Solitary: 4

The morning head of steam dissipated into the still office air. Josh slumped into his chair and rolled into position. His back ached in a distant way. He squirmed. He envisioned his spine and a time-lapsed vignette of X-rays tracking its compression over years of sitting. No one ever sat this much. He stared down at his desk, jumping along its speckled laminate surface. A little like cookies-and-cream. Been a long time since I had any ice cream. Faintly audible voices mumbled in either frustration or excitement. Being inside the confines of his workstation was like being on the brink of fainting. The sound-dampening batting behind the cloth of the cubicle walls muffled all sounds beyond his perimeter.

This isolation reminded Josh of being inside an igloo. From years six to eight, he and his father built crude structures out the snow removed from their driveway. Snow is on the short list of most exciting events in a child’s life. The cancellation of school was no less relieving than last-minute clemency granted to a death-row inmate. After rising from the sweet rest of sleeping in, Josh wanted nothing more than to play in nature’s time-sensitive embellishment. The world became an amusement park and a battlefield when a white blanket descended upon his neighborhood. So much was newly possible: the sledding and the slippery surfaces, the laughing and running and heaving lungs constricted by icy air, the nose red and dripping like a faucet to be absent-mindedly tongued or wiped with a sleeve, the hurried scooping and packing, the close-calls and the cold melting down your shirt, under your gloves’ cuffs, and clinging like ice-cubes around the ankles of socks. At least, those were Josh’s dreams.

Dad and lad, with age-appropriate shovels, created a mound on the western side of their north-south slab of concrete. After the best the Midwest had to offer in the way of blizzards, the final products would be taller than Josh. They looked lumpy like mashed potatoes, except with undertones more blue than brown. Carefully, young Josh dug a hole in the center of its base. This was his bunker. Once the cavern was sufficient to contain him in a fetal position, he outfitted the fortress. He carved out tiny enclaves to house a secret cache of snowballs in expectation of an attack. This was his arsenal. Once completed, he army-crawled inside and waited for the siege to begin. He felt safe at first. He thought it was like being a part of mom, dark and warm with body heat. Inside, nothing beyond respiration could be heard. He had made it. Mission accomplished. The kids would come and he would be ready. Now he would be protected. Even more, he would be victorious. Who else had an igloo? He waited for his chance. He laid on his stomach and felt the chill seep through his black snow-suit that swished when he walked. It was so quiet. No cars, no air conditioning, no dogs or television made noise. Dad went inside. There was nothing to do. There was nothing to look at. Everything was the color of graphite ahead of him. Looking around his puffy red, blue, and yellow coat, he saw the glow of light by the mouth of the mound. Were they out there now? Why was he in here? Excitement fooled him again. Nothing happened. He had no friends. The neighbors’ children never welcomed him into the fold when he moved onto the block. The snowballs sat in their spots. The silence became antagonistic. He was deaf to the world. He felt consumed. Within fifteen minutes, he grew hopelessly bored and frightened. He started to panic. Josh was lost (in the sense of not knowing where he was going rather than knowing where he was). He retracted from the orifice like an inchworm. Defeated, he went inside and dried off by the floor vent, thawing on the carpet. Mom made hot chocolate with swollen marshmallow icebergs in it that clung to his lips mid-sip. He looked out the front windows with their droplets of condensation at the igloo, a monument to disappointment. After a day in full sun, the forlorn structure would start to sag. Often it would be trampled on by the kids he wanted so badly to play with when they returned from escapades unknown, laughing, with ruddy cheeks and sleds in tow. If left alone, the igloo would stay longer than the rest of the snow. It melted and froze into the consistency of a snow cone. It would be soiled with the little bits of dirt that floated in the wind he learned about in science class. In his ninth winter, he heard of a similar structure collapsing on a child and suffocating him. He imagined the terror of being trapped inside that scary place—unable to see, hear, or move. The danger, coupled with recollections of previous attempts, was enough to prevent him from doing anything with the subsequent mounds Mr. Stevenson confusedly built on his own. Poor dad.

For all this thought of snow, Josh felt colder. He rubbed the sides of his arms quickly, making his hands tingly. His eyes were open, but he paid no mind to his visual field.

While on the clock, it never looked good (i.e., productive/profitable) to have translucent neon bubbles floating across one’s screen or pipes stochastically elongating and bending atop a black backdrop. Accordingly, Josh disarmed his screen-saver. His monitor’s steadfast display suggested he was never far away from where he should be and never stopped doing as he should be doing for more than ten minutes. It was a simple move to ingratiate himself to the “powers that be” (wherever they were) should they ever pay him a visit. Moreover, it prevented the wandering eyes of passersby from gaining compromising intelligence. The ploy was not without drawbacks, though. First and foremost, the cursor blinked indefatigably. It never stopped. It seemed impatient like a mother tapping her foot. By the end of most days, its throbbing was reminiscent of the tell-tale heart. It made Josh feel guilty. The blinking black line would not let him forget the job he had to do. It was waiting for him, taunting. It could keep this up all day. It was going to outlast him. Presently, Josh saw it pulsate confrontationally. Damned machine. Clocks do the work for you. Cursors, though…they won’t do a thing without your effort. He rubbed his chin, which felt warm and slick in comparison with his cold, dry hand. He wondered how many times in an average day he derided himself for daydreaming. Come on now. Back to work. He swigged his tepid coffee. It did not satisfy. The aftertaste was not unlike burnt toast. At least it’s strong.

Josh grabbed for the mouse. He ran his circuit around four websites. He checked his personal email (nothing), his profile (nothing), his blog (nothing), and then his preferred news outlet (nothing). He sifted through local scores and half-heartedly read a recap of a recent hockey game. He was not interested in sports, but hometown allegiance was an easy position to act upon when idle. For grins, he perused the “most popular searches” feature of his standby search engine. Apparently an actress announced immanent plans to take a sabbatical from the screen and spend the summer in a recording studio. She enthused, “I just think music is great and I really love movies still, too, of course, they’ve been good to me. But I’ve always wanted to sing ever since I was like a little girl. I think I can now, you know? I want to make something really special, you know, that people will want to go out there and buy and connect with. I’m really excited! I’ve got a bunch of ideas for album covers already.” This is what people are interested in. He withdrew from the mouse, pushed down on his heels, and rolled back a little. A faint sound, either laughter or sobbing, briefly interrupted the silence. Josh looked about himself. Kleenex. Mug. Calendar. Papers. Kinda barren. I really should put something on the partitions. A thumb-tack would go right through that material. A print? Cezanne? Would need to cut off the bottom title. Tacky. Why do they put those titles on there? It detracts aesthetically. Better to not know than to detract from the art. Why are people so concerned with the title or who made it? The art stands alone. Is it just curiosity? People naturally want to know. Misses the point of the artwork, though. It’s not for knowing. Still, credit where credit’s due. The point of art, though—what’s that?

The musings were arrested by footsteps. His adjustable gooseneck desk lamp quaked in anticipation. Here comes Ralph. Ralph Metcalf, chief supervising engineer and elitist in residence, was neither good nor bad. He was simply large. Everything about him was large—his bovine face, his booming voice, his splayed and bulging wing-tips, his mile-long parabolic ties that never managed to descend beyond the dark concavity his gaping navel created beneath his shrink-wrap-like dress shirts. Given his girth, the ground announced him before he could announce himself. The steel girding of the high-rise flexed with each stride. Upon noticing this phenomenon, Josh had visions of the Cretaceous period. The ever-so-slight jiggling in his fleshy parts could well have been the sensation of concussions produced by some great lumbering reptile. Like a vulnerable-yet-savvy herbivore, the tremors caused him to scamper to safety. A thought of Pavlov’s bell raced across his consciousness, but he let it dart by. Josh drew near his desk, opened the folder again, and began to rattle off more letters. Mr. Metcalf hollered, “Stevenson!” as he passed. His matter-of-fact tone implied the utterance was merely to identify what he saw, rather than to greet or scold it. A force of nature. Although his shoulders drooped and he exhaled after the thuds receded, he did not stop working.

Overheard at a Hotel

(For a newer draft of this story, click here.)

Lobby

“Do you have a bellhop?”

“No ma’am, I don’t believe we do.”

“Believe? What do you mean believe? Either you do or you don’t. Ugh... Isn’t there anyone who can help me with my bags?”

“Where’s your husband?”

***

“Look. I’m going to be a little late to the meeting.”

[Silence]

“Yes. I know. I know it’s a very important meeting.”

[Silence]

“A half-an-hour, tops.”

[Silence]

“There’s nothing I can do about it! It wasn’t my fault. Tell them about the weather. They have to understand. I’m sure they’ve been on a plane once or twice. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

[Silence]

“Look, I need—I need to go. I’ll call you when I’m close. You can stall them. Just tell them about the storm.”

***

“Wow!”

“Look at that lamp, mom!”

“It’s called a chandelier, honey.”

“Chandelier.”

“Yes. Those used be to lit with candles. Can you imagine?”

“How’d they light them?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

Staff Lounge

“Phew! Sure is hot out there.”

“Yep. It’s a hot one.”

“D’ya hear ‘bout that guy who crashed his car into that jewelry store down on twenty-second?”

“Yeah. Dumb bastard smashed his car up so bad he couldn’t make a getaway.”

“People are gettin’ bolder and bolder.”

“Yep. Crazy times.”

“No joke.”

“If I was goin’ to rob a jewelry store, I wouldn’t do it in a…what was it? a Kia?”

“Hyundai.”

“I wouldn’t go bashing my Hyundai into a storefront. Max’s got toys with more metal in ‘em.”

“That’s the way the world’s goin’. Cheaper and cheaper. Everything is disposable.”

“And still nobody can keep up. People gotta try robbin’ jewelry stores with foreign-made cars.”

“That’s the truth.”

“But me, I’d do it in winter. Too hot to do anything out there now. I might faint runnin’ after the jeweler this time of year, heh heh.”

“You said it.”

Bar

“We were sitting in her car. The silence was awful. I was staring out of the windshield at this streetlamp, blurring my vision... trying to see those circles you see around lights. She was looking down, probably at the shifter or something. What could I say? I didn't want to say anything. I just spent an hour going back and forth with her. My throat was scratchy. I was done. Sometimes, you know, you talk so damn much you can't keep a thing straight anymore. [Gulp] I can't at least. Your emotions spin you all around and you're about to fall flat down. Anyways, that was it man. Game over.”

“That's rough, man. I don't get people sometimes. It's like, haven't you ever done anything wrong? Give it a rest and let a guy off the hook.”

[Gulp] “Seriously.” [Gulp]

“Yeah. I mean I don't go around startin' shit all the time, throwing people's mistakes in their faces. That's messed up. And after everything you went through with her...[Sip] I mean, you coulda—shoulda—cut ties a long time before. Remember that thing with your check book? What the hell.”

“Really. There’s just not enough slack being cut around here. I’m no prince, but I loved her as best I could. That’s not enough though…In the end, I guess. It’s like… Hell. [Gulp] I don’t know. I probably deserved it. What can you do? Some people just won’t accept you. I accepted her. I let things go eventually. She didn’t want to let it go, though. She clung to it. She liked having it around. It kept me pretty honest most of the time—her uh…memory, resentment. I’d think before I said anything, ‘Will this get me in trouble?’ I’d literally think those words. [Gulp] But, it didn’t fix it. There’d be a time where I wouldn’t think that, get caught off guard, like a reflex. It was like a reflex. You get poked and you turn and swat before you even know what happened. Before you can even think of what to do let alone will it get a guy in trouble. Those are the times that undid us. And [Gulp] she wouldn’t let it go.”

“If she won’t let it go, she can have you under her thumb. You know that. It’s for the best, John. It really is.”

“I guess. [Gulp] I just hate how quickly she’s gonna be fine. You have to admit she’s pretty.”

“It’s the pretty ones you can’t afford to get tangled up with.”

***

“The closest? I don't know. I guess it was this one time. My “friends” and I—we weren’t really friends—were out way late one night, two a.m. or something. I was hanging back, like usual—I never liked destruction. It's not like I had respect for the law. I just didn't like breaking other people's stuff for the fun of it. I didn’t think it was fun. It scared me, but that’s what they wanted to do. Two other guys were up in front of us, this other guy was back with me. The two up front, though, are starting to get like a bit riled up. You know how it goes. “No you won't.” “Yes I will.” “No way.” “I will!” So the one guy turns around and tells Tommy and I, “Start running.” Well, I'm already skiddish as it is. It was way past curfew and we looked suspicious as hell, one of us with a bat and everything. I don't ask any questions. I just start running in the opposite direction.”

“What happened?”

“I'm getting to it. Anyway, I had to turn around and go back.”

“Why?”

“Because Tommy couldn't run. He twisted his ankle in football practice earlier in the week. He was hobbling around. I don't know why he was even with us. I don't know why I was there. But whatever. I put my arm under his, hooked him like under his pit, and helped him pick up the pace. Then I hear this crash behind us. The sound of broken glass and this car alarm starts blaring. Tommy yells something like, “Oh crap!” and kind of laughs. My heart's pounding. The other two guys run past us. And then, no joke, this cruiser comes around the corner.”

“No shit! What'd you do?”

“I about died on the spot. My heart was thumping and I like was filled with adrenaline. I drug Tommy probably thirty feet behind some bushes. We just squatted there. I was panting like crazy and looking through the branches and the cops rolled right on by.”

“You mean they didn't see you?”

“No. I don't think they even heard the alarm. Must’ve had the radio up loud.”

“That's not a close-call, dude.”

Restaurant

“She looks at me and completely, soberly expects me to do it. To get down on my knees and do it. Like I'm not wearing dress pants. Like it wasn't raining a half-an-hour ago. I was practically a grown man. That's little sisters for you, though.”

“So, did you do it?”

“Sure I did it. You should have seen her. Innocence incarnate. How can you say no to that? She'd have muddied up her princess dress if the table was turned.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“How should I know? Probably. I don't care. She had a good laugh. My mom was pissed about the pants though when I came back in, till I told her.”

***

“How’re things, Danny?”

“I can’t complain.”

“I suppose I could complain, but what the use?”

“How’s the prime rib here?”

“Passable. On the fatty side if you ask me. I usually go for a plain old hamburger. The price is right.”

“Mhm.”

“Can I start you off with anything to drink? Coke, diet Coke, Sprite?”

“I get an hour for lunch. I’ll have a Budweiser.”

“And you?”

“Water’s fine.”

“I’ll bring those right out for you.”

“Water, huh? Watching your figure?”

“I drank too much, Tom. You know that.”

“It’s all relative.”

“No.”

“Okay…So…uh…”

“One Bud and one water.”

“Thanks.”

“How long’s it been, Danny?” [Gulp]

“Four or five years at least.” [Sip]

“Where’s the time go?”

[Silence]

“Something wrong, Danny?”

“No. Nothing. I’m waiting to hear why you called me up for lunch out of the blue.”

[Gulp] “Why? Does an old friend need a reason, heh?”

“Tom, cut the crap. I’m a busy man now. What’s the meaning of this?”

Elevator

[Mechanical hum]

“Eight please”

“Oh. Right.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

[Mechanical hum]

[Electrical ding]

Room 805

“I miss you, too. I hate life on the road.”

[Silence]

“It’s been fine so far. I haven’t heard a thing I haven’t heard before, honest. The speakers avoid saying anything concrete.”

[Silence]

“A few. I met this one guy from Peoria. We might be able to do a little uh… cross-pollination in the future. Nothing definite, though.”

[Silence]

“Oh, jeez. It was awful. The smallest, driest turkey sandwich you’ve ever eaten. It was like chewing through a new sponge. What about you? How was your day?”

[Silence]

“Good good. Welp, I oughta get going. Have a red-eye to catch in a few hours.”

[Silence]

“Uh-huh. Love you, too. See you soon…. Uh-huh… Bye bye.”

Elevator

[Mechanical hum]

“…hear me?”

[Mechanical hum]

“I said I’m in an elevator. Elevator. Look. I’ll call you back in a second.”

[Mechanical hum]

“Hello? I said I’ll call you back.”

[Electrical ding]

Room 1202

[Vacuum sounds]

“I don’t think I can do this much longer, Suzy.”

“Why d’ya say that? Something wrong?”

“Yeah. My back’s killing me with all of this bending over. I’m not good for much by the time I get home. ”

“Do you have a heating pad?”

[Fluffing]

“Yeah, but there isn’t an extension cord long enough. I’ve got so much to do around the house still.”

“I know how that is.”

[Spraying]

“But more than that it’s people’s looks. Not so much the guests. They hardly even look at you, unless you go knocking before they aren’t ready… But Doug and that one short guy at the front desk, the blonde one. They are so damn… smug.”

“Ya gotta toughen up, Jane.”

[Running water]

“What for? So I can stay here and let people think I’m a dumb mule?”

“What’re you gonna do otherwise?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

[Flush]

“Jane. You can’t quit. You and Jeff need the money.”

[Transition to Room 1203]

[Rustling]

“I know, I know. But that’s not all we need and I’m sore and I’m tired of giving myself up for a little paycheck and a lot of grief. These people around here think that because you got your name sewn on your shirt they own you or are better than you or whatever. The idea that I have to clean up a spilled bag of some jerk’s popcorn because he’s the boss and has other things to do… it drives me mad. Clean up after your damn self, ya know? I’m here to clean up customers’ messes not his. And that’s not the half of it. That’s just the latest. It’s a whole bunch of things. [Pause] I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

“You’re young and you aren’t used to this. You’re still kinda new. But I’ve been at this since you were in elementary school and I know a thing or two about what it can do to ya, the aches and pains and everything else. You don’t see it now, but I’m telling you that’s pride talking in you and there’s nothing more dangerous than pride. It’ll ruin you because that’s what gives those people’s looks their power to hurt you. [Pause] I don’t mean that in a mean way of course. I’m not trying to cross any lines, but it’s the truth and I haveta come out and say it.”

“Pride? More like self-respect. I won’t let people walk on me. I’m better than that.”

“If you’d let that line of thinking go, you’d be a lot better off, Kristen. Thinking your better makes you feel worse when you do what we do.”

[Vacuum sounds]

Elevator

[Mechanical hum]

“In town for business?”

“What? Oh. Yes. A conference.”

“Sounds nice. I’m here to have a little fun. A little getaway.”

“Mhm.”

[Mechanical hum]

“Fifteenth floor, eh? Me, too.”

“Mhm.”

[Mechanical hum]

“I…uh. What room are you in? Maybe we could grab a drink latter or something. Just a bite to eat maybe. Have you been to the restaurant here? Good fries. You like fries?”

“Oh, no thank you. I’m fine.”

[Mechanical hum]

“You sure? Just a drink. No strings attached or anything.”

“No, no. Thank you, though.”

[Electrical ding]

Room 1504

“I can't put it into words, baby. You just make me so happy.”

“Aw, sweetie, you make me happy, too.”

“It's like that feeling you got when you were a kid and you were going to go on vacation. You know how you got all excited and ran around the house singing songs about it the night before? You are just… beside yourself in this child-like awe because where you’re headed is way better than where you are. That's how I feel leaving work to come see you. You should see me. I practically run to the car.”

“Aw, baby, you're so great. I'm glad I make you happy. It's all I want to do.”

“Well you do a great job at it, honey.”

“Thanks, hun. You’re pretty good yourself.”

“I’m so glad you came. This is fun, isn’t it? A couple of jet-setters you and I. I told you it’d be a good time. It’s a neat town. The place isn’t so hot but—“

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s a nice place. Any place with room service is a nice place.”

“If that’s all it takes, there’ll be plenty more nice places in your future.”

[Snicker]

[Kissing sounds]

Elevator

[Mechanical hum]

“Hot outside.”

“Yes it is.”

[Mechanical hum]

“Good day to take a dip.”

“That’s a good idea… maybe I’ll see you there later?”

“Maybe.”

[Electrical ding]

“My name’s Brad.”

“Eve.”

“Hope to see you there, Eve.”

Room 2216

[Zipping]

“Wait a minute. Just wait a minute. What’re you doing?”

“I’m leaving, Robert.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Just like that? Hold on a second.”
“I will not!”

“I said hold on a second! Let’s talk about this like adults, okay?”

“No. The time for talking is long gone.”

[Footsteps]

“Where are you going?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Like Hell it doesn’t! That’s my luggage you’re stuffing full there.”

[Laugh] “Don’t worry. I’ll ship it back to you as soon as I can!”

“That’s not what I…meant. I mean… Would you please just hold still?”

[Zipping]

“What is this all about? Cut the drama, okay? Look… I—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Don’t say it. I don’t believe you.”

“I love you! I love you love you love you! And it’s not my fault! How in the Hell was I supposed to know? You take everything so damned personally. Aren’t I good to you? I swear I don’t get you. I mean, this is unreal. Look at this! Look at what you’re doing. We just got here for Christ’s sake! We’ve got dinner reservations and tickets for the show tomorrow. Let’s just try to have a nice time. Calm down! Would you please?”

“I never loved you! Not for a minute! You were a phase. A transition! A little fling! I knew that from the start! I just used you!”

“Transition? Oh come on! Transition? Please. That how you want to play, huh? TRANSITION. That's all you're ever going to have! A series of transitions! Well, I have news for you: you're going to wake up one morning and the series is going to be complete. And you're going to have 40 miserable years to reflect on it! You aren't going to be a pretty face forever. That upper lip of yours is getting thinner and those eyes… they are starting to look a little weary. The make-up’s starting to flake around those lines baby! One of these days you’re gonna to jump and there’s gonna be nothing to land on.”

“At least I had a pretty face, you dog! I took pity on you. You're never gonna to get with anyone better. All you’ve got is money and an empty head. This was it: the one time you didn't have to pay anyone or keep your eyes closed! Remember it.”

“You should have paid me to put up with you. All the headaches and the phone calls…absolutely pathetic. You were awfully attached to a transition. I’m glad, ya know it? I’m glad it’s over! You’re more trouble than you’re worth!”

“And you’re worthless!”

[Door slam]