Harold Brash

Harold Brash was 20 minutes into his 35 minute drive to work when traffic stopped. There was an accident up ahead near the exit to the mall. To calm his nerves about the sudden delay he turns on his favorite radio station.

Radio host

“ Good morning NPR listeners, The time is 7:34 a.m. on this Wednesday morning. We’ll be right back after a word from our sponsors.”

The deep gentle voice of the morning show host, filled the small space of Harold’s car as traffic moved again. Emergency services cleared the scene and Harold was on time for work. Before bed that night, Harold ironed his clothes for the next day and hung them neatly in his closet. After feeding his cat and changing into pajamas. He brushed his teeth and went to bed. The next morning, his alarm sounded at 6:00 a.m. Harold got up to pee, made his bed and then his breakfast; took a shower and got dressed, then got in his car and drove to work.

Traffic on I-5 Southbound towards Seattle was moving pretty well until he reached the exit by the mall. Checking his watch, he sees that he’s only 20 minutes into his 35 minute drive to work. Harold reaches for the radio knob, pressing the center to turn it on.

Radio host

“ Good morning NPR listeners. The time is 7:34 a.m. on this Wednesday morning. We’ll be right back after a word from our sponsors.”

The smooth dulcet tones of the morning radio show hosts’ voice filled the small space in Harold’s car. As he listened to the radio, a sense of familiarity washed over him. He was a man of routine, but this is exactly what happened yesterday. Sitting there, he surveyed the surrounding cars, making sure there were actually people inside them. An eerie feeling creeped over Harold’s mind as he was being sucked into a spiral of dread. Until emergency services cleared the scene allowing for traffic move; and Harold was on time for work. From his car to his desk, he compared yesterday morning with this morning and the events were identical. He scoured every detail for the slightest discrepancy and came up empty-handed.

“ Good morning Harold.”

Grace said from the cubicle beside him. She always greeted him when he came in, which wasn’t new. At his desk, Harold studied the placement of his computer and keyboard, pen holder, stapler, and tape dispenser. The contents of his desk were all where he’d left them. Satisfied that he'd been over reacting; those nagging feelings subsided and left him by lunchtime.

After work, Harold went by the grocery store to grab a few things for dinner. During his check out, the cashier comments on his purchase. . .

“ This is your favorite for the week I see.”

“ You must have confused me with someone else . . .” He says.

“ You bought this same dinner yesterday and the day before… ” she tells him.

Harold lets out a hearty chuckle in response to her banter, confused by her annoyed up and down appraisal of him.

“It’s only Wednesday. . . and I didn’t come here yesterday.” He insists.

The cashier stops ringing the items on the belt to pull a receipt from her drawer and shows it to Harold.

“ Sir, it’s Friday. You’ve been here every day. . . I’m always setting up my register when you’re walking in the store at 5:28, right before my shift starts at 5:30.”

Harold inspects the receipt with yesterday’s date, the last four digits of his debit card and the exact list of items he collected from around the store.

“ I saved your receipt from yesterday so you could use the coupon at the bottom…” she says.

The cashier scans the barcode from the receipt, applying the three-dollar discount to his purchase. That nagging feeling returns on the drive home. He could’ve sworn it was Wednesday. Then again, he thought yesterday was Wednesday. . . today was really Friday. What happened to Thursday? Tomorrow he was going to sleep in since, apparently; he was in the beginning stages of some sort of mental breakdown.

After dinner, Harold washed the dishes, poured himself a glass of wine and sat in front of the fireplace, listening to the radio.

Radio host

“ Welcome back NPR listeners. Tonight we have a special guest for you. Here to read from her new book Unlocking The Conscious Mind. Dr. Lindsay Rose.”

The title of the book piqued Harold’s attention as he turned up the volume with the remote by his side. Closed eyes allowed him to listen more intently. The lilting tones of Dr. Rose’s melodic voice sank into his psyche and it wasn’t long before he felt himself nodding asleep. To stay awake, he bugged open his eyes and blinked a few times. Standing at the kitchen sink, he finished loading the last plate into the dishwasher and dried off his hands with the towel hanging from the oven pull. He walks over to the radio and switches it on; warmth from the fireplace embraces him as he opens a bottle of wine and pours himself a glass. Savoring a sip of his favorite vintage, the song on the radio fades and the announcer speaks.

Radio host

“ Welcome back NPR listeners. Tonight we have a special guest for you. Here to read from her new book Unlocking the Conscious Mind. Dr. Lindsay Rose.”

A chill goes through Harold; he swallows the wine in his mouth and sets the glass on the table.

“This just happened. . . I just did all of this!”

Harold’s heart beats erratically in his chest as his lungs struggle to inflate. Dull pain fills his sinuses, making him feel like his brain is separating. He goes to the bathroom. Frantic, he switches on the light and plants both hands on the counter.

“ My name is Harold Brash… I was born August 4th, 1981. I live at 456 Greenbelt PL. Suite 7.”

Next, he recounts the strange déjà vu events from the day while staring into his reflection, looking for logic to explain his mental break. Resolved to the fact that he needs sleep, Harold goes to bed. Before switching off the lamp, he takes a long look around his bedroom; committing everything to memory, in case anything weird happens. The thought that he’s losing his mind makes Harold sad.

A high-pitched frequency creeped into his awareness; he woke to pressure and voices in his head; all of them speaking at once. Unable to move or open his eyes causes panic that presents as muffled whines and groans. Sensations of claustrophobia are fleeting and soon he’s released from his invisible bondage. A coolness in the air seems to amplify an absence of sound until someone speaks.

“Why are you messing with me?”

Asks an elderly man peeking in from a window across the room. Harold feels the question form in his mind as it speaks from his chest but he doesn’t recognize the voice. He moves to ask the man where he is and his body feels strange; it’s difficult to get it all moving together. When he reaches the old man at the window he’s met with his own reflection!

“It’s a mirror, not a window…”

Another deep wave of panic rocks Harold’s body as he grabs his chest; the tightness constricting his breath as his legs give out from under him and he hits the ground.

“ Stop! You’re killing him! Go back!” another unfamiliar voice says.

“You were supposed to be watching it!”

A second voice responds to the first. . . they were arguing from some disembodied place. Harold tilted his head, struggling to discern more of the conversation when he reached for the radio in his car. . .?

“ Good morning NPR listeners. The time is 7:34 a.m. on this Wednesday morning. We’ll be right back after a word from our sponsors.”

The radio announcer’s voice filled the space in Harold’s car as traffic moved again and Harold was on time for work.

The recollection of his death disturbed him. . . He was an old man; he’d died and heard people talking about it; then he was back in his car on the way to work. But he was certain that he’d gone to bed only a few moments ago. The combination of last night’s dinner and toothpaste remained on his breath. Yesterday was Friday, which meant that today was Saturday; he didn’t work the weekends!

“ WHAT IS GOING ON? WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME? ”

Harold yelled and screamed himself to tears in his cubicle.

“ Harold...Harold? Can You hear me?”

A woman’s voice called to him. Harold opened his eyes, the voice sounded like the guest speaker from the NPR program he was listening to before bed.

“ Dr. Rose?” Harold asks confusedly.

“ Good, you can hear me! Hello Harold, you must have many questions and I promise to answer all of them. But first, you need rest. We almost lost you.”

Three days later. . .

Harold Brash learned that he’d signed up to have his memory wiped and be put through a social experiment called Déjà vu, run by Dr. Lindsay Rose. She sent two men to collect him after he woke up. They escorted him to her office and stood inside the door, in case Harold did anything crazy. She assured them Harold wasn’t a danger and shooed them out of her office. After which, she stood up from her desk to join Harold on the couch by the window.

“ You came to us a few weeks ago to volunteer for my study. Said you’d heard about it on the radio and it sounded intriguing.”

She begins, taking his hands in hers as she explains what Harold agreed to. Even though she kept saying it. He couldn’t imagine himself agreeing to this type of experiment. The way she kept reminding him that he agreed to this. . . Why did she have to touch his leg every time she said it? Why was she touching him at all? Little things started coming back the longer he sat there. Like her office; he remembered being here now…and interviewing for this experiment but he said no.

“ What changed my mind?”

Harold interrupted Dr. Rose’s rambling and touching, pulling his hands from hers and standing to move across the room.

“ I’m sorry?” She asks.

“ I said no in my interview. What made me change my mind about the experiment? ”

“ You came back a week later and said you changed your mind. You didn’t give a reason, and I didn’t ask for one.”

“That’s not how I remember it. . . your goons woke me up in the middle of the night! You were there Dr. Rose; in my apartment. You injected me with something!”

He says, yelling at the top of his voice.

“ I’m so sorry Harold. . . I didn’t think it would be this difficult for you. It’s time to sleep now.”

Dr. Roses’ voice saturating his senses made him drowsy and compliant. The sensation of falling sat Harold up from dozing off in the traffic jam on his way to work.

Radio host

“ Good morning NPR listeners. The time is 7:34 a.m. on this Wednesday morning. We’ll be right back after a word from our sponsors.”

A big yawn added to the fog of Harold’s brain. The commercial finished and traffic started to move again and Harold was on time for work.