The File

The file on my desk wasn’t supposed to exist. I looked around but nothing else seemed out of place. How did it get here?

The printer was cold, so I doubted this had been printed here. I racked my brain but definitely remembered deleting the data file last night. Unlocking my desk, I retrieved my flash drive from the central drawer, then booted my laptop. I tried restoring the data, but the result was “file not found” no matter how many different ways I tried.

Frustrated, after grabbing a cup of freshly brewed coffee, I picked up the folder and my smokes then went outside. Taking the first sip of coffee, I wondered if my wife could have done this. Maggie wasn’t home before I went to bed. Did she snoop? She detested Frijoles Joe, but how would she know about my spreadsheet?

After lighting a cig and taking a deep puff, I looked over the numbers. These were slightly different from what I recalled. Yet, it still showed Joe in financial trouble because of deals with some shady companies.

He and I had met our freshman year of high school. I coughed on another puff as I remembered the jealousy I had felt at his adroitness at moving a soccer ball down the field. I could never catch him and was glad we played on the same team. It was our goalie who first teased Joe about the amount of refried beans he ate. From then on, everyone called him Frijoles Joe. I thought that he was a good guy and didn’t deserve to be ruined, so I had deleted the file hoping my boss would not find out.

Putting the papers on our barbecue grill, I flicked my lighter and waited for the flame. While watching it burn, I wondered about Maggie who was becoming a bible-thumping fanatic due to her involvement with the Twelve Tribes. I was unsure how this cult had captured her interest, but she now seemed a different woman. Maggie had been a free spirit who would help anyone. Now she was uptight and forbidding. We had had several recent arguments because I refused to accompany her to their services and because I wouldn’t turn over our assets to them.

Stubbing out my second cigarette, I drained my mug of coffee then went back indoors. I decided to have another cup before I confronted Maggie. I waited while the Keurig brewed another cinnamon-vanilla coffee then returned to the den. The file was again on top of my desk. I collapsed into my chair. My hands shook as I opened the folder. How could this be? I just burned those papers!

My fingers tapped-tapped on the folder. I took several deep breaths trying to calm down. Maggie must have done this. I couldn’t think of any other explanation.

She didn’t like me smoking inside our house. Today, I didn’t care. I fumbled one out of the pack and lit it. Screw you, Maggie! I dug out an ashtray from the bottom drawer then cracked the window open.

The phone’s calendar alarm reminded me that I had an appointment at 9. The argument with Maggie would have to wait until tonight.

Flipping on the bathroom light, I saw myself in the mirror. Dried blood coated my face. Putting my hand to my forehead, I examined the hole above my right brow. My sight went black as I realized that I was dead.