The Reports

A girl was riding a roller coaster at the town fair and had managed somehow to have her feet severed. The initial investigation baffled all authorities involved including the ride operator, manufacturer of the ride, and the police. The girl was only 17 years old. The tragedy was well covered in the town's newspaper today and I read the story with utmost attention but found my thoughts directed towards a piece of information that was not covered in the story. It didn't mention if her feet were recovered; and if they were recovered were they successfully re-attached or how were they collected? For instance, was each foot placed in its own bag or were both collected in the same bag? Lastly, the lack of detail regarding the person who had collected them was also a disappointment. Did he pick them up by the toe or grapple the entire foot? It makes me wonder if they even asked these questions. I then began to wonder about my waitress and her thighs and about all the old men that stare at them everyday and whisper secrets to themselves about her. Pushing their old man chests outward as she approaches them to refill their coffee, staring carefully at her hands as she grips the coffee pot, ready and tortured in the same instance. It makes you believe in something sir. When I look at her I feel as if I'm licking her skin. It's the strangest feeling. I don't feel insane. I feel hungry like she immediately emptied me.

I am sorry for rambling and for the poor quality of my reports. Here are the basics. I am staying in the truckers' motel behind the Skylark Diner in Vestal, NY which is a mile or so from the Binghamton City Limits. I always wondered about the prisoners who made signs that said "XYZ" City Limits. It must be the greatest torture there is. To print these city names they never heard of only to dream and wonder about what is in those city limits. What affairs, what murder, what sort of Friday night could they have in it. I sincerely feel for these prisoners. I have yet to identify the person you have dispatched me for. I am confident it is only a matter of time before I locate him and perform the duty you are paying me so well to do. I assure you I am keeping my expenses to a minimum. Lastly, I acknowledge that you have declined my dry cleaning expense in my last expense report and I will remove the $8.75 charge from my financial records. I agree and yes I do see your point about it being an unnecessary expenditure.

I again write this report from the Skylark Diner. Sir, you must see the waitress for yourself. The way her legs squeeze themselves out of her skirt. The meat makes my mouth water. Her knee caps have some scars on them and I wonder about them and how she got them and if she thinks about those incidents. Were they collected on some childhood playground? What dreams did she have then? How she must see those scars and think about those dreams when she shaves herself in the bathtub. How she must deplore coming to this small town diner each day of her life and wonder if she will get old and raspy like her co-worker here. Does she accept her fate or does something in her appreciate the diner, the way the cook must start each day, the first sounds of the white plates, coffee cups, and silverware being arranged, and how they must sound out of place at first interrupting the morning silence, not even the cook is so harsh as his cookers slowly start to sizzle and fill the air with warm food, quickly I assume the diner sounds escalate into a low rumble, a human parade of food being slurped up, of eggs sliding around plates and running away from forks, of yoke being absorbed into toast, of orange juice remnants left on the insides of small glasses that always seems to feel warm from the dishwasher. She moves about the place like a conductor in all of this keeping our coffee cups full, wiping clean the counter top with a bleach-soaked rag, responding to the cook's bell. I admire her. As usual it's cloudy here today. This town seems to be void of sunshine. Are you sure the man lives here? In response to your last dispatch, YES I realize you are my employer and NO I am not "schlepping" on my assignment. I continue to keep a watchful eye on the house for any sign of the man. I also must insist that I do not agree that the best approach is to kidnap and bring the waitress to you. Allow me some time to consider your request. Today I will go to the carnival.

Have you ever read such a great book that each paragraph seems to spin and swirl? Where each paragraph could stand on its own almost as its own book? This carnival seems a lot like that but with one exception. The greatest paragraph of them all, like page 101 of Tropic of Capricorn where Miller compares chewing to a thousand acts of murder or around page 262 where Francie tells the story of needing to be fucked so badly she tries to seduce her brother or how she continues on in another paragraph that a woman ought to get socked once and awhile. The point is sir, it's hard to keep ones eyes off such paragraphs, no matter what we may think about them. The way they seem to generate images in some part of your mind. Surprising you like a new memory you know you may never forget. Yesterday I saw a woman walking naked in her hotel room and I felt like I was at the starting line of a race, wandering around it and waiting for it to start but it doesn't start and no one seems to ask why. You're sure at any moment you will assemble in the required starting position but this nightmare of waiting seems to continue. The only option is to turn around and walk away. I didn't want to walk away when I was looking at this naked woman. Perhaps this is the part of murder Miller was talking about. The part where we walk away. Perhaps so indeed sir. Oh yes, back to the carnival and my original point. The roller coaster still demanded my attention no matter where I was in the carnival. It looked like someone had come and erased much of it. It stood there looking like a skeleton of its former self. It didn't appear to look ashamed, or confused, or even upset that it had been stripped of everything that made it alive. Its soul seemed to have shut down. How I imagined the operator of the roller coaster seated some place in a trailer behind the carnival and how not surprisingly I found him in a trailer in the back lot sitting in much the same condition as the roller coaster itself. Perhaps ready to end his own life. Not over the severed feet but over the roller coaster that swallowed them.

The waitress just filled my coffee cup. My affection for her has grown and I don't feel comfortable kidnapping her and bringing her to you as you requested. What do you intend to do with her? I would really only feel comfortable with you giving her a new waitress job where she wouldn't have to stand so much. Please let your intentions be known to me. I know I can't make the request for you to join me for a cup of coffee in this diner but sir you should eat here some day. Everything is old, clean, and shiny. They have a rotating pie shelf and all the pies are kept in such nice order. When the waitress cuts a slice she carefully places the plastic back over it preserve maximum freshness. This wouldn't be the case back in the city. I think I will conclude my report with a slice of key lime pie and return to monitor my target residence.

Sir, I assure you I am still considering your request regarding the waitress. I also assure you that I'm monitoring my expenses with extreme care. I should also notify you that I have recently become aware of the continuing presence of a fly that appears to be following me day in and day out. He's everywhere I go. I was tempted to smack him to death but somehow he's grown on me. He seems to spend most of his days on my shoulder. Occasionally he will launch but he seems to be getting lazier and fatter. I've become concerned for his safety when he does launch. Due to his obesity he's become easy to spot, slow, and loud when he smacks into walls and windows. His ventures into the kitchen are a source of grave concern to me. I've seen the cook notice him with increasing frequency. The whole experience makes me nervous. Especially when I can't see the fly. I sit up and try to look into the kitchen. It must appear as if I am struggling to see a boxing match from a seated position when everyone else is standing up and cheering. I'm sure I appear as a maniac in my chair when I try to locate him.

This town is very unremarkable. I must report to you that the waitress came into work late this morning. She brushed herself against me rushing towards the kitchen. I can still smell her on me. Sir you would like the way she smells. I know you would. Smelling her makes me feel like I have been somehow invited inside of her. I watched her get partially dressed through the kitchen where she changed into her work shoes. Her toe nails were painted black and she was careful not to let them touch the kitchen floor even though it looked very clean and freshly mopped. I watched the cook study her feet. She seemed indifferent to the exposure in the kitchen. I wanted to throw my fork at the cook but I suddenly started to laugh loudly and uncontrollably at her balancing act trying to put on her work shoes without letter her bare feet touch the floor. She looked at me sir. Not in the nice way she does when she fills my coffee but as if I didn't deserve to laugh. Her look was very sharp and made me feel out of place.

Sir, I appreciate that we live in modern times and that you are implementing new a performance-based pay structure but I must protest the new pay plan you have submitted to me. Perhaps we can discuss this at another time? Perhaps this is not the best time for such negotiations? What exactly is project management software? Are you to provide me with training of your new system?

Sir, I am entirely shocked and disturbed that you have terminated me mid-assignment. What am I to do?

Sir, why do you no longer respond to my dispatches? I have run out of money and have begun to apply for jobs here. I have no job experience I am able to document, no references, and this city is economically depressed. Perhaps you could loan me some funds until I am able to land on my feet? I continue to write from the Skylark. Please sir, I beg of you.

Sir, the diner seems to regard me now as a regular. The waitress no longer seems to even bill me for my coffee or pie from the rotating pie shelf. I've noticed some other fine details such as their crushed ice. It's not in large cubes but rather more like a slushy pile of ice that is dumped into a plastic cup. I must agree that this is the best way to serve soda. It only seems to be the older establishments that serve ice like this. I wonder if this is by design, or by a slow decay of the ice-making machinery. This city is a city of machines sir. I've learned that just across the river from the Skylark is where IBM was founded. Mr. Watson himself must have eaten here. He must have been equally impressed with the rotating pie shelf. The company slogan "Pursuit of Excellence" seems to have somehow reached into some places here and never left even though the company is gone and the large complex is empty and confused and sits much like I sit with no place to go. Sir, you should see the fly. He is the king of all flies. His body mass is impressive. His flight patterns are more pathetic than ever. He seems to be unable to fly straight. He falls down a few inches in the air and struggles to get up again and the cycle is repeated over and over again. I'm still very concerned for his safety. The cook has rolled up a newspaper more than once in a murderous preparation but luckily for the fly he has always become distracted by a new order from the waitress and seems to forget about the fly. At night I'm worried that I might roll over and kill the fly by mistake but he always seems to find a way to survive the night making the occasional launch from my pillow.

Sir, why do you no longer reply to my dispatches? I've begun to suspect that I am in a very bad position. If you could just acknowledge that you receive my dispatches it would be of the greatest help. Just respond sir, just say that you receive these dispatches. I beg of you sir. I'm very worried but don't want to say yet as I suspect you will feel I've lost my mind if I attempt clarify my suspicions.

Sir, it has been many weeks since my last dispatch and I must say that I hope you receive these. It would not surprise me if you did but were unable to respond. After all, how could one respond to the dead? My body is still decaying in my motel room and has yet to be discovered. It's a horrible sight sir. One should not be subjected to seeing ones own body in a state of decay. There are well over 100 flies in my room now. My favorite fly still follows me to the diner every day. Perhaps he too his dead? I don't know as I am unable to communicate with him. Sir please if you receive these will you have someone retrieve my body? I don't care what is done with it but I can't bare to continue to look at it anymore. It doesn't even look like me in its current stage. It looks lifeless yet I don't feel lifeless. I've slowly begun to disassociate myself from it. It's no more than a disappointment. Every day after the diner I open my motel room door and see the flies and know that my rotting body mass is still lying in the bed. A sad piece of road kill that is just waiting to be picked up by the city workers and disposed of properly. I don't know how or when I died. It seemed to be more gradual than anything. Perhaps I was in denial for some time. Sir, I beg of you. I've been such a good worker for you for many years.

Sir! Sir! I know it's been some time but I saw you in the diner today. You ordered orange juice, coffee, and pie. I sat next to you and watched you look around. I watched you feel the warm glass of orange juice. I watched you order and point to the pie shelf for a piece of Boston cream pie. I watched you watch how it was removed, sliced carefully, and carefully re-wrapped. Sir you seemed to enjoy it very much! My body was removed some time ago and truckers now sleep in there like bears. They snore so loudly sir. It's almost too much at times. Do you still receive these dispatches sir?

M C R