Джордан Шор - The Search

Mr. Townsend suddenly began to feel guilty about killing the cat. Not the cat he’d shot to pieces last year, but the cat he’d tortured to death as a child. He didn’t hate the cat, but his mother loved it. Therefore, he’d stopped the cycle and put the cat in the washing machine. His mother thought she’d left the door open, and blamed herself for the death of the cat. But it only shut her up for a week or so, then she got a new cat, and forgot about the old one. And as always, his mother replaced the empty bottle of wine with a full one.

Mr. Townsend ordered a beer and noticed the loser standing by the bar.

“Drowning our sorrows, are we?” he asked the loser. “Forty-eight points. That had to hurt.”

The loser didn’t respond to his witty remark.

“Cheer up, bro. It’s just preseason, and it can’t get much worse, am I right?” he added, and then smirked.

The loser finally acknowledged his existence

“What did you do on Sunday?” the loser asked.

The question confused Mr. Townsend, and he didn’t know how to respond.

“Didn’t you watch the same game as the rest of us?” the loser added.

The truth was he hadn’t even watched the game on Sunday, but he knew his team had won by a landslide. He assumed the loser referred to something that’d happened during the game. Probably an unjust call by the referee, or possibly a stroke of bad luck. Typical loser, always blaming it on something else , he thought.

“You going to blame the ref now?” Mr. Townsend asked.

“No, of course not. The Hawks won the game because they were the better team. Simple as that. But what did you do?”

Again, he wasn’t sure how to respond, because he didn’t understand the question.

“Didn’t you just watch the game like the rest of us? Yet you seem so proud of your own performance,” the loser added.

“You’re telling me that you don’t feel proud when your team wins?”

“I feel joy when the Chargers win. When I feel proud in life, it’s only due to my own achievements. I don’t leech onto other people’s accomplishments.”

Both men stared aggressively at one another. Then, the loser looked him up and down a few times.

“I don’t have to,” the loser added.

“Whatever.”

Mr. Townsend grabbed his beer and began walking away from the bar, but then he came up with another witty remark.

“I think you’re just used to losing,” he said with a smirk.

The loser responded by smiling nonchalantly at him.

Some people can’t stand to lose. Like arguing would make a difference. Your team lost, now get over it. Sorry, but my team kicked the crap out of your team.

He kept reminding himself that the man was just a sore and pathetic loser. But the more he argued, the smaller he felt, and when he reached the opposite side of the room, he felt just as small and inadequate as he had when he was a child. His posture dropped even more when he heard the sound from the group of women laughing by the bar.

He noticed an elderly woman enjoying a glass of wine by herself, and how she kept glancing at him. She was far below his standards, and he would never consider going anywhere near her body. But her admiration, still gave him the validation he so sorely needed. But then suddenly, she devoted her attention elsewhere. He turned his head to his left. Seeing the two pilots passing by the bar reminded him the time had come to go to the gate.

His timing was perfect. People had begun to form a line by the counter. Mr. Townsend picked a lonely seat in the corner of the room to give him some privacy. As he waited for his laptop to start up, he noticed the young woman standing in line. He thought she looked familiar. Something about her. He was convinced he’d seen her before.

Could it be? Is that her?

A quick search on the internet confirmed his suspicion. She’d obviously lost a lot of weight, but it was definitely her. He downloaded her picture, but he didn’t label it with her name. Instead, he came up with a name of his own, and it was a clever one.

It rhymes, he thought, as he read the name on the screen.

Staring at the picture of her naked body and simultaneously looking at her in real life gave him a tremendous rush. He’d never paid for sex before, but now he felt as he didn’t have a choice. He had to have her, and at any cost. He always had plenty of cash, and he always made sure to withdraw the cash from stores. He never used a bank ATM. He had about six hundred dollars in cash, and he’d assumed it would be enough.

Mr. Townsend decided to add to his excitement by viewing his—or more accurately, Matt Damon’s—impressive portfolio. The pictures were taken by a camera hidden in a smoke detector, so the quality wasn’t perfect, but he had no trouble recognizing the women. None of the women ever noticed the extra smoke detector in the hotel room. Looking at the pictures made him feel superior.

Mr. Townsend straightened his back.

He felt the heat slowly descending and pressing down on his inner thigh. He knew he had to stand up soon, so he closed the portfolio and tried his best to focus on something else. The thought of the old woman in the bar did the trick. Then, he thought of the pilots and the reaction they got as they walked by the bar.

Do pilots carry business cards?

Renting a pilot’s uniform online would be easy. But all he really needed to impersonate a pilot was a black blazer with some stripes on the sleeves, and some matching stripes to attach to the shoulders of a white shirt. All of those products were easy to purchase online. After doing a little bit of research, he quickly learned it wasn’t against the law to impersonate a pilot as long as one wasn’t attempting to fly an airplane.

Who would be dumb enough to impersonate a pilot in order to fly a plane?

As he entered the aircraft, he was greeted by a once beautiful female flight attendant. The mileage had caught up with her, and she’d lost her quality a long time before. Especially when compared with the younger model standing next to her. He made sure to widen his eyes, and gaze into the eyes of the younger version, hoping she’d reward him with a confidence boost. But just as he passed her, she suddenly giggled, and trained her eyes to the floor. At that, he felt small and insecure about himself.

Why are you laughing at me?

Is it the way I walk? Is it my size? What’s so funny?

By the time he reached his seat, his chest had caved in, and he felt even smaller than before. And when seated, he noticed she glanced at him, and once again she smiled and diverted her eyes to the floor.

If I smashed your teeth, then I bet you wouldn’t be laughing any more.

Would you?

Mr. Townsend straightened his back.

Friday evening

The sound of a microwave. A triangle-shaped sponge with a cheddar aroma. Who wants to eat that? I can see my reflection now. Oh no, I forgot to put on makeup this morning. Where is he? The passenger who ordered the “grilled” cheese sandwich is gone. All the passengers are gone. The air cabin is empty. Where did everybody go? I see the sky and clouds through the windows. The train. Hurry. Run. The train is leaving the platform. I’m in the cockpit now. Where did the pilots go? I see stars now. Use the radio. Mayday. Mayday. This is Susan Olsen speaking. I’m trapped in space. I hear my own voice. The sound of static noise. This is Stephen King speaking. It’s not supposed to make sense . I hear a male voice on the radio. The train. Run, Susan. The train is leaving. Run. Now he’s back. The man who ordered the sandwich is staring at me. Well, it’s cold now. And it’s been on the floor. Do you still want it?