[ WP ] : You do n't remember what you do for a living . Literally . You black out for 8 hours 5 days a week and a paycheck appears once per month .

I awoke with a start. Mackie was hovering in front of me, snapping his fingers. I blinked my eyes, glancing around the bar. The flickering Rolling Rock clock above the wall of liquor said 5:07, so it was around 6:15 or so. 
 
 `` How long was I out?'' I asked, looking down at the sweaty brown bottle centered between my hands. It looked completely full. 
 
 `` I'm not sure you were ever *in*,'' said Mackie, picking up the bottle and wiping off the puddle of condensation. `` Hard day?'' 
 
 `` Looks that way,'' I said. Like always, though, I had no idea. 
 
 `` You know, you've never said what it is you do.'' 
 
 I took a long, deep swig off the bottle, belching softly as I smacked my lips. `` No?'' 
 
 `` No,'' said Mackie. `` You're in here every workday, looking like the Devil himself beat it out of ya, but I've never heard what it is you do. Andy and I even took bets once. He thinks you work up at the mill, on account of those big arms of yours and all those callouses on your hands.'' 
 
 I flexed my hands self-consciously. `` And what did you bet?'' 
 
 `` Postman,'' said Mackie, smiling. `` You got that suntan like you been out in the sun all day. And I've seen you massaging your back. Too much walkin', maybe. I dunno. Just a guess.'' 
 
 I nodded, taking another long pull off the beer. `` So?'' said Mackie. `` You gon na say?'' 
 
 I smiled. `` Sorry, Mack. You're gon na have to pay up. Mill it is.'' 
 
 `` Shit!'' said Mackie, slapping the bar. `` Fooled me with that suntan.'' 
 
 I wiped my brow. `` Olive skin runs in my family.'' 
 
 Mackie shook his head. `` Alright, alright. You ready for another?'' 
 
 I drained the bottle. `` Yeah. Sure.'' 
 
 Mackie grabbed the empty. `` Your wife do n't mind you stopping here every night? Most do n't especially appreciate that these days.'' 
 
 `` Wife?'' I said. *Wife*. Now why did that make my back stiffen and my heart start racing under my flannels? 
 
 Mackie gestured at my hand. `` I assumed that was a wedding band?'' 
 
 I looked down at the ring on my hand. Right. That ring. I'd never really thought much about it. 
 
 `` Oh. Uh, no. That's... that's something else.'' 
 
 Mackie nodded, cracking the cap off a fresh beer and planting it like a flag in front of me. `` Ah. Alright. Well, I hope this is n't prying, but... do they pay alright at that mill? My brother's been working on a farm outside of town, but he's got a baby on the way and I was just wonderin'...'' 
 
 `` Ah, yeah. Sure. Pretty good,'' I said, hoping like hell they actually did. I only got the one check a month. It was n't much, but it was something. It was enough, I guess. Especially considering I had no idea what it was *for*. 
 
 Mackie nodded. `` Well, you let me know if you need anything else.'' Then he wandered off to go watch the game. 
 
 I was tired. So goddamn tired. I vaguely remembered waking up in the morning and I barely remembered eating breakfast and putting on clothes and then... 
 
 Then there I was, back at the *Wild Pony*. Asleep at the bar, nursing another beer. 
 
 There were so many *gaps* it was maddening. And I could just barely see it... just barely see the full story, just over the horizon, but I was always, *always* too tired to chase after it. Too tired to think straight. I guess it was the job. Whatever the hell that was. 
 
 I finished my beer and dropped a few bucks on the bar. I felt lucky I remembered where home was. I needed to go back to sleep. I almost hoped I would n't wake up this time. 
 
 I checked the mailbox outside the house, chuckling a little at Mackie's guess. Mailman. I do n't know. The hours were probably right, but I definitely did n't have the right costume for it. 
 
 The statement was there. Not a check. The money went straight into my account. Probably why I hardly ever thought about it. But I thought about it then. It was from a law firm. I did n't *work* for a law firm, did I? That did n't seem right. Someone who just handled the money, I supposed. Someone named *Sara* was listed on the invoice. 
 
 Maybe I'd look them up and give them a call. Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I'd try to figure it out. But I was so, so tired. 
 
 Always so goddamn tired. 
 
 I woke up and it was like I barely ever slept. Not that night, not ever. I stumbled through the house. There was so much junk in the house. Magazines I'd never read. A pink jacket. Children's toys. Sometimes I wondered if it was my house at all. But it must have been. No one ever came to say it was n't. 
 
 Someone knocked on the door. They must have been there to take me to work. I would ask them where we were going. And I already knew I would n't remember. 
 
 I opened the door. A man was there. He smiled and it was n't a good smile. It was a smile for him and him alone. 
 
 `` Edward, good morning,'' he said. 
 
 I nodded. `` Where are we going?'' I asked. 
 
 `` What does it matter?'' he said. `` You wo n't remember.'' 
 
 `` I know,'' I said. `` But still...'' 
 
 The man just smiled some more and took me by the shoulder and lead me out of the house and into a car. `` We're *looking*, Edward. Back out to the site we go!'' 
 
 And the car turned on and the man drove and I could barely stay awake. I tried to watch - to see where we were going. Where did I work? What did I do? But I was too tired. Too tired. And then the car stopped and we were in a valley. Grass and flowers and overcast skies. 
 
 The man hopped out of the car and twisted around to the trunk, where he pulled out a shovel. `` Maybe today's the day you find them,'' he said, handing me the shovel. 
 
 My hands hurt. They were blistered and calloused. I had n't really noticed that before, not even when Mackie pointed it out. But with the shovel in my hands, that little part came back. The shovel in my hands. I'd been shoveling. For how long, though? And why? 
 
 `` Go look,'' said the man. `` They're waiting for you.'' 
 
 `` Who?'' I asked and only then realized how much I did n't want to know. Nothing good would come from knowing. Nothing good would come from waking up. 
 
 `` Your wife!'' he said, slapping me on the shoulder. `` Your son! Your daughter! They're out here. Waiting for *you*.'' 
 
 What part of it is a dream, I wonder? The part where I'm sitting in a bar like a normal person, drinking a beer and watching a ballgame? The in-between parts where I'm flashing through lives and memories I'm not sure I ever really lived? Or the valley parts? The shovel parts? Those long, hot days when I'm running through the grass, frantic, dipping my shovel into the earth and looking for bodies, looking for bones, looking for my family? 
 
 It's so hot out here and I'm so tired. But maybe today's the day I find them. Or maybe tomorrow. I do n't know. 
 
 I'm so tired.
