“Poor Artie,” Dorothy said.
“It is a shame,” the other woman said. “But you know he could be back on the market soon.”
“Artie?”
“Yes. I know you always liked him. That’s why I had to let you know.”
Of course, as this conversation proved, true privacy—something he prized—was rarely achieved. That was why he took pains to protect his. When he spoke to anyone, and fortunately, his job didn’t require much conversation, it was work related. After all, that’s why they were there and not to make small talk. Personal business should be conducted on personal time and company business on company time. Chitchatting about family, if you had one, or the game last night was wasteful and distasteful.
“I guess he’s attractive,” Dorothy said.
“Come on! You had the hots for him and you know it.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Oh, yeah. You know it. You should walk past his office, stick your head in and say hello.”
“Already? He just found out.”
“You gotta put yourself out there. Let him know you’re available. That way when the time does come he’ll think of you first.”
The plotting disgusted William almost as much as the time they were wasting. Apparently, these two had nothing else to do. He was ready to tell them to go back to work, but Dorothy’s ringing phone saved him the trouble. He heard the rustle of clothing and saw a figure walk past the opening to his cubicle, although he didn’t look to see who it was because he didn’t care.
Happily, the gossip session was the only major annoyance of William’s day. Other irritating things still occurred—he did have to answer the phone and respond to e-mails. Normally, such events would have ranked higher on his irritability scale, but after the distraction the two women caused the other things seemed trivial.
As he did at the end of every day, William followed the correct procedure for shutting off his computer and arranged items neatly on his desk. He waited, also as he did every day, for those around him to leave the office so he could exit without the bother of interacting with other people. The room was quiet when he left his cubicle and went to the elevator. However, after he pushed the lighted button to bring the elevator up to him, a man arrived.
William avoided eye contact and instead studied the digits above the entrance to the elevator and watched as the number of each floor lit up as the elevator ascended. As he waited, still another man came to the elevator.
The second man said to the first, “Hello, Artie.”
“Jim,” said the first man. The elevator arrived and all three got on.
It occurred to William this was the Artie the two women discussed. Since he was at the back of the elevator, William was able to observe the man. He was leaning against the side of the car, looking as though he might slide down the wall at any moment. William could not see his face, but if anyone’s body language signaled defeat, this man’s did. When the elevator reached the lobby he waited as Artie managed to pry himself off the wall and walk out the door. Artie shuffled along, seemingly finding the task of placing one foot in front of the other a difficult one. His head was hanging and he was looking down at the floor as he meandered out of William’s sight.
That evening as he made dinner for himself and sat alone at the small table in his tidy, and blissfully quiet house, William thought about what he had heard and seen earlier. It was obvious the news of his wife’s betrayal had devastated Artie. He wondered why people did it. Why did they open themselves up to such things? Couldn’t they see what could happen if they trusted someone too much?
After he had climbed into bed and slid between the sheets that night, William smiled and congratulated himself for being smart enough to avoid Artie’s fate. If it weren’t for his intelligence, he could have found himself in such a situation.
There but for the grace of God go I, he thought before falling asleep.
William was eating his lunch, sitting in his usual seat at his usual table in his usual corner of the company cafeteria and reading a book as he usually did. He found that people did not try to talk to him if they saw him focused on his book and even if they did, he could tune them out. When he did not acknowledge them, they left him alone.
But this day was not a usual day. The cafeteria was busy and seats were difficult to find by twelve thirty. Two men sat a table close to William’s table. He peered over the top of his book and looked at them, although he did not make eye contact. He didn’t want to invite conversation. William didn’t recognize them; he knew few of the other employees. Their faces ran together after a while, like some abstract painting.
Ordinarily, William would have ignored what they were saying, but he couldn’t help listening to their conversation. Perhaps it was because they were trying to speak softly that he noticed them. His eyes flicked back and forth between his book and the two men, who were sitting catty cornered to him. He did not let his gaze linger lest they catch him or worse yet, invite him to participate.
“I don’t know what to do. We’ve tried everything we can think of,” said the man sitting farthest from William. He was perhaps forty, a plain looking man with thinning hair gray at the temples. His necktie was askew.
“Put him in rehab,” said the other man, who had his back to William. He wore a white shirt and had a bald spot in the back of his head.
“It’s so expensive and the insurance here only pays for part of it.”
“It’ll be worth it if you can get him off the stuff.”
“He’s been through it once. He got clean for a while then went back to his old ways.”
“I didn’t know that. That does make it tough.”
William realized they were talking about someone on drugs. He didn’t know why they chose the cafeteria to discuss it. There must be better places to talk about something so personal without involving anyone who happened to be in earshot. However, he realized some people preferred to reveal themselves to others. That was a foreign concept to him and he could never imagine himself doing it.
“We have to watch him every minute because if we don’t we’re afraid what might happen. We’re both exhausted, and I think Mary’s nearly at the end of her rope. I am, too. I keep asking myself what we did wrong with this kid.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault,” bald spot said.
He knew then it must be crooked tie’s son who was doing drugs. William read the same paragraph for the third time.
“I wish I could believe that. I want to believe it, but I feel so guilty. Maybe we could have done more. If we’d been better parents, he wouldn’t have started taking drugs and ruined our lives.”
“Unless you gave him the stuff it’s not your fault. Kids do dumb things. They make mistakes and they have to face up to their mistakes.”
William wondered if bald spot had been watching Dr. Phil because his counseling consisted of pop psychology platitudes. Like the TV doctor, he must think a couple of fifteen-minute lunchtime sessions would help crooked tie with his problem. With help like that, who needed enemies?
The two of them droned on and their conversation became white noise. Soon William lost interest and returned to his book. When he looked up again they were gone and almost as quickly disappeared from his thoughts.
Later at his home as William watched television, his window to the world, he recalled the conversation between the two men. Not that he was all that interested in remembering the incident, nor was he concerned about the boy’s fate. He figured people did reap what they had sown and more than likely crooked tie’s assessment of the situation was correct. If he had been a better parent, the kid probably would not have turned to drugs.
Lucky for him he didn’t have to worry about such things because he had no children. While some people had the urge to procreate, he never had and was happy being childless. He had better things to do than amuse a child. They were so time consuming and even more demanding of attention. He wondered if that was where t
he man in the cafeteria had come up short. If the man couldn’t devote enough time to a child, then he shouldn’t have had one. Now because of his failing there was another drain on society.
William knew he was too smart to allow himself to fall into something like that. There but for the grace of God go I, he thought as he continued flipping through the channels.
William heard someone on his porch. He parted the heavy drapes on his window enough that he could peer out with one eye and saw a woman and a child at his door. One of them rang his doorbell, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t know them and felt no compulsion to talk with two strangers. The doorbell rang again, but its pealing did nothing to change his mind. Someone rattled the doorknob and William tensed up, suspecting they were trying to open the door.
However, the noise only lasted a few seconds and the two of them left. William peeked out carefully so as not to move the drape and signal he was at home, and watched as they went down his sidewalk. They continued on to the next house. When he was sure they were out of sight, William cautiously opened the door, uncertain what he would find. What he did discover was a flyer.
LOST DOG
Our poodle is lost
Her name is Bitsy
If you find her please return her
REWARD
At the bottom of the flyer was a photo of the missing animal and under that was the contact information for the Edwards family, owners of Bitsy. People should be more careful with their pets and they wouldn’t wander off. One of the members of the grief-stricken family had probably left the door open and the hound fled. If the Edwards’ lack of responsibility was any indication, the dog could be better off on its own. Obviously, the family couldn’t care for the dog. William wondered why Mr. and Mrs. Edwards had children if they couldn’t even safely handle a dog.
Of course, the dog might not be blameless in the matter. There was the possibility the Edwards did care about it and it had absconded at the first opportunity. The unappreciative thing didn’t know when it had life good. Here it was with a nice home with food and water and it runs off. The family would be better off if the mutt did not return.
He didn’t trust animals any more than people. They were noisy, messy and had no consideration for the property of others. They chewed things. Things that weren’t theirs. Then they gave the same things back, one disgusting way or the other.
Dogs were untidy eaters and had to go outside repeatedly where they made a mess of the yard. They smelled and always wanted affection. Their wagging tails were not only a nuisance, but they could be downright destructive.
Cats were another story. Although they didn’t have to go outside, they were even more disgusting because they did their business inside the house. Then they had the nerve to rub against a person, leaving hairs all over him all the while making that bothersome purring noise.
Besides, he had learned through experience, pets also die. No matter how much you do for them, they perish and leave you alone. It was better to not risk getting attached to a pet than it was to lose one. Just as it was better not to allow oneself to see a woman who might cheat or to have a child who might turn out badly. It was so much better to be alone. That way no one cheated on you or turned to drugs or ran away and left you.
No, it was much safer being without a pet and thankfully he had the good sense to realize that. William glanced at the flyer once more and said to himself, there but for the grace of God, go I.
The Rev. John Bailey stood at the lectern and looked out. He’d nearly finished the service and was about to begin the twenty-third Psalm. Bible in front of him, he glanced down—though he didn’t need to because he knew it by heart—-and he read:
“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters.”
The Rev. Bailey glanced at the man who lay not in a green pasture, but in the coffin that sat in the front of the room. He wondered about the life this man had led, for he was not familiar with him.
As a matter of fact, he didn’t even know the man. The funeral home had asked him to come and speak. The Rev. Bailey was the minister of last resort. When the deceased left no instructions or if no one knew what to do with him, the funeral homes called the Rev Bailey.
“He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”
Looking out over the empty room, the Rev. Bailey asked himself what kind of man this had been. Was he such a terrible person that no one wanted to attend his funeral? He looked down at the card on the lectern. William Bradley, it said. Though the funeral director had told him the man’s name, and he had the card in front of him, the name kept slipping from his thoughts. Why did he find this man so forgettable?
He’d been surprised when he received the card because there were no other names on it. Usually, the card would include the names of loved ones: a wife, a child, someone. This card didn’t even have the name of a pet.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”
There was no one to comfort. However, that didn’t stop the Rev. Bailey. He was here to do his job and he would do it to the best of his ability, whether or not there was an audience. Nonetheless, he found it sad that William Bradley was leaving the world alone. No one should go out this way, he thought. Surely, the man had cared for someone and someone cared for him.
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.”
Did William Bradley have an enemy or was his life so insignificant that no one cared enough to even dislike him?
“Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.”
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
Where would William dwell? It seemed it would not be in the heart of any living creature.
The Rev. Bailey finished the service and nodded to the funeral director, who had appeared in the rear of the room. He couldn’t resist walking over to the coffin and looking at the man inside. Will my tear be the only one shed for you, William Bradley?
The funeral director and his assistants approached and the Rev. Bailey turned and walked away. He said to himself, “There but for the grace of God, go I.”
Larry was born and grew up in western Pennsylvania. He was a reporter/photographer at two small newspapers prior to taking a position as a copy editor at a newspaper in south central Pennsylvania. Larry began writing in earnest in 2004. His first novel, By the Light of the Moon, was published in March 2011.
THE GREEN EYED MONSTER
By
Catherine Jordan
I fingered the small, circular patch behind my ear. It gave me a degree of comfort, feeling it there, although I still feared my head and stomach would recoil in spite of the patch’s promise to prevent motion sickness. The second I boarded the Queen Mary, I had felt a degree of freedom and was anxious for the ship to sail with no second thoughts—and then I saw her. My stomach did a sudden back flip. Already I felt ill, and it wasn’t the waves. On the contrary; the patch seemed to be holding its end of the bargain quite well.
Tina sauntered up the plank, drinking in the spring sun, and I knew my eyes turned even greener with envy as I compared my large waist with her bikini clad, Barbie-sized one. Really? Who the hell wears a bikini in March—in New York? And was that…? Yes, and I decided to keep my mouth shut about it. Maybe no one else would notice. A twinge of guilt hit me; a good friend would speak up right away. And we were good friends, despite my feelings, my insecurities.
I hadn’t seen my friend Tina in over ten years. Like husbands and wives that had been together over many happy years, I often noticed that it was the same with friends. Some looked so much alike that they were often asked if they were sisters. Tina and I never got asked that question—other than us both having green eyes, we looked noth
ing alike. My fingers slid from the patch I’d been fingering to the short, tight, unkempt curls sprouting from my scalp like Medusa’s snakes. Her long blond hair hung from her scalp like waves of silk. She smiled at me. Didn’t look like she had changed much and I began to wonder why I had agreed to go on this trip.
We’d been roommates in college and over a recent, unexpected, long distance phone call, we agreed to vacation together to catch up on the past. Tina had always been aware of the effect she had on men. Most looked her in the eye and either turned quickly away or smiled. Some left it at that, others approached. Even from behind, men noticed her. In college, she rubbed it in my face. “Did you see that guy checking me out?” she’d ask me as we walked the campus grounds on our way to Accounting 101, or Management. I wanted to ask, “How do you know it’s you they’re looking at? Maybe, it’s me!” However, being the smart girl that I am, I knew better than to actually believe that any of those cute guys would steal a glance in my direction, especially since I walked most of the way with my head down. The attention she received wouldn’t have bothered me so much if she had just a drop of humility in her veins. I envisioned her tackling me to the ground, my face submerged in mud as she cried out, “I’m prettier than you are, and don’t you forget it!”
“Hey!” she called with a wave, her flip-flops snapping underneath her. Nope, she hadn’t changed a bit. I didn’t expect her to be ugly. It was the hungry, conceited look in her eye that I recognized, that I had expected she would have outgrown.
I replied by raising my hand in a lazy salute, saluting goodbye to my esteem as I envisioned the two of us side by side—her in the red bikini, me in the turquoise romper. Tina, the beauty, me the beast. I think I hated her right at that moment. On the ship’s deck, we embraced like long lost friends.
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