Participants

     When Dobson accepted his new position at the factory, he believed the world had finally smiled at him. But the world never smiled at Isaac Dobson. It occasionally smirked at him. But a genuine smile? No. Never. But for a time – a short time – Dobson was convinced things were going his way. And so he did something he had never really allowed himself to do before. Dobson began to dream.

     At first they were tiny, insignificant dreams. Dreams of walking to the corner store without stepping in dog droppings, dreams of his bus arriving at the scheduled time, dreams of eating a nice meal without getting heartburn. And then Dobson began to have bigger dreams. Dreams of being respected at work. Dreams of being recognized by the bartender when he walked into his favorite pub. And dreams of love. He dreamed of finding someone who would be seen with him in public without his making a significant contribution toward her rent. Of finding someone who would let him kiss her and perhaps even do that thing he’d read about so often in the books left by the previous tenant of his tiny apartment, that thing he was afraid to ask even the woman who ate into his paycheck every month. And it was this dream that took over his consciousness, his thoughts, his soul, as he believed that it was now possible. He might finally have the opportunity to waltz with a lady.

     At work he began humming waltzes to himself, and tapping out the rhythm on his clipboard with the pen that was attached to it by a short plastic cord. This did not make his co-workers respect him, and poorly drawn caricatures of Dobson waltzing began appearing on the bathroom walls. But Dobson didn’t see them. He did not use the toilet at work. His body refused to function in public places, even now with his new position. It was the first position – and would be his only position – that required the use of a clipboard, and he got a minor thrill just from holding it, from carrying it, which he did with both hands, something else his co-workers found worthy of ridicule. Perhaps the most accomplished drawing now adorning the bathroom wall was of Dobson waltzing romantically with his clipboard, a look of unabashed elation (some saw it as sexual excitement) on his face. That piece was the contribution of Stan Hollis, a disturbed but somewhat talented young man who had a dream of his own.

     Dobson’s attention went rather quickly from the hypothetical dance partner to an actual woman who worked in the accounting department. Her name was Tara Morgan, and she was a woman of average height and average weight, and of average appeal to the opposite sex. She liked old blues records, horses and slightly dirty jokes, and on Fridays she played poker with a group of other women. They played for money, and Tara won approximately the same amount that she lost. Her one striking feature was her stare, which some found off-putting and some found alluring. Dobson fell firmly into the latter group. In fact, he read a lot more into her stare than anyone else ever did. But all he read there was wrong.

     Tara was aware of Dobson only as a name on a paycheck. Perhaps she was dimly aware of his slightly upgraded position, because of the slight change in the amount on the paycheck. But that was the extent of her knowledge of – and her interest in – Isaac Dobson. And her stare? It was something that Tara perfected in her school days, a look that teachers read as rapt attention when what it really meant was that her thoughts were elsewhere. Her focus was inward, not outward. Her dreams played a more prominent role in her life than did Dobson’s in his, and always had. But Dobson saw her looking in his direction one Thursday afternoon and felt a sudden sharp sting of excitement unlike anything he’d felt before. A woman was seeing him for the first time. And he thought everything was falling into place. After all, his bus had been only two minutes late that day.

     Stan Hollis was eight years old when his dreams took an unexpected turn toward the macabre. Not long after that, his pet gerbil was buried. And in the succeeding years he became quite keen on human anatomy, reading every book on the subject he could obtain, and making sketches of organs and the circulatory system. During high school he managed to steal first a doctor’s coat and then surgical scrubs from the local hospital while visiting his sister. His sister didn’t survive, but Hollis felt that to be the time when his life began to truly take the shape it was meant to. He was making progress toward realizing his dream.

     It was late Friday afternoon when Dobson decided to make his own big dream come true. He did a little research on dance halls and found one he believed would meet his needs, and called to make reservations for two. He then went straight to Tara’s office, clipboard firmly in hands. He walked excitedly, almost proudly. That’s how one co-worker would later describe it to the police. But when he reached her door, Dobson saw that Tara was busy. She was in what he assumed was an important work-related conversation with two colleagues. That, however, did not cause him to give up, just to adjust his tactics. He turned over the top form on his clipboard to its blank side and began to compose a brief letter. “Dear Tara,” his letter began. Surely this was the best use he’d found for his clipboard so far. When he completed the letter, he slipped it into the clear plastic box outside her door. And as he walked back to his regular spot at work, in his mind he ran through the scenario as he assumed it would play out, beginning with the look of surprise, and even joy, on Tara’s face as she read his note inviting her to be his waltz partner that night. Dobson felt so certain of the world – a completely new sensation – that he didn’t even leave his phone number, just the time he planned to be at the club. He did not dream that she would turn him down. The world was smiling at Dobson, and Dobson was smiling back. Several co-workers would remark on his spacey, lofty smile when interviewed by the police later. That’s how they would remember him. Stan Hollis would remember him differently. Tara wouldn’t remember him at all. She never read Dobson’s letter.

     Something cracked in Stan Hollis long ago, but he had hidden the fissure for years. He’d done so by not putting his grand dream into action. But that Friday when he woke he knew it was the day when all would come true, and he’d reach what he believed was his highest self. Stan Hollis was nothing short of ecstatic as he packed his doctor’s coat and surgical scrubs into his backpack. He just needed to decide who would help him in his most important endeavor. The world was smiling at Stan Hollis. And when Isaac Dobson smiled at him too, he knew he’d found the perfect participant to fulfill his dream.

     As Tara was leaving her office, she reached into the box for the few accumulated papers within. But Laurie Fowler, one of the two poker buddies who had come to collect her, stopped her hand. “That can wait until Monday,” she told Tara. Tara agreed and didn’t give it another thought. By Monday, the letter would be in the hands of the police. That night Tara came out ahead, something that had not happened before. She won the first three rounds. And as she remarked that she was having the best night, Stan Hollis made the first incision in Isaac Dobson’s chest. At the precise moment when Isaac Dobson ceased dreaming forever, Tara laid out a royal flush.

(Copyright 2019 Michael Doherty)

(Note: The bulk of this short story was written while at work on January 9, 2019, with just some minor changes made at home on January 16th.)