The Other Mr. Bax by Rodney Jones Page B

glances.
    “Okay,” Roland said, “what?”
    “What?” Brian shrugged.
    “This isn’t funny.” He looked at Kate, knowing she’d have a harder time maintaining a ruse. Her eyes revealed not so much as a hint of humor, however.
    “Roland, we’re not playing with you,” she said. “We really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Roland glanced from Kate to Brian and then back, searching for that telltale sign that he was the butt of some stupid joke. “Come on guys, don’t.” He shook his head. Like him, his siblings could at times be kiddingly irreverent, but rarely insensitive, and never intentionally cruel.
    A long moment passed as they studied one another. A fragment of an incident from the night before flitted in and out of his mind—perhaps a piece from the crazy dream he’d just woke from.
    Kate looked like she was about to say something, but then didn’t. She eyed Roland, as if mirroring his suspicions, like she too was anticipating a grin.
    Brian finally spoke. “I don’t get it.”
    Roland gazed into the dull confusion of his mind, trying to find a perspective that made sense—even a little. It seemed a barrier had slipped down between him and his siblings: he, on the one side, asking clear and simple questions, while what passed through from the other was disconnected random nonsense. Dana … He repeated her name in his mind, thinking he may have, somehow, inadvertently spoken another name. “Dana,” he said.
    His brother and sister both looked at him with convincing consternation.
    “What are you doing? You know perfectly well who I’m talking about.”
    Their faces held only bafflement.
    He lowered his voice. “For fuck’s sake. Come on you two. Stop.”
    The temperature in the room seemed to drop as the drama from the night before leaked from the back of his mind. Questions about where he lived, family, what he was doing in Akron, and other crazy stuff—everything teetering between too much and nothing. Roland blinked. “Dana…” Her name summoned a doubt, like being lost in the realization of being mistaken about being mistaken—a tiring bog of doubt. “Will someone please…?” He stared at Kate. She appeared lost. He turned to Brian.
    “Roland,” his brother said, “I’m sorry. I really don’t know Dana. I don’t. Your wife’s name is Joyce. You know that, right?” He spoke as if urging him to answer, yes, I do.
    Roland let his focus drift—to nowhere. “No.”
    “What is this?” Brian flipped his hands out before him, palms up. His brow knotted with confusion.
    Kate turned toward the door as a pair of muffled voices filtered through from the hallway outside. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She got up, slipped past the door, then pulled it shut behind her as though attempting to keep the delusions in the room contained.
    Roland glared toward the door. “God damn it, Brian! This is not in the least fucking bit funny.”
    “No,” he said. “It’s not. Listen…” His tone was urgent and sincere. “We did not come here to… Jesus, Roland, just think about this. You think we’d be pulling some stupid prank at a time like this?” He threw his hands up. “We’re here because we love you, because we’re concerned. I would never…” He sighed. “Look, Roland, you have a head injury. A head injury. No one’s fucking with you.”
    Cool air worked its way into his chest, chilling the blood pumping from his heart. He filled his lungs, then pushed the bad air out with a noisy huff. He recalled the panic from the night before—completely consumed by it—the whole world, out of control. The memory blended with the present moment—darkening it with its similarities. Staring at his brother, he took a slow deliberate breath, again filling his lungs—his heart, hammering away. “Something’s wrong,” he said.
    “It’s…” Brian shook his head. “No, it—”
    “It doesn’t make sense.”
    “It’s okay. It’s just a memory thing. Nothing’s