by Simon Lowe
What did it say about Tim, that he ate the same lunch every day, and had done so for eight years, without deviation? That he was known to drive to the supermarket at unusual hours in the evening to source ingredients to maintain this routine? And when you factor in that his lunch was nothing exceptional, a sandwich: two slices of cheese, three halved baby tomatoes, a cut of honey roasted ham and baby gem lettuce, what then?
Gwen, a fellow alarm guy, who, like Tim, spent her nights taking calls from key holders, in order to switch off their store alarm, witnessed the eating of this lunch each day, at approximately 3am. Gwen was training to be a psychotherapist and had strong opinions on what it said about Tim.
She hypothesized Tim was breastfed for an unusually long period, more than a year for sure. Tim refused to confirm or deny this. Something had happened in Tim’s childhood that caused him to fixate on a sandwich. She explained how Tom’s subconscious was keeping a metaphorical lid on the incident, storing it safely. So long as Tim ate his sandwich every day, it could not escape. Gwen, in this instance, did not necessarily see it as a problem but an act of kindness by Tim’s self, an act of self preservation.
Over time, Gwen changed her mind. Tim had a diagnostically obvious compulsive disorder that needed addressing. Wandering the aisles of a supermarket at ungodly hours in the afternoon, when he should be tucked up in bed dreaming of Carl Rogers, the black out blinds down, was a real worry. She suggested Tim start by swapping over one ingredient, a tomato for example, either removing it or replacing it with cucumber. He should do this for a week, repeating a mantra in his head: ”it is only a tomato, I control what I eat.”
Tom tried but failed.
Despite her best efforts, none of Gwen’s analysis or therapeutic solutions worked, Tim couldn’t shake the psychological need to replicate his 3am lunch.
To compound matters, Tim had recently developed a new, concurrent obsession: the key holder for one of their listed stores. Everytime the phone rang Tim closed his eyes and mumbled pleadingly: ‘please be him, please be him, please, please, just for once, please,’ before answering. If Gwen’s phone rang while he was taking a call, Tim would apologize to his caller, pass them to Gwen, and quickly mumble his begging requests, before leaning over to answer Gwen’s phone. Sometimes, Tim’s obsession could not remember the codeword. Tim needed to hear a codeword before he could switch off the alarm. Outrageously, Tim would offer clues, rhyming words, number of syllables, even the first letter. Tim could be fired for prompting codewords, if caught, but there didn’t seem to be anything that could stop Tim’s behavior.
Much like the sandwich, there was no obvious reason for the key holder obsession. There was nothing magical in the timbre of the key holder’s voice, no sense of personality could be gained from the call. Tim had no idea what the key holder looked like, how old he was, if he was romantically available or, for that matter, inclined. Yet he told Gwen he was in love and must always take this key holder’s call. Gwen suggested Tim try and find out more information about the key holder, strike up a conversation perhaps. Tim baulked at this really stupid idea, he only wanted to take the call and clarify the codeword. That was the relationship he desired, the one he had to have, at any cost.
Gwen kept her department at the University up to speed on Tim’s behaviour. To begin with, they were fascinated by this most unusual case, but as more details were revealed, Gwen’s lecturers and professors began to find Tim’s case too baffling, unexplainable even, and what did it say about them, as a team of trained psychologists, that they could not explain a persons behavior?
Disillusionment caused the department to close. Second careers were pursued. Not being able to train as a psychotherapist didn’t trouble Gwen. She was only doing it to help Tim. She never intended to stop being an alarm guy. So long as he was there, through the night, next to her, that’s all that mattered. Nothing was going to stop her being by his side. She didn’t have to understand him: that’s not how obsessions worked.
Simon Lowe is a British writer. His stories have appeared in EX/Post, Breakwater Review, AMP, Storgy, Great Weather for Media, Ponder Review, and elsewhere. His novel, The World is at War, Again, was published June 2021 (Elsewhen Press). You can find more at www.simonlowebooks.com.