Freeing of the Turtle

"So, how's it coming along?"

I snapped out of my daze and was suddenly back in my office, standing at the empty desk that was adorned by a monitor and a lone index card, propped up with tape. 'Doug', it read. My name. It wasn't two hours into my first day and I was already drifting. I scanned the bland interior of the office, trying to appear genuinely enthusiastic. There were two dead plants and a couch across from my desk. There was a large dark stain on the left seat cushion that was practically waving at me. A calendar hung on the wall closest to my window. It displayed a month that happened during the last presidency. The office reeked of stale fish and depression.

"We will get you a proper nameplate by next Monday." the gawky, somewhat unlikable assistant said. "The guy before you kind of just took everything on his way out." She laughed nervously. "We believe he had a drug problem." I had nothing to contribute so I just nodded and took a seat at my desk. I opened my briefcase and pretended to be looking for something of import. There was nothing. "Well, I'll leave you to it! If you need anything, I'll be right down the hall. You can always shoot me an e-mail too. Just look in the address book for 'Karen M.', that one's me." With that, she vanished from my sight and left me to my own devices.

Around 11:00 AM, I did get an e-mail. It was from the Director of Operations and read as follows:

_____

"HI Doug!

Welcome aboard! We are happy to have you with us. I trust you are acclimating to your office and finding everything in order. Please let Karen know if there is anything missing or anything we can do to make your life easier.

I am writing to also inform you that at 1:00 PM today we are having a small celebration to observe Pete from accounting's last day with us. This will be a company wide social held just outside the business park, near the bay. You can get there by taking the main exit from the atrium and following the covered walk-way towards the parking garage, then continuing past it towards the docks. Pete has been a great employee with us for the past several years and we are just gathering to see him off. I understand you may wish to utilize your time arranging your office but I wanted to extend the invitation to you regardless. Although you have not gotten the opportunity to work with him, I believe this could be a great time for you to meet with the rest of the company and get to know some of the folks you'll be working with.

Regardless of what you decide, please enjoy your first day & feel free to let me or Karen know if you need anything or have any questions!

Warmest regards,

Mark Mackleson, Director of Operations"

_____

Excellent, I thought. Something to add to my schedule. That message came in my inbox at 10:05 AM, so there was time to kill. I spent it staring at my inbox and clicking around different folders on my desktop. This was intentionally an aimless exercise; I wanted anyone walking by my office to believe I was doing something. The truth is that my job description was vague; my position was Quality Assurance. There wasn't any instruction given to me on how to perform my job, only that I "ensure the satisfaction of clients through enforcing a standard of excellence in provision and delivery of services". This was my first day; what the fuck did they expect me to do? After doing nothing for what felt like a solid hour, I checked the time. It was only 10:14. I decided to go take an early lunch. I didn't tell anyone; I just went to my car and left. I actually went all the way back to my apartment and went back to sleep. I set my alarm for 12:30, took a shot of Chartreuse with an aspirin and passed out.

I made it to the dock just in the nick of time. There was already a substantial crowd gathered around when I arrived. Lots of frocks and blazers; the workplace culture was evident. It was uniform and joyless. There was a sense of cohesion but yet no one was connecting. Everyone stood a respectable distance from each other, drinking coffee or checking their phones. There was a pitter patter of non-conversation. A tall, broad shouldered man with a fade greeted me and welcomed me into his periphery.

"Hey guy. I'm Chuck. Sales." he said extending a fat, beefy hand. He squeezed my hand longer and harder than he needed to. I knew what kind of guy Chuck was. "You'll hear a lot about me around here," he said, proudly to himself. Matt, the sales manager hopped into the conversation. "Chuck has been the leader in sales for the past several quarters!" He gave Chuck a hefty thwack on his back and broke out laughing. It was the kind of laughter you might hear from an unmarried Scout Leader who doesn't have a son in the troop, or a priest who keeps you after church to help fold his robes, or your friend's weird dad who rubs your leg under the table when you're over for dinner. A wink and a nod from a place of darkness. It was clear that Matt had an erection. Chuck was so oblivious, completely lost in the efficient, neurotypical trappings of his Type-A personality that allowed him to never see beyond his nose. I began looking for a way to exit the conversation completely. There was an attractive, pale skinned woman just out of reach. She had no one to talk to. That seemed promising. Suddenly, there was a terrific applause that broke out and Dave, the IT guy, began blaring an airhorn.

"Hey, here comes Pete!"

I turned around to look. A man, one of ours, was making his way towards us from the business park. At a distance, he appeared to have a humped back. As he got closer, someone ran to assist him with stepping up onto the raised dock from the street. I felt guilty for having such a poor disposition towards everything before. There was a splatter of polite clapping and cheers as the guy, who I assumed to be Pete from accounting, made his way. He proceeded through the crowd, stopping to acknowledge or shake hands with various folks as he worked his way towards the end of the dock. I heard a whimpering noise behind me. Someone was holding back tears. "There he goes," someone in front of me said. I wondered where he was going, this guy Pete with the humped back. There was a slight aperture there that extended slightly over the water. Pete arrived at this point and turned to face the crowd. I saw his face for the first time.

Pete sported features that were...shocking to me. I first noticed the prominence of his long, hooked nose. It occupied the majority of his face, hanging slightly over his mouth. His lips were thin, drawn inwards. Pete removed his large, thick-rimmed glasses and exposed two small, black, beady eyes. He squinted at the crowd, as if struggling to see all of us clearly. The sandy mop on top of his head was revealed to be a toupee, which he removed. He was bald, smooth beneath. Pete tossed the toupee aside and began removing his peacoat. There was some difficulty there; afterall, undoing buttons is hard without an opposable thumb. Some offered to assist him and he waved them away with his flipper. The coat came off finally, revealing the large shell on his back. There was scattered applause and some gasps. An excited murmur, even. I noticed I had been picking at the skin around my nails; I was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. "Is this real?" I asked Chuck. He ignored me.

Pete took a bow before the crowd then turned to face the bay. You could cut the tension with a knife. He took one large breath. There were cries from the crowd, ("We will miss you!", "Best of luck, Pete!", "See you in the Spring!") there was crying, and there were even some who had already begun returning to the plaza, seemingly content with their level of participation to that point. Pete gave one final wave back to the crowd and then dove into the bay. He crashed in, the water foamed and gurgled briefly, and then all was still and he was gone. No one said a word. It was quiet. Unmanageably so.

I couldn't just say nothing anymore. "What the fuck was that?" I blurted out. That got a reaction; some people spun around, looking shocked by my outburst. Apparently I was alone in my confusion.

***

Not long after returning to the office from Pete's departure, Margaret from HR sent me an e-mail asking me to come down to her office. Mark, the Director of Operations, had been CC'd in on it so I felt a little anxiety about it. I wasn't sure what it was about but I kind of had an idea. So I went down the hall and sat myself in the little cupboard that comprised the entire HR department.

Margaret, the HR girl, was grazing on a salad at her desk and I was forced to sit and watch for several minutes before Mark joined us to begin the impromptu meeting. "Sorry I'm late, Marg," he said. He looked at me and nodded curtly. "Doug."

"Good afternoon." I said.

"Do you know why we called you in today?"

"I am honestly not sure." I replied. Margaret took over, and it was the first time I heard her voice. She was a monotone, lifeless tenor. Her voice was the sound of SSRI's doing what they're supposed to do. "Doug, you really upset a few people today at the docks with your profanity." A wave of relief washed over me. I thought for sure I was brought in because someone had seen me staring at that one girl's ass for too long at the docks. Now I realized I had an opportunity to seek clarity about the Pete situation.

"Now, we recognize that we did not give you our policies and procedures packet yet. However, there is a certain level of...decorum that seems obvious in a workplace, does it not?"

"Sure...you're absolutely right. I apologize if I offended anyone."

"Well, it's okay. You're not in trouble. On the HR end of things, we realize we didn't go over everything with you yet. You're technically still in training. But we just had to address this with you because people were upset. You know...Pete leaving is a big deal to us. People are emotional enough already."

"Actually, I wanted to ask about that." I said.

"Sure, go ahead," Mark said.

"Ok, so can we address the elephant in the room here? What...is Pete?"

The two of them exchanged glances; they looked genuinely perplexed. "Like...what does he do? He's an accountant."

I couldn't believe it. They had to be fucking with me. "I gathered that much," I said. "I mean...so he's like, a turtle, right?"

"I'm not sure I follow." Mark said.

I stared at him, stupefied. "Doug," Margaret chimed in, "maybe it could be helpful if you clarify what the issue is. Do you have a personal problem with Pete?"

"No! Not at all...I don't even know him!" I exclaimed.

"Ok, let's not get excited now..."

"I'm sorry." I said. "Look, I don't know if this is a practical joke or a prank that you guys play on the 'new guy', but I just really want answers because I'm feeling really confused right now."

"Ok. Sure." Mark took a relaxed posture in the soft chair by the window. "What can we help you with?" I was speechless. Pete was clearly a sea turtle. The entire company just witnessed him dive into the bay not more than a couple hours ago.

"Actually Mark, I think I know what this is about." Margaret interrupted, inhaling deeply, as if she was about to deliver some concession that would validate the reality of what we all saw. Instead, she dug into a folder and slid me a pamphlet regarding the Americans with Disabilities Act. "This is a fair, nondiscriminatory workplace Doug...I think we may have you complete some sensitivity training. I think I'll just..." She clicked around on her monitor. I heard the sound of the printer in the hallway. "I'll go grab a packet and we'll look over that together." She abandoned her wet, grassy meal and bounded from the office with the distinct appearance of an ungulate; I imagined small hooves where her feet were, clip-clopping as she vanished into the hallway. Mark got up from his chair and walked over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder, father-like.

"Doug, Pete is a hardworking American just like the rest of us. He has a wife and kids. In fact, he's only leaving us because he had to go take care of his family. He came here without them, Doug. Think about how hard that is on a person. Every year he leaves to go back to them for a season. Then he comes all the way back, just to continue providing for them. That's dedication. He's an exemplary employee..." He continued talking but I willed myself to tune it out. Tuned it all the way out & spiraled. Turtles all the way fucking down. I needed a drink.

***

The circle jerk of delusion went on; I began dissociating long before they dismissed me from the office. I stopped at the liquor store on my way home. By the time I pulled into my driveway I was already hammered.

I hopped on Indeed and began looking at different jobs. There was a listing I found for the exact same position at a rival company. Turns out they were located in the same business park as the one I just started at. They were offering the same exact pay and benefits. I sent in a message of interest, attaching my resume and then I searched some porn. I found a playlist I enjoyed and cast it from my smartphone to the Roku in my living room to let it play in the background as I began whipping up some dinner. It was taco night. I'd been marinating the ground beef since before I left for work that morning but unfortunately forgot to pick up taco shells on my liquor run earlier. I decided to make Hamburger Helper instead. I began heating up the ground meet and fixed myself a drink.

In the middle of the cacophonous noises of Aidra Fox violently gargling on some cock, the audio streaming to my Roku was interrupted by my phone ringing. I didn't recognize the number but I answered anyway out of morbid curiosity and hope against all odds that it could be the girl with the massive ass I saw at the docks earlier.

"Hello?" I said.

"Hey, is this Doug?" A shaky, feminine voice asked.

"Speaking."

"Hey...it's Karen. From the office."

God damn you. I thought. It was the annoying assistant.

"Hi Karen...what's up?"

"Hey, so sorry to interrupt your evening. Um...I just wanted to let you know, in case no one else told you, that Pete passed away this afternoon."

WHAT.

"Wow." I believe I said 'wow'.

"Yeah...it's true."

"Uh...what happened?" I asked.

"Well, the details are still not clear but it sounds like there was an accident. He was struck by a boat. It's...awful. His family is absolutely devastated."

"...wow," I said. I was watching Aidra Fox licking someone's asshole on the TV screen; the ground beef was sizzling on my stovetop.

"We are having a memorial for him tomorrow in the atrium. I just wanted to let you know in case you didn't hear about it yet. Everyone is devastated."

"That's awful." I responded. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Oh...um...sure." She said, sniffling on the other end of the line.

"Pete was injured by a boat because he was swimming in the ocean, right?"

There was a long, pregnant moment of silence before she answered, "I believe so."

"Okay," I said. Finally, we are getting somewhere. "Is Pete a turtle?"

The line went dead. She clearly hung up on me. I slammed my phone down and immediately finished off the remainder of my cocktail then made another one with three parts vodka and no parts soda. I curled up in a ball on the floor of my kitchen where I must have cried myself to sleep, porn blaring in the background.

***

I awoke in the middle of the night. I was in my bed. Something felt off. The door to my room was ajar and my blinds were open, casting a disturbing amount of light across my floor. How did I get to my room? I figured I must have gotten piss drunk and eventually wandered my way to bed, forgetting to close my door or shut the blinds. The blinds in my room typically allowed a little bit of light in from the street and I was used to falling asleep this way, but I now found them completely pulled up; my room was illuminated. Now awake, it came to my attention that there was a loud, repetitive sound outside. It sounded like someone tapping a heavy object against concrete. BING BING BING BING. It was jarring. This must have woken me up. I found my phone on the floor next to my bed. There was a text from Karen: "Hey, sorry my phone died earlier! See you tomorrow. Memorial is for 8 in the atrium." Fuck you, Karen. I went over to the blinds to see where the disruptive noise was coming from.

In the driveway I saw a dark clump on the ground. There was movement coming from the front half of it but I couldn't make out anything more than rapid up and down motions. I realized that the tapping noise was coming from whatever was happening with that as well. So I went outside to see what was happening.

When I opened my front door to confront the huddled mass in my driveway, it stopped moving. I cut the porch light on and slowly made my way down towards it, still unable to make out the details. As I crept closer, a foul stench reached my nostrils; it was putrid. It smelled like dead fish. The smell was familiar to me. In college, my roommate had an aquarium in our dorm. He was negligent, oftentimes because he was so stoned that he forgot to do the bare minimum to keep it a clean and hospitable environment for the creatures in captivity, and by proxy, us. There was always this rank odor. That smell found me now. As I got closer to the thing on the ground in my driveway, it wafted up into my nose, raping my olfactory senses. Even my ear canals singed with notes of sulfur.

It smelled like wet, sweaty dick hung on a fishing line in brackish water. It smelled like an expired carton of jizz left in a sauna. It smelled like a vacuum sealed fart, captured long before the advent of written language and unearthed in a damp, sickly hot tomb somewhere underneath a forgotten swamp, finally released. It smelled like a patchwork quilt made of of used diapers left to hang in a third-world favela. The scent was actually quite reminiscent of sour milk. It smelled like someone popped a zit on a crocodile's asshole. It smelled like the stinky kid no one wants to sit by; it smelled like the inside of their cast after months of not being able to itch the wound inside. It smelled like...a hot turtle tank.

The shape began gyrating violently just as I came within meters of it. The rapid movement resumed with ferocity, throwing the being into the light. It was Pete's decaying body. There was a large gash across the back of his shell and a trail of organs hanging out from beneath him. His eyes strained painfully at me in the light, searching for compassion; his body betrayed the humanity in those beady, amphibious eyes, jerking horribly as he began crawling towards me on his belly up the driveway. His beak rapped against the ground, revealing the source of the terrible noise that had awoken me. His fins scraped against the concrete as he struggled to come towards me. I backed up and tripped over myself, then scooted myself the remaining distance to the door. I got inside just in time, slamming it shut. He began rapping on the door with his beak. TAP TAP TAP TAP.

"Stop! Get the fuck away from me!" I yelled.

I went and grabbed my pistol. This mother fucker was going to die again. I was pushed to the brink. I checked the magazine and made sure it was loaded. I chambered a round, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Pete fell into the entry way, slipping on the linoleum floor. I took aim at his bald, turtle head. Just then, he looked up at me, his mouth agape.

"Yes...finish me. Finish me...oh fuck...OH FUCK!"

I awoke to my alarm going off, interrupting a scene on my Roku where a male actor was shouting expletives as he enjoyed an explosive orgasm onto Aidra Fox's face. I had passed out on the floor of my kitchen where I collapsed the night before. It was all a dream, as a poet from Brooklyn once proclaimed.

***

When I got to the office plaza, which they call the atrium, I found a significant crowd already gathered for the memorial service. Pete had indeed passed away as the result of a boat collision. Many of my coworkers were there, some in small groups talking quietly. There was coffee and donuts. Set up on the other side of the room was a table with a portrait of Pete and some flowers. It was clear and undeniable that he was, to all conceivable perspectives, an anthropomorphic turtle rather than a regular human. Of course, everyone seemed nonplussed and accepting of this fact.

I made my way over to the coffee and fixed myself a cup, pouring in some Jameson for good measure. No one was looking. I looked around the room, gauging how I should be acting based on others around me. They all appeared serious. Mournful, even. I couldn't believe it. I was really trying to hold it together but still couldn't tell if I was getting fucked with or not, still couldn't tell if this was some elaborate hazing ritual. Then again, my rampant alcoholism was a noncontrollable factor they couldn't have anticipated. The possibility that I was experiencing a form of alcohol induced psychosis did occur to me, but it couldn't explain other people's behavior. This was a room full of people who were reacting genuinely to real events that had happened. Pete was unmistakably a turtle. When I did produce tears finally, it wasn't for Pete. They were real tears, too. Frustrated tears. Angry tears. I was tired.

Chuck from sales ("Number 1 this quarter!") came strolling along. He bumped into me, splashing coffee onto my shoe as he began engaging me in conversation. When he spoke, it was not to me or with me but at me.

"Some asshole in a speedboat took him out!" He boomed. "He's gone!" Chuck went over to the small memorial, paid his respects, spilled more coffee by simply existing and then left the room. A lightness in me stirred. I finally got it.

Margaret from HR approached me.

"Pretty sad, isn't it?" she asked quizzically.

"Yeah," I responded, biting my lip to hold back the laughter that now came. "It really fucking is."

fin