance as often as he made them by actual knowledge. But it was too late to go back. Too late to give up. He had to go on. His family depended on him to do that.
Sometimes we sit and think or day dream about the jobs we really want to do in life. After being convinced by our dreams, we train to do those jobs, going to school, getting degrees and certifications, only to find that when we get the job, we have made a grievous mistake in choosing, in dreaming, in the first place. How sad it is when our dreams lead us astray, when our dreams, however great or noble they may be, take us in the wrong direction. Such were the dream he had and followed.
The poor hoolock got up from his desk and stared out the window, wondering where it was that he went wrong. He had researched the job, and studied till he thought he knew ever thing about it. It had seemed so good, so easy. He had excelled in school and done everything he could to prepare himself for this job. The tests were a snap and he passed them with exceptional scores, but here he was, feeling knowledge slip away like so many bees from a bear’s angry paw, only to have them come up from behind and sting him. Little did Gibbon know what was really happening to him.
.o0O00.
The place was abuzz, which was typical for this time of day. An elderly bee was at the control of a vast array of complicated looking instruments, a massive bank of computers stood in the background.
“Thiz doezn’t look good.” Buzzed the elder bee to an assistant beside him. “It appearz that our zensorz are not just zending uz copiez of vhat the zubject learnzz, but the zensorz alzo zeem to be actually deleting ancillary memoriez after they have been copied.”
“Iz that bad?” Quizzed the assistant.
“Yez. Zoon he won’t be able to recognize his own face. Someone will investigate what’s wrong with him, and in so doing, discover our implant. Vee vill Have to do zometing about this before anyone noticez.”
.o0O00.
The room was cool as the florescent lighting flickered on as Gibbon was shown his new office. Despite his inability to remember things, he was somehow promoted from junior network administrator to a manager in nearly record time. His secretary wore a sleek, form fitting red outfit enhanced her curves in a beautiful and suggestive manner. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Gibbon?” she asked with a wry smile on her face.
“No. Not right now. I need to go through these documents to figure out what it is I’m actually managing.”
His secretary pouted, “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be right out here.”
“Thank you.” He said, turning to look out the window of his new office. “I will.” Things were finally starting to look up for the old hoolock.
