A City Like Any Other

By C. Michael Cook

In the beginning, Matt Driscoll was merely a creature of habit, but soon enough he became its slave. He walked to work in the mornings; in the evenings, he walked home. Each day, he took the same route and saw the same people: the woman who hid her sad mouth behind too much pink lipstick, the Sumo wrestler in a shirt and tie, the black man who sat and begged, blocking the narrow sidewalk with his twisted leg. If they noticed Matt—once a nice-looking fellow who’d grown soft and faded as an old towel—they never gave any indication.

~

Matt often wondered how far his walks might take him if they extended in one direction only, instead of back and forth between his apartment on the 19th floor of one building and his office on the 37th of another. It was nine blocks each way. Eight blocks equal a mile. In a week, he’d be outside the city and somewhere in the suburbs, and in a month well past them all. After a year, he could reach one of several states or head north and leave the country altogether. Just by walking in one direction, instead of the same two.

~

He was happy to find an empty elevator waiting for him in the lobby. Matt hurried into it, pushing the button for his floor. Just as the doors were closing, an old man with a leathery face slipped in, proud that he could still move so swiftly at his age. “Beautiful day,” he said, pushing a button of his own. Matt smiled from his corner of the car. Small talk, small spaces. Both made him feel like the walls were closing in, and he would soon run out of air. The elevator doors slid shut. They rode up in silence.

~

Matt worked for a man named Goringer, who happily corrected anyone who needed it on the pronunciation of his name. “With a J,” he always said, as if that clarified anything. Three nights in a row that week he asked Matt to stay late and work on a presentation Goringer should have completed the week before. On Thursday, Goringer left early while Matt printed and assembled his handouts well into the night. On Friday morning, Goringer presented it all to a room of important clients and upper management. When the meeting ended, he could hear the applause from his cubicle.

~

Spring and summer bloomed; fall turned everything brown. Matt dreaded work and hated Goringer. At night, he ate ice cream and junk food so salty it stung his mouth. He drank to forget, but couldn’t for long. Sleep betrayed him, and his mind ran wild like a flooded river. He gained weight and lost hair. Eventually, Goringer noticed the change. “You look terrible,” he said one afternoon, leaning against the entrance to Matt’s cubicle. “I need players who can take the heat.” He shook his head to show Matt that this was hard for him. “Sorry. You’ve got to go.”

~

Matt walked home, pondering his next move. He could find another job. Walk to work a different way. That was the easiest thing to imagine. But maybe not the best. Perhaps what he really deserved was something new, a change. A different job, apartment, even city. It was a formidable goal, but one that seemed exactly right. Just thinking about it made him feel better. By the time he unlocked his door, he’d made a decision. He had some money saved up. There were places he wanted to go. He only needed to pick a direction and head toward it.

~

It was a city like any other, with buildings and people stacked like books. And yet, everything about it was new. Matt found a job, an apartment close by, and a route to walk between them. He saw new people along the way: the old woman with the kind face and all those brightly flowered dresses, the proper gentleman who never appeared without his hat and cane, the young lady who, strangely, always made him think of candy. Matt often found himself smiling as he walked to work and back. Sometimes, he even felt like the city was smiling back.

~

Winter thawed and spring bloomed again. Now Matt said hello to the old woman, the proper gentleman, the young lady. Sometimes, on especially nice days, she nodded and smiled back. One morning, a few steps behind her, he saw a woman hiding her sad mouth behind too much pink lipstick. Two days later, he spotted a Sumo wrestler in a shirt and tie. His stomach went all hot and sour. He looked again, wondering how his eyes could betray him. When he did, he nearly tripped over a black man sitting and begging, blocking the sidewalk with his twisted leg.

~

Matt was waiting for the elevator doors to close when a man with a leathery face walked in. “Another beautiful day,” he said as the car began its rise. Matt could only smile and stare at the blinking lights. But inside, something like electricity tingled across his back and arms. He stepped off at his floor and hurried through the halls, wondering what was happening to him, terrified by the answer. He heard voices from a nearby conference room, men’s and women’s, in the polite and excited rhythms of small talk and introductions. One of them said, “With a J.”

~

He turned and left the building. Bright sunlight made his eyes squint and water, blurring the men and women marching to other offices in other buildings. Matt lowered his head and started walking. His apartment was nine blocks away. He didn’t stop, but continued past it instead. An hour later, he was in a part of the city he’d never seen before. After two, he found himself in a strange neighborhood on a street that stretched off into the distance as far as he could see. It was as good a direction as any, he thought, so Matt continued walking.