I.

I clocked in to start another week of the graveyard shift. Turning from the time clock I was startled by the sight of a familiar, unexpected face at the coffee machine.
'Mole? What the . . .? What are you doing here, man?!'�
'Howdy, Rock,'� Mole said, smiling. 'These are my hours now. I'll tell you all about it at lunch . . . breakfast . . . whatever you call that mid-shift meal.'�
'Yeah, right; see you then. So do I dare say 'welcome to vampire time'?'�
'You do,'� Mole said, sipping his coffee.
'Then this was your choice?'�
'I said I'd tell you later. Let's get going; we're burning daylight . . . or I suppose now its starlight.'�
'Yeah, right. Sorry. See you later.'�
I checked the assignment sheet for my work area and went to warm up my machines, still amazed and more than a little puzzled by Mole's appearance. Why would a day-shifter ' dayshift lead man, no less ' volunteer for an off-shift, especially this one? It just didn't make sense. Unless . . .
'How's it going, Rock?'�
I jumped. 'Hey, Woodie; so Mole's not replacing you?'�
Woodie raised an eyebrow. 'Not that I've heard. You know something I don't?'�
'No, but it's all I can come up with that makes any sense; you to days, Mole to grave.'�
'Nope. All I know is I got an email from The Man a couple days ago saying Mole was starting tonight; nothing else.'�
'You wouldn't hold out on me would you, Woodie?'�
Woodie smiled. 'Sorry, Rock. That's all I know,'� he said and walked away.
Lead men; what a bunch of cloak-and-dagger turds.
The machine had finished its warm-up cycle, so I loaded the program and made the first part of the shift, a gear blank machined from a four foot long piece of steel bar. I heard the familiar beep-beep-beep of a forklift alarm and looked up to see Mole sitting in the driver's seat, talking with Woodie. Maybe now we'd find out what was going on. They chatted for a while then Mole took off, headed my direction. I flagged him down.
'You can use the crane, can't you?'�
'Yeah.'�
'If you have time, could you load me up some more bar stock? I'm kinda low.'�
'Sure thing. I'm headed out to get baskets; you need any?'�
'Yeah, I could use a couple.'�
'No problem,'� he said and took off. A short time later he was back, dropping off the baskets near my machine. He parked and dismounted, donning his hard hat to get the steel I would need to finish the shift. I watched as he carefully set each choker on the crane to balance the load, hoisted the steel, and placed it in my material rack. When he finished, I waved him over.
'What's up?'�
'That's what I'd like to know.'�
'What did I say, Rock?'�
'You'd tell me at lunch.'�
'That's right ' I'll tell you at lunch. Work time's for working, break time is for bs'ing. I'll tell you then; not before.'�
'But I saw you and Woodie . . .'�
'You saw Woodie telling me his expectations for my performance, nothing more. We don't chat idly; it's all business when we're on the clock. Any more questions? Need some help dialing in you part?'�
'No, we're good here. Sorry.'�
'Okay,'� he said, and climbed back into the forklift. 'And Rock, those parts you're making ' assembly needs them first thing in the morning. Just concentrate, stay focused, and you can have this done in no time.'� He smiled, winked and said, 'It's all good, man,'� and drove off for his work area.
Break time seemed an eternity away.


Lost in thought I suddenly noticed the plant had grown quiet. I checked the clock on my machine's controller and found I had worked into break a couple minutes; I guess time does fly occasionally. I went outside to the smoking area and found Mole already there, light in the smoke shack off, his cigarette burning in the dark. I reached for the light switch and he said, 'Please leave it off.'� I shrugged, said, 'Okay, whatever,'� and sat down opposite him at the table, lighting my own.
'So, are you . . .?'�
'Shh,'� he said, 'just listen.'�
'To what?'�
'Just . . . listen.'�
'To . . .'�
'Shh.'�
'But . . .'�
'Shh.'�
'But Mole . . .'�
'Just listen, Rock; just sit quietly and listen.'�
'O-o-okay. To what? For what?'�
'You'll know when you hear it; if you hear it.'�
We sat in the dark, cigarettes burning, sounds of occasional exhales coming from both of us. The plant compressor rattled in the distance and the hum of the safety light ballast greeted my straining ears. What in the wide world was he doing? What was he thinking? The paper of his cigarette crackled as he took another drag, the cherry burning bright for a second, then a long exhale. He flicked the collecting ash into the coffee can ash tray and it hit with a faint clank ' someone had actually emptied the thing. I tried focusing on other sounds in the night and the Beatle's 'Love Me Do' invaded my thoughts ' crap, now I'll never get that song out of my head; wow, it's only three days to my girlfriends birthday ' need to make sure I at least get her a card. She got me a really funny one for my birthday so should I go funny or mushy? Tough choice; maybe I could get her a stuffed bear. Teddy Bears ' named after President Teddy Roosevelt ' marketing gurus will come up with anything to sell a product or in this case invent one to sell. Wait; focus, Rock, focus on listening. Listening for what? It's after midnight, we're sitting in the dark, dead of night and he wants me to hear something. What, for Pete's sake, am I supposed to hear? Trying to ask again at this point would be fruitless and probably irritate Mole to no end, so here I sit quietly while he's engaged in some personal reverie; who could possibly know what's going through his mind? Surely not me; he's not saying. I hope I don't have any broken tooling when I go in; I'd hate to be making junk through break. Come on, Rock, focus; listen . . .

We finished our cigarettes and Mole looked at his watch. 'Time to go in,'� he said, rose and headed for the door, leaving me sitting there in dumbfounded silence for a moment. When I finally came to my senses I jumped up and chased him down.
'So what was I supposed to hear, anyway?'�
'You didn't hear it?'�
'If I had, would I be asking? I didn't hear anything I haven't heard a thousand times before.'�
'I'd wager ten thousand times. Give it a week and I bet you hear it by then.'�
'Okay,'� I said, 'I'll give it a week; and remember, you promised to tell me what's going on at lunch.'�
'That I did,'� he said, 'but I didn't say which lunch, did I?'� He grinned, his eyes bright and dancing with laughter, turned and went back to his work area, leaving me with even more questions than I had before. I could tell that, even though I thought I knew Mole, I was only familiar with the surface of the man, not the man. And I had to wonder ' did anyone really know him at all?


For the rest of the week it was the same routine. We would go out to the smoke shack, light up, and sit in silence. The compressor rattled, the ballast hummed, and cigarette paper burned in the dark. Friday was almost more than I could bear, sitting in the dark, glowing embers lighting our faces, smoke drifting out of the shack into the still night sky. Mole did his usual time check after finishing his smoke and announced for the last time that week that it was time to go in. He finally asked the question I had almost been dying to hear.
'So, did you hear it yet?'�
'Hear what? There was nothing, man! No-thing! What the hell was I supposed to hear, for crying out loud!?'�
Mole smiled. 'The sound of your cluttered mind; kinda frightening, isn't it?'� Again, he turned and went to his work area, leaving me as he would many times, in open-mouthed amazement.
I had to know this guy.

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