The Story of Mr. Lockes

by Corey Griffith '15

     Mr. Lockes stood at the window of his apartment, watching countless people thoughtlessly going about their business. He could see the bankers, the stock brokers, the businessmen all moving together in one harmonious horde. Further away, the cranes from one of many construction sites peeked through the fog. The street vendors made themselves visible too, as they tried to sell their wares to that morning’s round of potential customers. In fact, he could see most of the city from that window. The offices, the nightclubs, the theaters, even the factories were within his view. But he did not see any of this. All he saw was a grey sky, and a congested sixth avenue.

     As he walked through the garage toward his car, a grey Toyota Corolla, he questioned why he worked nine to five daily. He did not need the money, as his parents left him a tidy sum of money when they passed over a decade earlier. Friends there were few and far between; as most people quit or were fired before any form of a connection could be formed. Every day at the office was a life sucking experience for him. His entire day consisted of filing reports and sucking up to his jerk of a boss. His boss’s idea of a positive work environment was one where no employees questioned his judgments and decisions, and he fired anyone who did not agree. Over the course of 15 years, Mr. Lockes had seen dozens, if not hundreds of people come and go. He could only recall a few who have been there more than six months. The quiet man in the corner who greeted him every morning with a seemingly hollow “How are you?”, the boss, and the charming secretary who was accused of having affairs with multiple members of management were the only people he knew of that had been there any significant amount of time. Why was still the question, the unanswerable question. He glanced at his watch, realizing he was running late. He put the debate in the back of his mind, saving it for future review as he opened the unusually heavy car door.

     As he moved into an interior of grey cloths and plastics, he reached into his coat pocket for his keys, only to find them absent, a bitter sweet interruption to that morning’s schedule. He looked around on the floor of the car and the ground outside of it, but to no avail. Concluding that the keys were still in his apartment, he stepped out of the car, and started walking toward the elevator. He stopped, turned around, and started observing his car, its lackluster and emotionless features immediately making him feel regret, as they did every day. He remembered the day he bought the car, a long time ago. He walked into the Toyota dealership young, vibrant, and hopeful. He had been waiting for that day, he saved his money, he knew exactly what car he was going to buy. And there it was before him, proudly displayed under bright lights and promising ambiance: a brand new, volcano red, Toyota Supra Twin-Turbo. He loved the Supra, ever since he was a kid. It evolved as he evolved. Now, he could actually buy one.

     The salesman greeted him with a superficial “How can I help you, sir?” “I’m interested in purchasing this Supra” Mr. Lockes eagerly replied. “Certainly sir. May I ask what you’ll be using it for?” “It’ll be my daily driver. I’ve been looking into buying one of these cars for…” “Well sir” the salesman interrupted, “if all you need is a daily driver, why don’t you take a look at this Corolla. I’m sure you’ll find that it will meet your needs much better.” He motioned toward where it rested, and confidently said “not only is it more practical, but cheaper as well.” “I was hoping for something a bit more…exciting” Mr. Lockes said cautiously. The salesman simply replied “it’s just a car. They’re all the same. They all get you from point A to point B.” He stopped, and thought briefly on those words. His reason and logic got the better of him, and he agreed with the salesman’s statement. He took the Corolla home that day, thinking he would trade it in for a Supra a few years down the road. Toyota ceased Supra production one year later. He came out of the memory, looked at the Corolla again, and realized he had been driving the same, dreary car for nearly 20 years. He glanced at his watch again. No more time for reminiscing.

     Once he was back up in his apartment, he began opening drawer after drawer, searching for his keys. There was no trace of them anywhere in the apartment. While searching through one of the drawers, he found an old tube of lipstick belonging to his ex-wife. Why was it there? She took everything of hers when she left. He flashed back to five years ago, the morning she left. He had just gotten back from a business trip, and was arriving back at the apartment, flowers in hand. The door opened, and there she was, but not as he was expecting. She was caught in the act with their friend from the apartment next door, right in the middle of the living room. He furiously chased him out, and began apologizing to her, apologizing for not being good enough. Why was he apologizing? He was not at fault. Was he? No conclusion could be made. She told him the affair had been going on for over a year, and that they could no longer live together. He silently accepted this verbal slap to face, watched her come back the next day to collect her belongings, and saw her leave with nothing more than a shallow “goodbye”. After she was gone, he thought about how stereotypical this was. Man comes back from business trip and walks in on cheating wife, just like in some sort of mediocre romantic comedy. Except this was not a movie, this was real life. Occurrences like this should not happen to good people like him. Why was the question, the unanswerable question. He snapped back to reality, looked at his watch, and put the lipstick in his pant pocket. In his pocket, he found his car keys.

     Staring at the car keys, he let out a dismal laugh. His way out of the garage was with him the whole time. After this undesirable event, he started walking with a noticeable reluctance toward the door to his apartment. Halfway to the door, something unseen stopped him. He wanted to keep moving forward, but some invisible presence held him back. As he gave in to this mental blockade, his feet turned and guided him back into the living room. Once again, he was at the window of his apartment, looking over his prison of unforgiving concrete and cold steel. Towering above everything else was his office, its presence imposing. He thought about how his work controlled everything he did, how it left no time for what he wanted. His work was a constant interruption to his free time, his life. Then he thought of something, an idea he never considered before. What if his life was work and his free time was the interruption? What if the only reason for his existence was for him to toil and labor?

     The door opened, it was the maid he had hired, coming in to clean out his apartment as she had done for over a year now. “Oh my, I’m sorry Mr. Lockes. I thought you’d be at work by now.” “I was just on my way out. I left my keys up here.” “Oh, I hate it when stuff like that happens to me! At least it’s good to know I’m not alone in that field.” “Yeah, well I may as well pay you while I’m here.” He pulled out his wallet, and thoughtlessly reached into it, pulling out the first bill his fingers touched. “Mr. Lockes, I can’t accept $100. That’s double what I’m supposed to be paid.” “Just keep it. I need to get to work.” “You’re a very generous man. You know, I’m not doing anything Friday night. Would you like grab dinner with me? I’m buying.” she said with a playful wink. He turned around and looked at her. This was not the first time she asked a question like this. With her gorgeous smile, graceful brown hair, and elegant disposition, she was just about irresistible. Nonetheless, he deduced that she was only interested in his money. “I can’t do Friday. I have a…business trip Friday.” “It seems like you’re out on business a lot. Where are you going now?” “I…don’t know yet.” “Well, whenever you get back maybe we could go out for dinner then.” “Maybe.” he said as he started walking towards the door. She affectionately smiled at him as he walked out the door. But he did not see this.

     The door closed with a hostile thud. There was nothing stopping him from partaking in that day’s events, a bittersweet circumstance. Commute, work, lecture, commute, sleep, repeat, just as it has been for years. The unpleasantness of this daily routine thoroughly sickened him. It controlled his life, but at the same time was bizarrely crucial for its continuation. Distressing thoughts occupied his mind like a cancer; unfathomable questions swirled like a cyclone. Out of all the chaos came one question: “Why?” Why was still the question, the unanswerable question. Except this time, he had an answer. He stayed in his building that day. He did not get back in his car. He did not commute to work. He did not get greeted by the man in the corner. He did not file any reports. He did not get lectured by his boss. He did not commute home. He did not mourn his previous mistakes. He did not fall asleep out of bitter resentment for the world. He did not do any of his usual actions.

     The door to the stairwell swung open and he walked through the opening. He climbed stair after stair as he made his way to the roof. He had never been up there before. There were many regulations issued by the building saying he could not go up there. None of that changed, he just did not care anymore. Once outside, he slowly spun around, looking one more time at his world. The offices, the nightclubs, the theaters, even the factories were within his view, but this time he saw them. But even then, those towering spires were nothing but reminders of forgotten dreams and lost opportunities to him. He climbed up onto the ledge, and looked down. On the street, the bankers, the stock brokers, the businessmen all moved together in one harmonious horde, but this time he saw them. They were like him, stuck in a ceaseless and unchanging routine. How could they stand it? He checked his watch. 9:00. Work has just started. He is late. His hand slowly removed the watch from his wrist, and dropped into the street below. He reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out the lipstick and his car keys. They lay in his hand, as he carefully examined the failures that are carried with them. His hand opened, and they fell down to the street. He let out a sigh and looked up at the sky. Grey: the same color it’s been for what feels like years. Suddenly, he felt all the despair in the world enveloped him all at once. An infinite and unfathomable sadness grabbed hold of him. His head lowered, and he stepped forward.

     The funeral was a small occasion with few in attendance. None of his family was in attendance, as they were either gone from this world or had more important commitments. Only a handful of co-workers showed up, among them the quiet man, remarking that Mr. Lockes was a “good friend”. His boss was mercifully absent, as he was turning in his resignation after rumors started circulating about his affair with the secretary. His maid was present, and was probably the most distressed of them all. She spoke to no one. Her mind filled with questions. “Why couldn’t I have been with him? How did he not see how much I cared? Why didn’t he ask me for help? Did he even love me as I loved him?” Her ordinarily beautiful smile was warped into a miserable grimace. She was the first to leave, not out of disrespect, but out of an inability to watch her forbidden love be laid to rest. As she left, she passed by a Toyota Supra parked at the side of the road, for sale sign present in the window. After a short ceremony, Mr. Lockes was laid gently into his grave, next to the graves of his parents. The procession made its way out, leaving the grave on its own, under the light of a particularly beautiful blue sky.