For two weeks, Amos Barclay lived Jack Morgan’s life.
Then came the Monday morning when he was to be
back at work in the city. Back to the life of Amos.
He didn’t want to go but felt he had to. He had
a wife, a daughter, a job, a life, as it were.
Amos Barclay was real, he told himself.
Jack Morgan just a sham.
He didn’t say a word to anyone. Not to Connie, nor
Mr. Wagner. He packed his things Sunday night,
drove out Monday morning at four thirty a.m.
He told himself it had been a dream. It was time
to wake up.
It was nearly eight thirty when he reached his place
of work. He was about to drive in when the security
guard stopped him.
“Visitor parking is in front.”
“I work here.” He said.
“Who are you?” The guard asked.
Amos stared at the man. The man’s eyes were blank.
“Are you going to move your car?” The guard asked as
if he’d like nothing better than to yank Amos out, beat
him to a pulp, then call the police.
Amos drove around to the Visitors area.
He knew he looked different, but not that different,
As he approached the entrance he saw his reflection
in the glass. He seemed so much taller and thinner.
Plus tanned, bearded and Blond!
No wonder the guard didn’t recognise him.
He bearly recognised himself!
Two weeks ago, a brown haired, clean shaven, flabby
man with fish belly skin, who was clearly deep in his
forties, had driven out.
Today, a blond streaked, bearded, athletic type, tan as
toast drives in. A guy who doesn’t look as if he’s
finished his thirties….No one could expect a double
digit I.Q. security guard to make the match.
He walked to the reception desk.
“Amos Barclay.” He said.
“I’ll see if he’s in.” She replied.
Amos squelched a laugh. Darleen didn’t recognise him?
This was rich!
He debated whether or not to demand to be let in to his
cubicle, but considering the major ulcer of the day would
be with his wife and daughter, he took the receptionist’s
“I’m afraid he’s not in yet, would you wait?”
with the response:
“I’ll be back later.”
So he misses a few hours of work. His wife and daughter
left him three weeks ago! That was his priority.
He drove home, or what had been home, and parked.
He came through the gate, up the stairs to the apartment
building, and there, waiting for the elevator were Lucy
“I bet that slob hasn’t washed a dish .” His wife said.
“I hate being back here. ” Barbara replied.
“So do I. But it won’t be for long, ” his wife said
menacingly, with an arch look at her daughter, who
“If he’s home, just go to your room. If he’s not there– .”
Amos turned his back as if he were looking at mail boxes
as his daughter snapped;
“Oh, he won’t be home, he’ll be at work , ” as if work
was an unsavoury location.
As the elevator noisily stopped and they pulled open
the door, his wife sneered;
“I bet he hasn’t opened a window since we’ve gone
and the place stinks of his smelly clothes.”
“I’m sure he hasn’t done laundry and has been in the
same thing since we left, ” was the last he heard.
Amos took a breath, then whistling a tune, turned and
skipped down the steps, slid into his spiffy tourquoise
Chevy and drove back to Lake George.