Down the Rabbit Hole

Sitting in the cubicle of Macy’s photos, he watched the video of her laughing over and over and over, until finally he rose, knowing he had to do something. He had to get out, he had to talk to her. He had to tell her how much she meant to him, even if she still wanted to let him go. What a fool he’d been, taking her for granted. Not that he’d realized it at the time, but now he did. Noticing how many times he reached for his phone, how often he wanted to turn from the “now” of this place to the “maybe” of a message from her—even if the “now” was whacked and the “maybe” not happening—he realized that the retreat into his apps was habitual. Even here, inside a smartphone, he reached for his phone.

But even if that weren’t enough, the countless pictures of him looking at his phone, reaching for his phone, holding his phone, would have convinced him. He was appalled with himself. If he never saw another smartphone screen again he’d be happy, if only he could get out of here and back to her. But right now all he had were smartphone screens, and he had to use them the best way he knew how.

As he moved back down the hallway toward the elevators he was suddenly arrested by the sound of her voice. He stopped and listened. “Don’t forget eggs again!” “Call Mom.” “Tell Lute he was right.”

Had to be her Reminders app. He moved on to Messages, heard what had to be audio texts. “I don’t know how to get his attention! I must be the most boring person on the planet. Do you think it’s me?” Then the sound of her laughter again—clearly in a different conversation—and finally, “I don’t think I can do this anymore . . .”

The elevators, thank god, were right where he’d left them. He pushed the down arrow and waited, one shoulder leaning against the wall. He was exhausted and upset. He wished he could go to sleep and wake up back at home. He would run to Macy’s apartment and beg her to give him another chance. He’d reform. He’d get a dumb phone. He’d learn to pay attention.

He felt the penny drop—the truth of the matter suddenly glaringly obvious. He got it now. It was about him, his lack of presence. And he could fix that! Shouldn’t that get him out of here? Because once he was free he was going straight to Macy to tell her he understood at last.

She had left behind an enormous void within him. He wasn’t the sentimental sort, so he wasn’t getting mawkish on himself, but as things had progressed he had felt somehow less alone in the world. Safer. Like everything had a point. It wasn’t that the rest of his life was bad. His job was great, his friends were top notch, and numerous, but there was something about Macy that had completed the puzzle. She fit, and with her he’d felt whole.

And then he’d blown it.

She’d tried to warn him, but he hadn’t listened to her. Thinking back on it he recalled multiple conversations about his phone use. Most of them joking—he’d thought—but some of them serious. Heartfelt.

Why hadn’t he paid more attention?

Why hadn’t he realized that if she left him, he’d be heartbroken—even in the face of an apparent psychotic break?

The elevator doors opened with a clamor of hinges and electronics. He pushed himself off the wall and stepped inside. Just for the hell of it he pressed all the buttons again, but was not surprised when he ended up back on 5. The doors eased open, and he was back in the sterile world of non-glowing, non-throbbing, non-dinging cubicles.

Just outside of the elevator alcove he stopped and listened. Still silent. He glanced left, the route he believed went to his cubicle, then right, and nearly jumped out of his skin at the appearance of the elusive red-haired guy. The one he’d seen just before spotting Brian.

Impossibly tall and stooped with self-consciousness, he was thin, with a hangdog look to go with his past-due haircut and indoorsy complexion. He was older than Jeremy by probably ten years, and his eyes looked faded.

He addressed Jeremy with a dead gaze. “Hey.”

Jeremy looked up—way up—and held out a hand. Between the giant Mrs. Hartz and now this guy, he wondered if he’d accidentally ingested something that said Drink Me on it. Or was it the Eat Me that had made Alice small?

“It’s you!” Jeremy beamed. “I’ve been looking for you. Did you hear me calling earlier?”

“Yeah.” The red-haired guy glanced down, then offered his hand. It felt like a collection of popsicle sticks in Jeremy’s.

“I’m Jeremy Abbott.”

“Kyle.”

“Listen, I’m glad to meet you. Do you mind answering some questions? What is this place? Do you know? Have you been here long? Have you got any idea how we get out?”

Kyle nodded his shaggy head. “Yeah, so, we got, uh, sent here by stuff we did, you know?”

Jeremy raised his brows. Kyle seemed to think that was enough information. “Sent here? By who? What stuff? How do we find out? Is this some kind of purgatory?”