This is a short story I wrote for a contest at my office. The guidelines are that the story must be less than 4,000 words, and based on a piece of art somewhere on the company's campus. I've included a photo of the art that inspired my story at the end of this post. My entry into the contest ended up around 3800 words. I hope you enjoy it!
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A Most Peculiar Man
By Adam Buckingham
Every now and
then, a person comes into your life who is so far out of the ordinary that he
changes your perspective. For me, that person was Morton Willoughby. He was a
trash collector by trade, and a collector of trash by choice. He was the kind
of employee every manager dreams of having on his team. He was always happy,
hard-working, and prompt. I’ve managed a lot of satisfied trash collectors, but
I’d never known one who truly loved his job—until I met Morton.
In the heat of
summer, when trash bags fester on curbs, my guys fight over who has to ride the
step on the back of the truck while his partner enjoys the filtered,
air-conditioned cabin. Morton never fought about it. He volunteered to ride the
step, every day of the summer. He never complained about the smells or the
heavy lifting. He was happy to endure whatever he had to for his hobby.
Morton collected
things. He kept a bin between the cab and the bed of the truck. Whenever he
found an item of interest, he tossed it in his bin. He took all kinds of random
junk. Old satellite dishes, twisted pieces of sheet metal, broken electronics.
Every day, he’d finish his route and toss the junk into the bed of his rusty
old Ford truck.
Don’t get me
wrong, he wasn’t the first trash collector to grab something off the curb for
himself. It was the quantity that was remarkable. There was never a day went by that he wouldn’t
have a bin full of junk. He must have taken dozens of broken chairs, hundreds
of discarded satellite dishes, even the occasional toilet or sink.
I approached
him one day as he was loading an old tube TV into his truck.
“Can I give you
a hand with that?” I shouted from across the parking lot.
He turned to
look at me and wiped the sweat off his brow. He spoke with a slow, awkward
drawl “I sure would appreciate that. Thanks.”
We struggled
against the weight of the monster, but finally got it loaded into the bed of
the truck. We both leaned against the truck to catch our breath.
“So Morton, I’m
curious. What do you do with all these things you take home?” I asked.
His face
dropped into a look of shame. “Oh, I’m sorry boss. I should’ve asked if it were
ok. I assure you, I never meant no harm.”
I put a hand on
his shoulder, “Sorry. That came out wrong. No harm in diverting trash from the
landfill. I’ve got no problem with you taking the stuff. I’m just curious what
you do with it, that’s all.”
Morton smiled his
customary crooked smile and ran a dirty hand through his thinning hair. His
eyes seemed to be focused elsewhere as he replied. “Oh, nothing much. A little
bit of this, a little bit of that.”
I’m not one to
stick my nose where it’s not wanted, so I left it at that. As far as I was
concerned, he could take whatever he wanted off the curb for whatever reason he
wanted, so long as he kept doing a good job.
* * *
It’s a
difficult thing for a manager to balance personal and work relationships. I
genuinely like most of my collectors. I’m fortunate to have a really great
group. These guys are basically family to me. But I never found a way to get
through to Morton, though not for lack of effort.
That summer was
a particularly difficult one. We were in a heat wave for most of it and morale
was pretty low with my guys. I arranged for a little end-of-summer party to
show the team how much I appreciated their hard work. Everybody was planning to
be there. Everybody but Morton.
I saw him
walking to his truck with an armload of things, so I ran over to talk. I only
wanted to be sure that everything was ok; make sure he knew he was welcome to
join us at the party.
“Hey Mort.” I
waved as I approached.
Morton tossed
his things into his truck and turned to face me. “Howdy Boss.”
“Looks like the
clouds are clearing. It should be a nice night.” I said idly.
Morton crossed
his arms awkwardly and looked up at the sky. “Boy, you’re not kidding, Boss.
It’s a new moon, so the stars are gonna be real pretty.”
It was an
opening. “You don’t say. I never knew you were an astronomer.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I just like the
stars.” His crooked smile returned and he gazed toward the sky as if he was
prepared to sit and wait for night to fall.
“I remember
going to a planetarium once when I was a kid…”
I tried to
continue the conversation, but it was clear that Morton’s mind was somewhere
else. I was about to walk away and leave him to himself, but I wanted to give
it one last try.
“Hey Mort—“
He snapped out
of his reverie and smiled at me, “Yeah Boss?”
“Hey, you know,
the guys and I are getting together for a little end-of-summer thing. I’d
really love it if you could make it. It’s not much, but I’d like to show you
how much I appreciate all your hard work.”
Morton
nervously fidgeted with his keys. “Gee boss. I really appreciate it. But I
don’t need a party. I just do my job the best I can.”
“Yeah, I know,
Mort. But this is something I’d like to do for you. Besides, it’s a good chance
for the whole crew to get to know each other. Maybe you could teach me a thing
or two about astronomy.” I felt like I was grasping at straws; anything to get
through to him.
If it was at
all possible, I could swear that his smile grew even wider at that comment.
“Well, that sounds really nice. I’d like that.”
“Great, you
know where my house is—“
“But perhaps
another time. I’m spending the weekend on Mars, and I shouldn’t delay.”
There are times
when a person says something so unexpected that you can’t even manage
speechlessness. There’s no response that makes sense, and yet, you respond out
of instinct.
“Yes, another
time then. Have a nice weekend” was my response.
“See you
Monday, Boss.”
Morton climbed
into his truck and drove off as if nothing strange had happened. Perhaps in his
mind, nothing strange had happened indeed.
* * *
Come Monday, it
was back to business as usual. Morton gave no sign of any thought about our
conversation from Friday. He went about his day as he always did, in good
spirits, working hard, bothering nobody. As usual, he had a bin full of items
to take home.
I decided that
his comment on Friday was just a strange excuse. Perhaps it was some elaborate
inside joke to which only Morton was privy. That being the case, I was inclined
to just forget it and move on. I still needed to figure out who Morton was, and
what made him tick. It was beginning to consume me.
One of my guys
called in sick on Tuesday, so I took the opportunity to work the shift
alongside Morton. As usual, he volunteered to ride the step while I drove the
truck. The arrangement didn’t leave much time for chatting, just the occasional
small talk at large item pickups. But I made sure to buy lunch for Morton.
I sat across
from him in the burger joint’s dining room and puzzled over how to start a
conversation.
“Is it an
interesting time for stargazing right now?” I started.
“Oh sure, Boss.
It’s always interesting.” I could see his eyes losing focus as he retreated
into his thoughts.
“How about an
example.”
“Hmm. Ok.” He stroked
his thick beard as he thought. “Well, the Andromeda galaxy is visible right now.
It’s one of our closest neighboring galaxies. There are a trillion stars in it,
more than double the Milky Way.”
Satisfied that
he’d finished sharing a fact, he went back to his burger, content to sit and
eat in silence. His eyes continued to stare blankly as if his mind were stuck
on some distant world. I wished I could listen in on what he was thinking. I
wanted to know what it was like inside his head. In every way possible, he
seemed completely normal. Sure, he was shy and introverted, with a curious
sense of humor, and a bit of a pack rat, but that didn’t make him strange. And
yet, I couldn’t cast away the feeling that there was something more to him than
the surface showed. I was overcome by my need to know what it was.
I tried again. “Say,
Mort. I’d love to meet up with you some night when the sky’s clear. I’d be
interested to have you show me some galaxies or stars, or whatever there is to
see.”
“Sure Boss.
That would be real nice.” He smiled and took a sip from his drink.
“Well, how
about this week? I’m not doing anything. I could bring a six pack to your
place. It’d be a blast.”
“Sounds good.”
Morton replied with a smile. “Though I don’t think this week will work. I’ve
got a lot going on in the evenings. Lots of work to do around the house.”
“Oh, I’d be
happy to help.” I felt my chance slipping through my fingers as I grasped for
anything to break his shell.
“Thanks Boss.
That’s real generous of you. But I’m a little particular. No offense.”
“None taken,
Mort. I understand. Doing anything this weekend?”
“Sadly, no.
I’ll be gone again this weekend.”
“Headed back to
Mars?” If it was truly a joke, I figured this would be where he would laugh.
“Yeah, that’s
right. It’s closest to Earth right now, so I hate to miss the opportunity.”
He smiled
broadly, but it wasn’t the smile of a man who was kidding. It was at this point
that I realized that he didn’t believe himself to be joking. He was actually
convinced that he spent his weekends on Mars. Or at least some place he
referred to as Mars. Though I’m fairly certain he was referring to THE Mars,
the Red Planet and all that. So perhaps he was a little nutty. But at least it
made him happy, and who am I to question what a guy does to be happy. If being
crazy makes you happy, why not go mad?
“Sounds
exciting.” I replied, prepared to join his madness. “How would you like a
companion? I’ve never traveled out of the country, but what the heck, I’d love
to see Mars.“
“It’s kinda
dangerous, you know.”
“I’m game for
an adventure.”
Morton sat
quietly for a moment, as if seriously considering my proposition. I found
myself hoping he might say yes. I was curious what would happen if he did, not
entirely certain what to expect.
Would we climb
into some kind of scrapyard rocket and pretend to launch into the sky toward
destinations unknown? Would we make believe that we’d touched down on an alien
landscape before climbing out of the rocket into Morton’s yard, now transformed
into the surface of Mars? Or would we experience it all from the safety of our
pressurized capsule, watching the celestial worlds through our high-tech video
monitors? Maybe it was some kind of drug-induced hallucination from eating just
the right kind of mushroom.
“I’m sorry,
boss. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I was actually
disappointed. It was the last thing I would have expected to feel. I had just
asked a potentially crazy person if he would please allow me to go mad with
him, and it was a letdown when he refused my insanity. Even then, the emotion
gave me serious doubts about whether my sanity indeed remained intact.
Across the
table, a look of pain had filled Morton’s face. It was as if saying no to my
request was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. It almost looked as if tears
were collecting in the corners of his eyes. I couldn’t bear to look at him like
that, and yet a part of me was willing to let him suffer until he agreed to
take me with him.
“I donno,
Boss…Maybe—“
I snapped out
of it. “No, don’t worry about it Mort. Forget I asked.”
I glanced at my
watch, hoping for an excuse to move on. It was still 20 minutes before the end
of our lunch break, but I couldn’t bear to sit there any longer.
“Well, I
suppose.” I said, pulling my chair away from the table. “What say we head back
out a little early and we can cut out early this afternoon. Give you a little
more daylight to get stuff done at home.”
Morton smiled
broadly, “Gee, that’s not a bad idea, Boss.”
We finished the
shift without another word, and I sent Morton on his way early as promised. I
sat in my office after he left, head in my hands, trying to make sense of what
had happened. I was ashamed for how I’d dug at Morton’s personal life as if I
had some right to know. He deserved his privacy, and I had violated that. No
matter how curious I was, I couldn’t ask another question. I had to let it go.
For the rest of
the week, I gave Morton his space. None of the rest of the crew had any idea
about Morton’s condition. I was now fully convinced that it was a mental
illness and nothing more. I was inclined to just forget it altogether, and
accept that it was a quirk, just like anybody else on the crew had. Paul chewed
tobacco. Steve whistled at pretty girls. Morton dreamed of visiting another
planet. It didn’t affect his work; he was the best guy on my crew.
* * *
The following
Monday, Morton came to my office. I invited him in and offered him coffee,
which he refused graciously as always.
“Boss, I’m real
sorry. I don’t know how to say this.” He wrung his hands nervously as he
shifted in his seat.
“It’s ok, Mort.
You can tell me anything.”
“Well, how it
is, you see, is I need to, sorta—“ he swallowed hard “I need to quit the crew,
Boss.”
It was as if
I’d just been punched in the gut. All the air went out of me and the world was
spinning. I had never suspected he was unhappy with his work. There were no
warning signs. He was the last guy on the crew I would have expected to ever
lose. I pulled myself together enough to respond.
“Aww, I’m
really sorry to hear that, Mort. Really sorry.”
“Me too, Boss.
You know I love it here, but it’s just how it is, you know?”
I felt angry,
like he’d betrayed me. I wanted to lash out at him, tell him how much I had
counted on him. I wanted to hurt him for taking my best employee away from me. Indignation
faded into shame and I felt like an idiot.
“It’s my
fault.” I looked up at him, “It’s my fault, isn’t it Mort. Look, I’m really
sorry; I shouldn’t have asked so many questions about what you do outside work.
That’s none of my business. I just wanted to get to know you.”
Morton looked
regretful. “Oh, Boss.” He shook his head emphatically. “No. No. No. It’s not
that at all. Actually, I liked talking to you about Mars and the stars. That
was real nice. Nobody really talks to old Morton much. So it was nice to have
someone take an interest. I should be thanking you for it.”
Despite his
words, I couldn’t help but feel that he was just trying to protect my feelings.
He was too kind, too conscientious to allow me to feel responsible for hurting
him. It was nice of him, but I didn’t deserve it.
“You don’t have
to tell me, Mort. But why?”
He stopped
fidgeting and for the first time, he made true eye contact with me. “I’m moving
to Mars.”
* * *
There was
nothing I could say. I couldn’t question his sanity, or try to convince him
that it wasn’t true. I couldn’t do anything to convince him to stay on the
crew. I was selfish for wanting to try. I was going to lose the best guy on my
crew because of some delusion that he could travel to another planet. The best
thing I could do for Morton was to help him feel good about his decision.
“Congratulations,
Mort. Good for you.”
Morton finished
the week in typical fashion. He worked harder than everybody else, and did it
all with a smile. I had tried to convince him to let me throw him a going-away
party, but his answer was exactly as expected.
“Gee, Boss.
That’s awful nice of you. But I don’t need a party.”
His last day on
the job was the first day that he left without taking an armful of junk with
him. A few of the other guys said their goodbyes with a handshake or a pat on
the back. Mort was all smiles. I approached him as he was about to get into his
truck.
“Going home
empty handed today, Mort?”
“Yeah Boss.
I’ve got everything I need.”
“Hopefully
you’ve got space for one more little thing.” I handed him a package wrapped in
brown paper. “Consider it a going away present.”
“Aw, Boss. You
didn’t have to go to the effort.”
“Nonsense,
you’re my best guy. Besides, it wasn’t much effort. I found it on the curb.”
He opened the package
and pulled out the small, battered table lamp inside. The shade had star shaped
cutouts that would cast shadows on the walls when the light was turned on.
“I thought of
you when I saw it.” I said, trying not to get choked up.
“It’s real
nice, Boss. I’ve got just the place for it.”
Morton broke
into a broad crooked smile and without further fanfare—or even a goodbye—climbed
into his truck and drove away.
* * *
A part of me
had always hoped that one day I would walk out of the office to see Morton’s
rusty old Ford, laden with scraps and junk. I had wished that he would come
shuffling quietly into my office and ask for his job back in a way only Morton
could do. Beyond all comprehension, despite all his strange quirks and odd
mannerisms, I actually missed old Mort. It made me smile to think about how
happy he was with such a thankless job. And I always hoped he was well.
A few months
after Mort quit, a story buried deep in the newspaper told of options to send
people to Mars at some point in the future. I laughed at how difficult the
article made the journey sound. Morton Willoughby used to go to Mars for the
weekend, and always showed up on time for work on Monday. It got me thinking
about Mort and I decided to pay him a visit.
I went to the
address we had on file, way out in the country, nearly an hour from the city.
The sun was setting as I arrived and I almost missed the driveway: a narrow
opening between the trees. Far back, away from the road, the driveway ended in
a clearing. Overhead, I watched as the stars began to appear. So many stars; so
many more than I could see in the city.
There was a
small building that I assumed was Mort’s house. I knocked a few times, but
there was no response. I looked in the windows, but there were no signs of
life. A path led from the house into the middle of the clearing. The ground
rose gently to a monstrous construction of scrap metal and trash.
Every piece of
junk, every satellite dish, broken folding chair, and kitchen sink; every piece
of trash discarded as worthless had been assembled together into what I suppose
you’d refer to as an observatory. A long slender telescope protruded from a
small hut at the base. The whole structure was mounted on some kind of wood and
scrap metal turntable. Washing machine motors were mounted at the edges to
slowly turn the observatory, or tilt the telescope. It was a marvelous sight to
see.
I ducked
through the small door into the hut, hoping to see Morton, gazing at stars and
galaxies. The hut was empty but for an old broken chair at the base of the
telescope. Red lights flashed on a wall of circuits and wires. An old tube
television flickered between static and images. Page after page of handwritten
notes were scattered across the floor. If I spent hours here, I might be able
to learn a thing or two about the man who was never quite my friend.
I took a seat
in the broken old chair. The flickering monitor read: TRACKING-MARS. A low
rumble could be heard as the observatory slowly rotated on its bearings. I
leaned in to the eyepiece of the telescope. My entire field of vision was
filled with a large reddish disk, slightly flattened on one edge. Mars.
I studied the
planet in the telescope. The details were crisp. I made out mountains and
ridges. Wide valleys flowed as if cut by great rivers eons ago. At top and bottom, white ice caps marked the
poles. It was remarkable, breathtaking, and far more detailed than I ever would
have imagined it could be to see the planet through a telescope. It truly felt
as if I were there, as if I were standing on the surface of Mars.
At the
flattened edge, I could see a sliver of the planet that was shrouded in night.
Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, or a fleck of dust on the lens, I’ll never
know for sure. But to this day, I could swear that I saw a faint light coming
from the dark, nighttime crescent. Perhaps it was only a glimmer of fantasy, a
reflection of hope. Maybe I just allowed myself to get wrapped up in the
romantic notion that Morton was out there somewhere.
The man who
built this observatory was something special, a true genius trapped inside a
reclusive and awkward exterior. I began to doubt everything I thought I knew
about how the world worked. What if he really could visit Mars, somehow, some
way that I could never understand? I had assumed he was crazy because it was
the only explanation that made sense. What if he was telling the truth? I may
never really know what happened to Morton, but in that moment, as I tried to
focus on the pinpoint of light at the edge of Mars, I was prepared to believe
anything.
Then, as
suddenly as if it were a table lamp being clicked off, the light was gone.
“Goodnight,
Morton.” I whispered into the dark.
