I looked around at my classmates, all of whom were sitting quietly. Well, not entirely quietly. Several of them were staring at me and giggling.
“I can’t sit here,” I murmured.
Mr. Owens folded his hairy arms across his chest. “And why is that?”
“It’s dirty.”
Mr. Owens leaned over to look at the seat in question. “It doesn’t look dirty to me.”
I carefully explained to him that not all dirt was the sort that you could see with the naked eye. That there are microscopic germs that are far more harmful than anything that is readily visible. And that I simply could not put myself at risk.
When I was done speaking, Mr. Owens let out a sigh. “Just sit down, Anna.”
I would not.
A few things happened after that. First, I was sent to the principal’s office, the beginning of many journeys there over the next several years that eventually culminated in my being sent to see a completely useless therapist. Second, I started bringing a large coat with me to all my classes so that I could lay it down on the chairs before I took a seat—this was increasingly conspicuous as we got closer to the summer months, but I kept bringing the coat and I religiously washed it every night.
Third, other kids started making fun of me.
Kids would push a chair in my direction and say, “Sit down, Anna!” The taunts would make cold sweat break out on the back of my neck. I would try to ignore them the best I could because I knew they were only trying to get a rise out of me, and the teasing would die down until the next incident. Except there was always a next incident.
During my junior year, I begged my mother to take me out of school. I would focus better with homeschooling. But she insisted this was the best thing for me. Exposure therapy or something like that.
It didn’t help. I just kept telling myself that someday I would no longer be around children and the torment would end.
I’m now a woman in my late twenties and I’m still being taunted by my coworkers. How could these people in their twenties and thirties have the same maturity as high school students? In fact, I suspect some of the comments Calvin Fitzgerald has made about me are far worse than anything I heard in school.
I tap my finger against my palm eleven times, but it doesn’t help. I don’t feel any better. Not even a tiny bit.
I run to the bathroom and I wash my hands for the requisite 121 seconds. It makes me feel very slightly better. But when I go back to my cubicle and see the picture still there, I realize that I don’t feel better at all.
I wonder if Matt knew about this. He isn’t cruel the way Calvin is. I knew from the moment I first met him that he has a kind heart. I could see it in his brown eyes—sometimes you just look into a person’s eyes and you know. Yet he’s been spending so much time with Calvin, and I even heard Calvin refer to Matt as his “best buddy.” I know what the two of them do—that they go out and try to hit on the most attractive women they can find. That it’s some sort of conquest to them.
Maybe Matt isn’t as good a person as I thought he was. Or maybe he’s changed.
I stare at the photograph, uncertain what my next move should be. Do I laugh and play it off like a prank? Do I complain to Peter? No, I can’t complain. The cans have already been an issue—no need to draw more attention to them.
Maybe I should just pretend I haven’t even seen it. Or that I simply don’t care. I don’t want them to think they’re getting to me.
So I just sit down in my cubicle and get back to work. I try to pretend like the picture doesn’t bother me, even as I feel the tears pricking my eyes.
Chapter 6: Matt
“Hey, Matt.”
I’m coming back from a lunchtime run to the post office when Liz, one of our receptionists, gives me a big wave and smile. I slow down by her desk, not really feeling like some mindless bullshit chitchat, but also not wanting to get back to work.
“Hey,” I say.
Liz flashes me a wide grin. Calvin has commented on Liz’s buck teeth before and once or twice has made a neighing sound when her name came up. Back before I met Calvin, I would have thought Liz was really hot with her big tits and long auburn hair—I probably would have started stammering every time I tried to talk to her. But now it doesn’t faze me in the slightest.
“We missed you at lunch today, Matt,” Liz says as she slugs me playfully in the arm.
I force a smile. “Did I miss anything interesting?”
“Calvin was just being an idiot.” Liz rolls her eyes, even though I know she’s crazy about Calvin. He claims she’s got a crush on me, but I think it’s safe to say that every woman in the office prefers him to me. “He did something pretty funny though.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What’s that?”
Liz giggles. “He had this photo of a bag lady... you know, the kind that pushes around a shopping cart filled with lots of cans? And he pasted it on Anna Flint’s cubicle.” She adds, unnecessarily, “You know, because of all the cans she’s got in there.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I say through my teeth.
That asshole.
“What is with her anyway?” Liz shakes her head. “She is so weird.”
I crane my neck to see Anna’s cubicle. Is the photo still there? It’s hard to see from here. “Did she see it yet?”
“I don’t know.” Liz shrugs. “I guess so. I mean, she’s in there, so she must have, right? Anyway, she seriously needs to get rid of all those cans. It’s really unprofessional.”
Christ, I can’t believe she saw that photo.
“Listen, Matt,” Liz says, her voice suddenly getting quiet, “So I was just thinking… um, I don’t know if you’re free this Friday, but—”
“I have to get back to work,” I say to Liz, without giving her a chance to spit out the rest of whatever she has to say. I push past her, making a beeline for Anna’s cubicle. I’m so pissed off at Calvin right now. I can’t believe he taped that picture up after I told him a hundred times that he shouldn’t do it. Actually, I can believe it. He never listens to me.
Well, fuck him. If he needs someone to help him with his work from now on, he can find some other loser to do it. And he can find some other asshole to go “hunting” with him. I can’t be friends with someone who would treat another person this way.
When I get to Anna’s cubicle, she’s working quietly inside like she always does, her blond hair tucked neatly behind her ears. She doesn’t notice that I’m standing there, but that’s no surprise. When Anna is coding, she is in the zone. I love that about her.
The picture is still up. I have no idea if she saw it or not. I’m assuming she didn’t. If she had seen it, she would have taken it down, right? She wouldn’t have just left the photo up there and kept working? Would she?
Maybe she would have though. Christ, who knows what’s going on in that head? Maybe Calvin was right—maybe she didn’t get it at all.
All right, either way, it seems like no harm was done. Anna is okay. She either didn’t see the photo or she didn’t get it. So I yank it down and crumple it into a ball, intending to get rid of it in my own cubicle. I’m definitely going to give Calvin hell for doing this to her, but I don’t need to cut him out completely. After all, he’s my best buddy here.
Anna looks up at me as I shove the paper into my pocket. I smile innocently. She looks at me curiously for a moment, then returns her gaze to her computer screen without smiling back.
Chapter 7: Anna
I go grocery shopping once every other week. It is the longest amount of time I can manage between trips, because I hate shopping more than anything else. Just the idea of being in a large grocery store with so many other people around is upsetting to me, but it’s a necessity. I know there are ways to get groceries delivered, but I simply don’t trust anyone else to pick out the groceries properly.
Sometimes it takes me more than one try before I’m able to complete my shopping. There’s a nonzero chance that something will upset me s
o badly during the shopping trip that I will be forced to evacuate the store immediately.
After seeing the photo that Calvin Fitzgerald left on my cubicle wall, the last thing I want to do is endure a shopping trip, but I’m running very low on… well, everything. During my last attempt at shopping, the handlebar of the shopping cart touched my shirt, which meant that I had to rush home and change prior to actually making any purchases.
I need a lot of items today although they are mostly from the center of the store. I don’t buy items from the bakery because I noticed that the pans they use to cook baked goods in appeared rusty. I purchase only pre-packaged deli meats for the same reason I would not allow the lunch lady to serve me when I was in high school. I only buy fresh fruits or vegetables that are wrapped, because… my God, have you seen the way people must touch every single fruit before choosing one? They may as well just bathe in a big dirty pool of apples and kiwi.
My first stop is to the frozen foods aisle. I do most of my shopping in this aisle because I feel that there’s the least possibility of bacteria growth. Choosing the right bag of vegetables, however, is something of a challenge. I would never choose the bag right in front. You have no idea how many people have been pawing at that bag—or perhaps someone has even put the bag in their cart then removed it! The other thing I’m careful about is noticing whether there is air in the bag. If there is no extra air in the bag, then there’s a chance the bag has been punctured and the contents compromised.
Unfortunately, making absolutely certain that the groceries I’m buying are not contaminated makes the process take quite a long time. Especially since I haven’t bought groceries in several weeks. By the time I’ve filled the cart to my satisfaction and get in line, I’ve been at the store for over an hour.
As I wait patiently for my turn, I notice a familiar face coming out of the cereal aisle. It’s Matt. Here. At the grocery store.
I feel an odd flash of pleasure at the sight of him. He’s still wearing his dress shirt and slacks from work, but his blue tie is loosened around his neck and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows so that I can see the dark hairs on his forearms. Before I can think to hide, he looks up and sees me. His brown eyes seem to light up.
“Anna!” he calls out.
Matt took the picture down from the wall of my cubicle, which makes me think he didn’t have anything to do with it going up there. I tried to pretend that I hadn’t seen it, because I didn’t want him to realize how much it had upset me.
“Hello,” I say, raising my hand in a greeting.
Matt comes over with his cart and gets in line behind me, although his cart has barely anything in it. He could have easily used the twelve items or less line.
“Is there some big storm I don’t know about?” Matt asks me, eying my own cart that’s filled to the brim, mostly with frozen and canned goods.
“I haven’t been shopping in a while,” I admit.
“Oh yeah?” He raises his eyebrows at me. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who would procrastinate on shopping. You seem… very organized.”
I study his face. “Is that a compliment?”
Matt grins at me. “I meant it as a compliment.”
“Then I’ll take it as one.” I return his smile. “You seem organized as well.”
He shrugs. “I guess. I could be better at not procrastinating.”
“How so?” I’m not good at making small talk with people, but somehow with Matt, this isn’t small talk. I’m genuinely interested in his answer to this question. For a moment, I think about how nice it would be if I were actually friends with Matt. Not just friendly, but friends.
“Um…” He thinks for a minute. “Like my laundry. I always wait to do it until I’m basically down to my last clean pair of underwear.” His cheeks grow slightly pink. “Whoa. Too much info, huh?”
“I do laundry every night,” I tell him.
“Every night?” Matt raises his eyebrows, and now I think it’s me who gave too much information. But I don’t understand the concept of allowing a big pile of dirty clothes to sit in my home. When a piece of clothing becomes contaminated, it must be washed immediately.
“Well, not every night,” I lie.
I’m next in line, so I am rescued from saying anything else stupid in front of Matt. I don’t understand why I’m so concerned with impressing him—I rarely feel that way. I’ve already loaded my groceries onto the conveyor belt and the cashier is scanning them one by one. It really upsets me that cashiers don’t have to wear gloves, but it’s just something I have to deal with. Everything I’ve bought is packaged anyway.
As the cashier is scanning the last stack of my cans, she sniffles loudly. Then, to my absolute horror, she sneezes. And covers her mouth with her hand.
Everyone knows that you’re supposed to sneeze into your elbow if a tissue is unavailable. Even that is distasteful to me, but at least it’s more sanitary than sneezing in your hand. I watch as she goes right back to scanning my groceries with the hand she just sneezed in.
A sweat breaks out in the back of my neck. I can’t take these groceries now. They’re contaminated. Everything is contaminated! I just spent over an hour shopping and now they’ve loaded my shopping cart with bags of groceries that I don’t even want to touch. Yes, she only sneezed at the end of scanning the items, but surely she’s been sneezing into her hand all day if she did it that one time.
I look over at Matt, who doesn’t even seem to have noticed that anything is amiss. How could he not notice? Sneezing into your hand should be a fire-able offense for a cashier.
“Cash or credit?” the cashier asks me.
I stare at her. My hands are shaking too badly to get my wallet out of my purse, even if I wanted these contaminated groceries. I feel dizzy, like my legs might give out from under me.
“I… I’m sorry,” I stammer.
And then I run out of the grocery store.
It’s not the first time I’ve done something like that. It’s actually happened on several occasions, which is why I alternate which store I go to. I know that I’m right about the cashier, but I’m sure they wouldn’t see it that way. I’d just look like a crazy lady who left all her groceries without paying. Crazy Anna.
I make it to my car in the parking garage. I get inside the vehicle, but I have to roll down the window to get some air. My car is a safe place for me. Nobody has been in my car but me. I’m safe here. I’m okay.
I’m okay.
After a few minutes, I feel like I can breathe again. My hands have stopped shaking and that dizzy sensation has gone away. I don’t feel like I can go shopping again in the near future, but at least I feel capable of driving home.
God, what must Matt think of me for running out like that? He already thinks of me as Crazy Anna, I’m sure. I hope he doesn’t tell Calvin about this.
“Anna!”
Through the open window, I hear the familiar voice yelling my name. I open my car door and lean outside. And that’s when I see him: Matt. Pushing the same grocery cart I had abandoned a few minutes ago. Filled to the brim with my groceries. I can see my bag of frozen strawberries dripping with condensation, topping off one of the bags.
I climb out of the car, my heart pounding. “Matt? What…?”
He slows to a halt in front of my car. “You left all your groceries, so…” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I brought them out to you.”
“But…” I look down at all the groceries then back up at Matt. “I didn’t even pay for them.”
He smiles sheepishly. “I paid for them.”
Oh my God. “How much was it? I’ll give you the money.”
Matt waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t that much.”
I grab my purse out of the car and rifle around for my wallet. “Please. You shouldn’t have to pay for my groceries.”
“Hey.” He makes like he’s going to grab my arm to stop me and I flinch in anticipation, but then he think
s better of it and pulls away. “Listen, I said it wasn’t much. Would you let me do a good deed for a damsel in distress? Please?”
I frown at him. Nobody has ever referred to me as a “damsel in distress” before. But it’s a nicer way to say it than the reality.
“Can you pop the trunk?” he asks me.
I oblige, and he loads the heavy bags of groceries into my trunk. He’s touching everything, but somehow I don’t mind. Matt doesn’t seem contaminated to me. I don’t feel bothered that he’s touching my groceries. In fact, it almost negates the touch of that awful sneezing cashier.
“Thank you,” I murmur as he loads the last bag into my trunk.
Matt nods and grins at me. “My pleasure.”
We stand there for at least sixty seconds, staring at one another. He looks like he wants to say something to me, but whatever it is, he doesn’t say it. Then we go our separate ways.
Chapter 8: Matt
Dr. Dunne has this look on his face that’s the last thing you want to see on the face of a doctor that you’re seeing.
Really, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. It all happened really fast. I finally went to see my primary care doctor about my stupid ankle(s), and he put in a referral to see an orthopedic surgeon. I lucked out and they had a cancellation the next week, so I got right in.
Except it turns out Dr. Dunne isn’t an orthopedic surgeon. He’s a neurologist. I’m not sure how I missed that little detail. I practically fainted when I showed up at his practice and saw the words “Neurology Associates” printed on the door. Why the hell would they send me to a neurologist for a torn Achilles? This has got to be some kind of mistake.
My bare legs are dangling off the table and my thighs are just barely covered by this stupid hospital gown. Why the hell did I need to put on a hospital gown for an ankle injury? I tried to explain this to the nurse, but she just told me to put the damn thing on.
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