Mark Fox pushed his cart from the elevator into the long corridors of the Kline building. It was shortly after 7:00 PM, and the last stragglers of the day made their way through exit doors. Mark was always surprised when he came to work early and saw the cubicles filled with people. Working late nights, he had come to think of the office complex as a large empty box built solely for his cleaning pleasures.
Mark was so accustomed to solitude that he came close to running down an office administrators as he cleaned his way through the cubicles. The unfortunate truth was that Mark had a hard time distinguishing people from the plants, desks and the other objects in his surroundings. He knew what people were in theory, but weak in practice.
The people around him were somehow different from what he had known as a child. They had a different texture, a different feel and smell. He couldn't quite get it into his mind that they were real. They were not like his father...his mother...his older football star brother Rick or younger bratty sister Char.
In one of the cubicles, Mark saw a bald man yelling into a phone. Mark felt an overwhelming urge to pull out his feathered brush and begin dusting the man's head. Mark bit his tongue and emptied the trash. Clutching his cart tightly, he moved past the putty shaped executive.
Mark's hand cart was an amazing contraption. It had a large yellow trash can for garbage, a pail and ringer for his mop and a small built in compartment to hold his squeegee, trash bags and spare cleaning supplies. Mark wore a vacuum cleaner on his back. Yes sir, Mr. Fox was a walking, talking cleaning machine.
He enjoyed this work. He enjoyed touching objects, and scrubbing floors. He enjoyed running his hand along the cold metal railings of the stairs. This new world he was filled with sights, sounds and sensations. There was a sense of freedom, and he cherished his ability to simply move around with a vacuum on his back...but none of it was real. I mean really real.
The cleaning gig was a definite improvement from Mark's first job. In that job, he sat in a cubicle making unsolicited telephone calls to angry people. His coworkers laughed at him, and called Mark "The Boy in a Box."
He could remember clinging desperately to the legs of the cubicle as the security guards pulled him out from under his desk. His coworkers jeered. Mark Fox, The boy in a box!
Not having to deal with people was the best part of this cleaning job. That's why he cleaned at night. He would have his nights to himself, then he could return home to the cool damp shadows of his basement apartment, turn on his computer and revisit his youth.
Mark could repeat the night schedule forever, but today he had an important call from Thomas Hardin of MegaCore. That's right. The cleaning Fox was a close personal friend of Hardin Thomas...the vice president of product marketing of MegaCore international. You know, the producers of Kwality Time.
Apparently, MegaCore had just released a new child from the Childhood Emersion Program, and wanted Mark to show the him the ropes.
Mark could remember his graduation from the childhood emersion unit. It was a shock that kids of lesser stock probably couldn't handle. Most of the specimen from his batch were institutionalized. Mark knew of two successful suicides, and suspected that there had been other attempts that failed simply because the child couldn't understand the difference between virtual and real ropes. (When you hang yourself with a virtual ropes you are still around.)
Everything in this world was so different from the last. He looked at the note from Hardin Thomas. This Alma Matterson he was scheduled to meet must be going through a traumatic time. Mark was really good about helping people through traumatic times.
He remembered his older brother Rick. Rick was the captain of the football team, but his grades were poor. Rick wouldn't get to play his senior year if his grades didn't improve. Mark stayed up all night for weeks on end with Rick. They worked through high school level classes, until Rick passed all of his tests.
Rick not only passed, he did so well that he won both an academic and athletic scholarship to Oklahoma University. Mark was the person who helped. That's who he was. Mark was the quintessential helper. He helped his sister Char with her dating woes, Rick with his study woes, and now this Alma person. He felt a strong inner pride about all the things he had accomplished.
It's been years since Mark last spoke with his brother. Rick must be to busy with his school and sports to write a little brother. Just the other day, Mark went to a local sports bar to watch the Oklahoma-Notre Dame game on a big screen TV. Rick would be a senior now. He was first string material. He should be a starter.
The players burst from the locker and the announcer introduced the team. No mention of Rick. Was Rick in academic trouble again? Rick needed someone to help him study. The game went on. They switch from offense to defense and special teams. There was no mention of Rick.
The Fighting Irish had five points on the Sooners in the fourth quarter. They needed to play Rick. Rick was the only one who could save them. The Sooners would have to complete a 70 yard touch down with a single down left. Rick would know what to do...but Rick didn't study.
A wild Hail Mary pass was intercepted by the Fighting Irish and the clock wound down. Mark bubbled into his beer. His hands shook. Why didn't they play my brother? he wailed as the bouncer drug him from the premises.
Mark called the Oklahoma Athletics office the next day: "No," the irate secretary recited: "We do not have a Rick Fox on the team. We do not have a Rick Smith. We do not have a Rick Hansen, We do not have Rick Sutton. What type of sick joke is this anyway? There are no Ricks of any shape or form on our team!!!"
Mark and his cleaning cart bounded drunkenly through the office. Dirty things bounced from its side. Rick fumbled with his keys to open the janitors while a few of the office workers amused themselves at the expense of the stumbling janitor. That's Mark Fox, the boy in the box.
Nobody understood or cared about anything. Mark wasn't just some bumbling mumbling walking and talking joke. He was the top of his class. He was the person who helped his brother get to college. He would help this Alma Matterson character. Thomas Harden called him specifically for this assignment. He was an important person.
Mark pushed his cart against the door. He had to check a few things on his PDA. The closet felt so cool, safe and dark. All he had to do was check a few things on the computer and he would go help this Alma person. It would be just his brother Rick and sister Char. Mark was the helper person.
He simply had to do a few things on his computer first...as he clicked his way into the night.
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