Regret

Regret
"For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"
-John Greenleaf Whittier, "Maud Muller"

         Of all things that man has feared, regret is one of the most curious. When someone fears regret, he may, in the end, deny ever feeling it. However if he truly lived his lives without regret, there would be nothing to fear in the first place. This leads most, who drive their lives away from regret, to fly straight into a complicated web of denial. Each assertion that could reveal regret must be met with actions to prove otherwise… however even these actions can threaten to reveal the hated emotion. How far will someone push themselves into this circle, and to what length can they convince themselves?

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         Jack woke up groggy, severely hung over and severely doubting the wisdom of finishing his third double martini, and just plain hating the shot of Bailey’s he had chased it down with. “At least I got out.” A wry smile broke through the pounding headache. It was all he could do to drag himself from room to room, barely managing his routine. Teeth, shower, hair and deodorant. Iron tomorrow’s suit, hang it up, put on today’s suit. Toast, cream cheese and jelly: today grape. Pick out a tie, straighten knot, straighten cuffs. Grab car keys, set alarm, lock door. Turn on car, turn on NPR, drive to work.

         Jack unlocked the door to his office. He neatly folded his paper, set it at the corner of his desk and fell into his chair, sighing heavily as he sat. He would have rather been in the lab of course, but there was paperwork to be done. Besides, his headache reminded him, his office was silent, the lab; shared with three other researchers and a dozen techs, was not. Three hours and six aspirin later, it was lunch time. Jack grabbed the newspaper, and his head. The headache had mostly subsided, except for a three square inch patch behind his left ear.

         “A few of us are going down to Tony’s: wanna come? I hear they have good sandwiches.” It was Julie, the cute, short-haired marketing receptionist (as opposed to the bitchy, long-haired receptionist in the research department).

         “I think I’ll sit this one out,” Jack responded. “They’ll get suspicious if they see us together outside of work.”

         Julie giggled. “They’ll never suspect a thing, dearest.”

         She blew him a kiss, and quickly departed. This was all a joke of course; Jack hadn’t been out on a date in seven months, and had never even considered asking Julie. Not that he would’ve minded. It was nice to see her smile on dreary days when the commute hurt the most, and she certainly had a pretty face, fun personality and charming sense of humor, but she wasn’t really his type. It hadn’t really crossed his mind to even pursue a relationship with her. “What a load of bullshit,” he muttered to himself. The truth was, it had crossed his mind many times. Not to the point of obsession, barely even a crush. But the chances of her saying yes were miniscule enough to let him forget it. It was somewhat telling, after all, that how comfortable flirting with him as a joke.

         Work passed as it normally did. Memos got written, funding requests got sent, funding rejections got read. Jack thought about this on the way home. Sure, there were always new projects, and some were rather interesting. They were never his projects though. While he was free to determine his own methods (provided it fell into the scope of his funding) there was another team that determined what needed to be researched. For a patent that might earn the company thirty million, he’d probably see a four figure bonus. He did liked the job; he was using his mind and achieving goals. They may not be his goals, but they were goals nevertheless. As Jack opened the garage that night, he breathed a sigh of satisfaction. “This is mine… well, sort of.” The mortgage still needed paying every month, and the car he was driving needed its monthly dues. However, it remained his house, his bare walls, his painfully organized garage, his well-washed floors and clean rooms. All of this was his, to enjoy, care for, and live in.

         Jack grabbed a glass of water and began searching the fridge for something to eat as he got dinner ready. Noticing that there was a message on the machine, he took a seat by the phone, water and yogurt in hand, to listen. The caller ID flashed Maggie’s number. Jack smiled.

         “Hey Jack, its Meg… I guess you’re at work, and frankly. I can’t believe it. After all you had last night, you managed to drag yourself up. I have to say I’m impressed; you never go out… I thought you were a rookie.”

         “Rookie my ass, Meg!” Ken’s voice could be heard somewhere beyond the phone on the other end; Jack clenched his teeth. “Meg, That boy had four beers before you even showed up, I’m surprised he made it out of the bar”

         “Well, that’s more proof to you. Both me and Ken called in sick today. You should’ve too: you can miss a day of work, even a few. Loosen up a bit! It was great to see you loose last night, even if it did require you getting a bit drunk. Give me a call back later, the three of us will do something this weekend, even if it means dragging you by the hair. You’re fine drunk, and you seem to have a stomach for it. See ya!”

         Jack chuckled. “I guess I’ll have to force myself to take you up on that,” he said to himself. He enjoyed their company. Sure, Ken could grate on his nerves sometimes, but he was a cool guy. He was drastically different from Jack, but they got along. Ken was a true “people person,” a high-level sales rep for a big corporation. He worked maybe thirty hours a week, and a good ten of that involved taking clients out for lunches and dinners on the company’s dime. He was a friendly enough guy though; good sense of humor, only too a point of course. Come to think of it, there was very little they had in common; well, except for dating Maggie. Jack chuckled at that thought. That was a long time ago, nearly ten years ago, when he first moved up to Seattle with Maggie. It was hardly worth thinking about. When they had split, they had done so amicably, and remained good friends. It never seemed to bother Ken; he had never even asked Jack about his past relationship with Maggie. Ken was Maggie’s fiancée, and Jack was her friend. The past was past.

         After two more glasses of water, a yogurt, and a few more aspirin, Jack was back at the refrigerator. There was nothing; Sunday was his usual day to shop, but going out that night had made him too busy. Jack made a quick note on the scheduling calendar posted on the fridge, grabbed another yogurt and some granola, and resolved to fix the situation later. Finished with dinner, he went to work cleaning. Monday was his day to clean the kitchen. The work went quickly; he hadn’t cooked at all this week, so the stove and oven just needed a simple scrub. He tossed the emptied yogurt cups, took out the garbage and recycling, and washed his hands. The alarm on his cell beeped, indicating it was eight o’ clock: time to trim the bonsai. Ever since he had picked up the hobby he had found the simple process therapeutic. Trimming the branches back methodically, wiring them together for growth, carefully tending the tree; all of these things were simple acts, but required thought and planning before each step. He had gotten his first bonsai a few months after moving to the city; the collection grew to three and four quickly. Now he had a stately twelve, lined up across the artificially lit sill.

         The night grew long, and the headache had mostly dispersed. Carefully putting away his supplies he moved to his bedroom. Undressing and redressing in night clothes, then placing yesterday’s clothes folded neatly into the hamper for cleaning. Light went out, sleep came.

         Wake. Teeth, shower, hair and deodorant. Iron tomorrow’s suit, hang it up, put on today’s suit. Toast, cream cheese and jelly: today strawberry. Pick out a tie, straighten knot, straighten cuffs. Grab car keys, set alarm, lock door. Turn on car, turn on NPR, drive to work.
Tuesday came and went like clockwork; dinner consisted of a toast, egg, and butter sandwich - shopping was circled once more on the scheduling calendar. If he had time, he’d have to try to do it Friday. He took his time tending to his trees. His newest, a tiny birch he had grown from its seed, had developed some sort of fungus. He clipped the affected twigs, and made note of the fungus’s color and smell, hoping to be able to find the fungus online the next day.

         Wednesday came with one minor hiccup: a message. The caller ID flashed his mother’s number.

         “Hey there darling, it’s your mother! I hope you’re doing OK; you haven’t called in a bit and you know how I worry. Billy and Dana are over for the weekend with their kids; you should see how they’ve grown. Their youngest is already two years old! Can you believe it? Tom is even big enough to ride the horses now. Dana has a new job too, it’s in LA, so it’s a bit of a commute, but she only has to go up once a week; she’s allowed to work at home the rest of the time. Thanksgiving is going to be here this year; I hope you come. I know you’re busy with work and everything, and I know the big city boy doesn’t want to give up all his high tech goodies to come back to the farm. But, I promise, there will be a lot of good food, and your own private guest room. I’d say you can bring a girlfriend, but I haven’t heard from you in so long, I wouldn’t know who you’re dating! Just joking hun; give your father and I a call. We miss you and you can tell us about all the complicated techie stuff you’re inventing. We’ll even pretend to understand, we promise! Loves and kisses!”

         Mother was a kick; she was truly his polar opposite. Jack sometimes suspected that he was adopted. Truthfully, he was far more like his father, quiet and laid back. Well except for the whole farmer thing; sure, Jack had worked around the farm since he was a boy, but when he left to study chemistry in college, he left that life far behind him.

         Thursday came. Wake. Teeth, shower, hair and deodorant. Unpack today’s suit, iron tomorrow’s. Toast, cream cheese and jelly: today, grape again. “I need to go shopping.” Pick out a tie, straighten knot, straighten cuffs. Grab car keys, set alarm, lock door. Turn on car, turn on NPR, drive to work. Jack decided to give Maggie a call over lunch. He got the answering machine.

         “This is Meg and Ken, please leave a… well, you know what to do.”

         “Hey, it’s Jack. Sorry about the wait, time got away from me this week. I had a great time Sunday, enough so that I suppose I’ll let myself be dragged along again. Give me a call sometime…” The phone beeped to interrupt him.

         “Hey, Jack?” It was Maggie. “Sorry about that; I just got home. Guess what!”

         Jack chuckled. “What?”

         “We picked a date! I just got back from meeting the planner; we’re finally getting married!”

         Jack was taken aback; Maggie and Ken had been dating for three years and engaged for two. They had both wanted to wait before actually getting married.

         “Th- that’s great! Congratulations! When’s the big day?”

         “Two months almost exactly, January first! I’m so sorry, but I have so much to do. I’m going to have to renege on the promise to take you out this weekend. We’ll get together soon though, I promise!.”

         Jack sighed. “That’s no problem; this is exciting I’m really happy for you. Give me a call when you get the chance!”

         “Thanks Jack, you’re the best! I’ll talk to you soon, I promise, See ya!”

         “bye”

         “Wow,” Jack thought out loud, as sat down with a sigh. “Didn’t see that one coming” He turned back to his computer; the search didn’t take too long. It turned out the fungus was a rust fungus particular to birch. He made a note on his pocket scheduler to pick up the fungicide on the way home. Dinner that night consisted of Chinese take-out, and the last bit of almost expired orange juice. He tended to his bonsai, clipping the last infected leaves off the birch, and applying the fungicide. He nicked his ash, one of his oldest, while clipping off a wire. It wasn’t bad; fixable too. Much deeper, though, and it would have taken off the limb.

         Friday came. Wake. Teeth, shower, hair and deodorant. Iron tomorrow’s suit, hang it up, put on today’s suit. No more toast; replace with leftover Chinese take-out. Pick out a tie, straighten knot, straighten cuffs. Grab car keys, set alarm, lock door. Turn on car, turn on NPR, drive to work. Short day today though; no meetings in the afternoon meant that he could leave at one. His pocket scheduler reminded him of his increasingly empty kitchen, so Jack dutifully took a turn into the local Fred Meyer Super Store. Shopping had become a lot more fun after he had a steady pay check. Rather than searching for deals on precut cheddar cheese, he could go straight to the brie. Jack browsed the racks; visiting the butchery and bakery on the way around. Sure, it wasn’t exactly fancy food, but the meat they sold was good quality, and there were plenty of breads to pick from. After about an hour of shopping, Jack headed for the register. The cashier was a cute blonde with a hankie pinned to her hair. “How are you doing today, um… Samantha?” Jack made casual conversation, and casual use of the cashier’s nametag.

         “Sam’s just fine” she replied “I’m great. You certainly have quite a variety here, you a cook?”

         Jack smiled at the compliment. “I’m not bad; I just haven’t really treated myself in a while.”

         “Well this all looks like a treat to me; I certainly wouldn’t mind a guy treating me like this. You have a lucky girlfriend”

         “No girlfriend; just me.”

         “Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “What do you do, Mr. uh… I’m sorry.”

         Jack chuckled. “It’s fine. Seward, Jack is fine though. I’m a research chemist at a boring, huge corporation in the city.”

         “Well then, you’re smart and a cook… you’ve almost got it all.”

         Jack blushed at the compliment. “Thank you.” Jack took his cart out to his car, placed his groceries in the trunk, placed the cart neatly in the receptacle, and started the car.

         “Jack, you’re an idiot.” he said to himself, while doing a u-turn at the end of the parking lot and pulling back into his just-vacated spot. He shook his head at himself, walking back. It felt weird; not wrong, just weird. He reentered the store and looked for Sam. Sure enough, she was tending the busiest line. He walked to the nearest aisle, grabbed a pack of precut cheddar cheese, and reentered the line.

         “Hey Jack, forget something?”

         “Um, yes,” Jack said nervously, handing her his credit card. “I was wondering if I could make dinner for you Saturday night.”

         Sam smiled. “I’d love that.” She handed back his credit card. Jack headed back to the parking lot, breathing easier, the worst over.

         “Jack!” He heard Sam’s voice behind him, turned and saw her run up to him. “You probably want my phone number,” she stated, handing him a slip of paper.

         “Oh yeah, heh, thanks; I guess I’ll call you after you’re off work?”

         “That’d be great Jack; by the way, for a research scientist you’re a bit of a dolt.”

Author's Comments

Regret is a work in progress, I will do my best to implement any suggestions and comments. I expect to edit and refine this particular work, as well as eventually (soon) write a continuation of the story, most likely still focusing on Jack.

Changes
11/20/05 - Spacing and Syntax
12/01/05 - Grammer and Punctuation. Added exposition to make some points clearer. Syntax, wording and spacing. And more grammer and Spelling.