Moving On? Moving Forward?

This is the third segment of a longer story that I am working on. Feel free to read the first two entries: Entry 1 and Entry 2!

Crystal grinned as she leaned toward me, resting her elbows on her thighs. “Don’t get me wrong, Sarabeth. You’ve been a big help to me, but I like my privacy.”

She paused to gesture at the boxes piled between our desks. “Sometimes, I really need the extra space.”

“So how do you propose I get moved out of here?”

“I don’t understand why you’d want to work upstairs with the rats, but…” She pursed her lips 

impatiently before continuing. “If we work together, we can get someone else to quit and you can move up to push a lever for pellets.”

“Just like the Jeffersons.” I mumbled under my breath.

Crystal snorted derisively. “Not exactly.”

I cleared my throat nervously. “So how do we get someone to quit? Ask them?”

“I doubt it would be that easy unless you had a lead on a better job for them.” One of her eyebrows lifted quizzically as a half smile crept across the right side of her face.

When I looked at her blankly, she added. “Of course, you’d be smart enough to take that opportunity yourself.”

“So what do you propose I do?”

“I saw this in a movie once, so it might not work as well as we hope, but…”

“Yes.” I prompted.

“You just have to put something that smells atrocious where someone won’t find it and wait for it to scare them away.”

“But then I will have to deal with the smell.”

Crystal shook her head, flashing me a condescending smile. “You’d know where to clean when it becomes your cube.”

I shook my head slowly. The simplicity of her plan made it perfect. However, putting it into place couldn’t be as easy as it sounded. I mulled this over as Crystal turned back to her desk. She pulled a fruit snack out of the bag on her desk, placing it on her tongue as she waited for me to speak.

“Well,” she frowned at my silence.

“How do we get someone out their cubicle long enough to plant the ‘air freshener’?”

“That’ll be my gift to you, and this…” She turned around to open her desk drawer.

An evil grin stretched across her face as she held out a foil packer of tuna.

“Thank you.” I took her offering tentatively.

“Let’s get this started?” Her chair creaked as she stood up and walked out the door.

I followed with a feeling of dread slowly closing in on me.

Walls

I was given a challenge to write a story based on m favorite song. I am notoriously bad at picking a favorite, so this challenge may taken over and over again. This particular entry is loosely based on the song "China" by Tori Amos. It's almost like cheating to take inspiration from a song that tells a story of its own, but please read my twisted take anyway.

My husband and I went to New York City for our honeymoon. I could feel the chasm between us even then, but nothing could wipe the smile from my face as I sat by his side. Even when I reached out my hand to take his and he leaned away, my smile remained. I could still see a beautiful future in the depths of his dark brown eyes.

Our week in New York whirled by, dotted with expensive restaurants and Broadway shows. Our hotel room steamed up every night only to cool by morning. By the time we boarded the plane to return home, my bridal euphoria faded. I noticed when my husband sighed heavily and leaned away. I wanted to touch his face, offer him comfort. As I reached for him, he turned to me with intense longing in his eyes. Even then my hand never made it to his cheek.

Some would say this was the beginning of the end for us, but I pretended not to notice. For ten years, I ignored the problems. I didn’t notice how he always looked away from me. I never wondered if he saw me anymore. I knew he didn’t but I would never admit it.

At some point, he insisted that we always leave the good China on the table. He claimed putting it away caused the fine cracks in the surface. Our perpetually elegant table would preserve the dishes for the children that I already knew we would never have. Luckily, he left out the wine glasses, too, so we could ignore each other through a haze of alcohol.

Sometimes, we had talked about going on a second honeymoon for our tenth anniversary. Well, I talked. He mainly listened and refused to commit to anything. If our friends hadn’t chip in to buy the tickets, we never would have taken our trip to Mexico.

Maybe our friends shouldn’t have bothered. I lost my husband in Mexico. We traveled home on the plane together, but something had changed. We talked even less. Some days, I didn’t even see him. I changed, too. I didn’t even care that he shut me out. Each evening, I poured a little more wine in my glass while he looked out the window beyond me. He seemed content with the silence. I thought we were happy in our rut.

A few weeks after our return from Mexico, I learned differently. I opened the door, throwing it open and steeling myself for another evening of silence tempered by wine. An unfamiliar scraping noise greeted me instead. I walked toward it. The door to the basement stood ajar. I walked through the opening and took quiet steps down the stairs.

Frozen in horror, I paused as I stepped onto the unpainted, concrete floor. Despite my soft footsteps, my husband heard me. He looked up at me with empty eyes. His hands continued to work as his eyes met mine. He scraped a layer of mortar across a row of bricks that almost obscured his shoulders.

“I can’t bear it anymore. I’m just hurting you.” His dull, lifeless voice failed to reverberate through the basement.

My own voice echoed around me. “What?”

“This is the only way I can let you go.” He turned those rich, dark eyes from me.

Confusion turned to numbing pain that kept me rooted to my spot. I remembered then that I loved this man, but I knew I had no words to change his mind. As tears poured down my face, he placed brick after brick in place. A very real wall formed between us and I could do nothing but watch. 

A Late Christmas

Hello, my lovelies. This one should have been posted a little earlier, but last weeks post wanted to be finished first. Feel free to tell me what you think.

Betsy snuggled deeper into her thick faded quilt, letting her body sink further into the lumpy cushions of the couch. Her brassy hair brought color to an otherwise washed out room filled with faded fabrics and neutral decor. Her soft green eyes didn’t notice the faded colors. Instead, they looked past faded blue curtains that framed the window. Softly falling snow took all vestige of color out of the world outside the window, reflecting golden rays of sunshine to warm the room.

“Thomas says that Gracie is feeling better.” A soft voice brought Betsy back from the brink of sleep.

Green eyes opened. A smile tentatively played along her lips. She sat up, allowing the quilt to fall back from her shoulders.

“So I can take her Christmas present to her?”

Betsy’s mother paused, peering out the window before answering. “The snow seems to have stopped. Just remember to hurry. I want you home well before dark.”

“Thank you, momma.” Betsy jumped up from the couch.

Her mother disappeared for a second, reappearing with a heavy, brown coat and a pair of clunky dark boots. Betsy kneeled on the floor, searching for something under the couch with probing hands. One armed disappeared up to the shoulder before she produced a pair of wool socks that were wadded together. She sniffed at them as they dangled from her thumb and index finger. Shrugging, she slipped them over the thin cotton socks she was already wearing before shuffling over to her mother.

Mother handed Betsy the boots, watching with a doting smile as Betsy struggled to remain standing while pulling them over her feet. When she righted herself, her mother helped her into the heavy coat. Mother’s lips tickled as they brushed Betsy’s cheek.

“Be careful, sweetie.” As she spoke, she pulled a thick scarf out of one pocket and ragged gloves from the other. “Don’t take these off until you get to Gracie’s house.”

“Yes, momma.” Thick folds of the wool scarf muffled her voice.

Her eyes already sought out the door as she followed her mother into the kitchen. She paused in front of the kitchen table, allowing her eyes to waver from the door to a present resting on the stained tablecloth. Thin stripes of red, green, and white crisscrossed the shiny paper encasing a rectangular box.

“Is that Gracie’s present?” Betsy craned her neck to look up into her mother’s face.

Mother smiled as she handed the package down to her daughter. “Make sure you head home before it starts to get dark.”

“I will, momma.” Betsy stood on her tiptoes to kiss her mother on the cheek one more time.

Mother opened the door, and Betsy stepped out into the chilly afternoon. Beads of water dripped an inconstant rhythm from the icicles on the gutters. She hopped quickly out from under the eaves as one of those drops splashed against her forehead. Hugging the package to her chest, she raced across the white expanse of the backyard.

She didn’t stop running until she reached the back gate. After pausing to lift the latch and stepping through, she walked with more casual, controlled steps. The thick woods of summertime had devolved to barren, dark trunks and twisted branches as fall turned to winter. She could actually see the tiny silhouette of Gracie’s house in the distance through the skeletal trunks. Frozen branches tinkled and thumped against each other as a breeze ripped through the valley.

As the wind whipped around her, Betsy felt her scarf loosen. One hand tightened on the package as she used the other to pull her scarf back into place. More wind whipped up from the opposite direction. Startled, her grip on the package loosened. Betsy sighed as the present slipped from her hand onto the snow in front of her. A light cracking sound followed.

Betsy looked up, glancing in every direction to get her bearings. Her pink mouth formed an “O” of surprise as she realized where she was. She knew about the creek, but in her hurry, she forgot to be careful where she was walking. Struggling to kneel in her heavy boots and coat, she watched in horror as a crack appeared on either end of the package, breaking through the snow and widening as a small stream of water bubbled through. She reached for the brightly colored paper with clumsy, gloved hands but failed to get a good grip.

Before she could wrestle one hand free of her cumbersome glove, the small stream had broken free enough that the package shifted. Desperate, Betsy pulled her glove off, tossing it toward the far bank. As she lunged forward again, the packaged dislodged. Loud cracking erupted from both sides. In the still afternoon air, the water sounded like a torrent. The package floated even further away, breaking up more of the ice.

“No.” Her own voice startled her as Betsy realized the water was now flowing around her knees.

She knelt in the middle of the stream, too stunned by the icy water to do more than watch the present disappearing further downstream. She shook her head, pulling herself out of her fugue. Splashing wildly, she tried to catch up to it, but the ice broke with increasing speed, carrying the package further and further away. Warm tears stained her cheeks as she realized she would never catch it.

Wiping her face on the back of her gloved hand, she reached out with the other for a scraggly bush growing at the side of the stream. She pulled herself up with its help. Grabbing her other glove, she slipped it over her stiff, frozen fingers as she shivered violently. The feeling in her legs ebbed and flowed. She would have been happier if she couldn’t feel at all. Every time her wet pants pressed against her skin, she whimpered pitifully. She walked faster toward her friend’s house, trying not to cry.

“How could I forget the creek? We always play in the creek in the summer.” She chastised herself as she raced onward, feeling the wind burn her cheeks.

When she finally reached Gracie’s door, Betsy paused, ashamed to knock when she no longer had a present for her friend. Steeling up her courage, she pressed one finger to the doorbell. As she waited, she clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Mommy, I want to answer it. Please.”

Betsy recognized her friend’s voice and smiled despite the cold sinking into her extremities. She didn’t hear Gracie’s mother’s response, but the door opened a few seconds later. Gracie’s pale, round face peeked out at her.

“Betsy. Come in. Come in.” Blond curls bounced as the other girl stepped backward.

Betsy stepped in just far enough so that her friend could close the door. She was afraid to step in any further with her soaked boots and pants.

“I’m so glad you came.” Gracie bubbled over with happiness.

“I don’t have…” Betsy began.

“What happened to you?” Gracie’s mother knelt beside Betsy.

Deft fingers unbuttoned the heavy coat. Then she was lifting Betsy from the ground, setting her on a sturdy table by the door so she could pull off sodden shoes and socks.

“Gracie, could you get me a towel and some of your clothes?”

Wide-eyed, Gracie nodded at her mother. Her face colored as she turned to do as her mother asked.

Soon Betsy was dry but she continued to shiver no matter how hard she clenched her jaws. Her friend’s mother had tucked them both under a warm quilt and left them to visit in the living room. They didn’t say anything as they were both listening to the conversation in the other room. Gracie’s mother tried to whisper into the phone, but her voice still carried through the hallway.

“I think she is okay. I changed her clothes, but she probably shouldn’t walk back. I would feel terrible if she fell into that creek again… Yes. Well, you know I’d love to see you.”

“I’m sorry I lost your present.” Betsy whispered at last as the phone conversation ended.

“But you’re here and you’re safe.” Gracie beamed. “What better present could I ask for?”

The image of a box wrapped in shiny paper faded away. She could see Gracie’s face now. Her friend’s smile warmed her heart and she stopped shivering.

Moving On? Moving Up?

This continues last week's entry. I just couldn't help myself. Enjoy and keep commenting.

Another morning found me imitating a gymnast in order to get into my chair at work. So many packages remained from the previous day that they were piled tight against my small section of the mailroom. In inched the chair out just far enough for me to throw one leg the seat. Then I squeezed the chair tight between my thighs as I slowly scooted forward until I could maneuver my lower half under the desk. Even then, I almost needed to hold my breath to keep from pushing my chair back into the boxes every time I filled my lungs with air.

I drummed my fingers on the metal surface of the desk, reflecting on my current situation. Despite the new construction of the building, my curtain desk had migrated from our old office. The company ran out of money before they furnished this windowless room. Thus I balanced my work precariously on an antique, which I felt certain had barely missed being melted down to make bullets in the first world war. I reached for a heavy pile of loose pages as the door banged open.

I didn’t turn around. I could tell by the soft murmur of disgruntled whispering that the queen of the mailroom had arrived. I knew from experience, that she didn’t enjoy casual conversation. If someone didn’t have something concise and important to say, they shouldn’t waste her time. She ignored or offered harsh criticism to anyone who tried to do so. She barked orders at people on the other end of the line, expecting them to obey immediately without any further explanation from her. When people came to claim their packages, they peered around the door timidly to before entering. She had trained them so well that they usually addressed their questions to me. She never seemed to mind.

This morning, her first words to me solidified my ability to answer those questions. “All of these boxes are for Joe in accounting. Make sure he gets them all out of here at once… And soon”

“Yes, Crystal.” My eyes remained glued to the top page though my arm froze in midair.

I could feel her beady eyes assessing me from deeply embedded sockets, but I refused to turn toward her. A few seconds passed before she sank heavily into her chair. I could hear the casters squeal in protest as she settled in for another long day. If she had a good day, she would remain seated for the majority of her eight hour shift. Rhythmic crunching followed the crinkle of plastic. I turned now, unable to help myself.

She divided her attention between her first snack of the day and her email. In the small room we shared, she looked larger than life. Standing almost six feet tall when standing, she had shoulders one rarely sees outside of a football field.  Before the move, I had never met her, so I hadn’t understood why anyone could be afraid of her. Now I knew that fear, though I could tell she didn’t try to cause fear. She just used it to her advantage. Of all my coworkers, she was the only one who never got bullied into doing something she didn’t want to do, even if it was in her job description.

I pondered how I could learn from her example as I turned back to my work. About a hundred items into my daily workload, the sound of a phone ringing jolted me out of my groove. I reached for my phone reflexively before realizing the ringing came from behind me.

Crystal inhaled sharply before addressing the phone in surprisingly soft tones. “This is Crystal. How may I help you?”

I paused, listening shamelessly.

“Of course, Mr. Harrison, I can bring those up to you as soon as they arrive.”

I nodded my head knowingly. Mr. Harrison treated every one well, so we all catered to his every whim. I bent my head back over my work, half listening as Crystal carried on what was a lengthy conversation. When she finally hung up the phone, I was already immersed in my work.

“Sarabeth?” By the time I realized she was talking to me, Crystal must have said my name a few times. Irritation colored her voice.

“Sorry. Yes.” I leaped up from my desk, slamming my knees into the drawer and almost toppling the wall of boxes behind me.

She observed me speculatively as I bent over to rub my knees. “Do you want to help me with something?”

“What’s that?” My heart sank into my stomach.

“Well, it might just help you get a real desk.” Her words hooked me. I leaned in to hear more.

With a gleam in her eye, she detailed her plan…