Nano Nano so far

Siobhan's Solace

I live in an empty place. Though my abode is full of objects – bric-a-brac, kitsch, trinkets – it just doesn't feel complete anymore. Most of my 'objets d'art' as I refer to them, I have collected in only the last few years. I never planned to start collecting anything, it just happened.

One day as I was walking to the deli at lunch, I decided to walk through the market – you know, one of those farmers' and flea things with little kiosks that pop up in the oddest of locales. Usually I try to avoid the market. With only 40 minutes for lunch, heading towards 4 blocks of elbow-your-way-through traffic never seemed like such a good idea, but I guess time didn't really matter that day. As I wandered down the thoroughfare, I noticed it. Its golden wings glinted in the sunlight that filtered through the holes in the kiosk's barely tented roof. I couldn't tell what it was at first, but as I drew closer... no, as it drew me closer, for I really didn't have any say or so it felt... I noticed the fragilely gilt wings, the saucy pose, and the puckish grin all there for my benefit. All thoughts of hunger dissipated and I fumbled for my wallet.

How I found 40 dollars in my purse I have no idea. I never have that much cash with me. I'm strictly a plastic purchaser. Need to collect all those points. It would wasteful not to. Regardless, I had the cash, paid quickly and waited with anticipation as the old woman behind the table wrapped her up in tissue paper, then in newspaper, to place her in nothing more than a generic pink plastic bag. While she had been wrapping my purchase, all I could think about was where I could put her. She really didn't fit the decor in my flat. Why was I buying her anyway? I had no idea. I even began to tell the lady that I'd changed my mind. But just as I was about to speak, the tissue ripped slightly and that teeny upturned mouth stopped me in my tracks. So I resolved to take her home, but still had no clue what I would do with a statue of a golden fairy.

Fairies don't exactly fit into my art collection. Somehow I can't really picture Matisse, Dali, and _________ willingly displayed next to 'Oberon the Fairy King'. Actually, the statue couldn't have been Oberon; it was too effete, too androgynous. But it also looked too good-natured to be Puck. Maybe the statue was the embodiment of a changeling: innocent and childlike, but with hint of fairy mischief. Like the good kid who secretly relishes comic books, or the students in school who actually understand the ‘teacher jokes’ but just smile knowingly so the teacher can tell, but the other kids can't. Regardless, it still wouldn't fit in between my art prints and my IKEA furniture. It definitely wasn't a Nordic fairy. No clean lines here. And it would be a bugger to dust.

I hate dust! Life can really suck when you're allergic to the one ingredient in every room on earth. The reason I had IKEA furniture in the first place it that it's all flat, no nooks and crannies for dust to make bunnies. Easy to fit up that stupid staircase in flat boxes, and easy enough to clean. All that hard work for nothing. Amazing how one dust magnet can ruin your day. Except it didn't ruin my day. What ruined my day was that pink bag. It reminded me of the pink folder waiting for me on my desk, which reminded me of work, which reminded me of lunch, and time… and being late. So instead of deciding where to house my new golden fairy, I had to rush my way through the crowd to my office. The office where I was being awaited by my one o'clock appointment: my boss. The boss who had every reason to want me out of the firm. The boss who saw me run down the hall to his office, precious pink shopping bag clutched to my chest. Great! Late for performance review because I was shopping! Some days fairies can wreak havoc with your day.

I slinked into Richard’s office. I tried to hide the bag behind my back, but that cheap plastic kept wrinkling the way chip bags do when you least want to be caught eating. It was pointless anyway. He’d seen me run with it down the hall. What to do? Confess that I’d gone insane and blown my lunch hour, not to mention forty bucks, on a fairy statue? Give it to him as a gift of appreciation for all the ‘magic’ he works at the office? Claim my purse broke this morning and the bag was all I could find to use instead?

Just as I was scrounging up the courage to come clean – better to face his recriminations now than my own guilt later, especially given he can tell when I lie – he stopped me in my tracks.

“I'm--” we both stammered as I reached the door. We paused, awkwardly waiting to see who would have the courage to begin again.

“I’m glad you haven’t been waiting for me too –“

“I’m really sorry, I –“

“Nothing to be sorry for. I was worried that you had been waiting for me. I know you hate waiting, but I guess Ilene told you I got held up in the Board Meeting this morning.” I nodded my head in agreement, not knowing how to respond. “Some of the shareholders aren’t happy with the way the merger talks are going. Seem to think they know more about business than anyone else. They keep acting like they’ve employed incompetents, so I don’t know why they’re surprised they don’t like how we’re handling things. Some days I really hate being the 'boss'.”

“Which leads me to why I’ve asked to see you. I know this is supposed to be your annual performance review, but there’s no point in talking about that.” Richard smiled and I felt my heart race. Whether it was because I was about to lose my job or I suddenly remembered why I'd fallen in love with him I couldn't be sure. Regardless I certainly couldn't afford to lose this job.

“No point?” I squeaked. “I’ve improved my commissions twelve percent in the last six months alone, and you’re going to fire me? I can’t believe this.”

“Well, that’s good,” Richard said with a mischievous grin. Why did he always have to smile?

“Firing me is good? Tell that to the Human Rights Commission.” I shot back. Richard looked stunned for a moment. I never used to miss his jokes.

“Uh... no,” he stuttered, “not good that you’re fired. Good that you can’t believe it. You’re not fired. God, Siobhan, I’d have to be an idiot to fire you. I know I've done some stupid things to you, but I'm not that dumb.”

“Oh,” I said, despite the fact all I could think about was the last time I’d heard that. That’ s what he'd said when he dumped me too. I guess even idiots are allowed their moments of brilliance.

“Firing is out of the question. I wanted to discuss the possibility of a sort of promotion.”

Okay, so this was going to be a very odd meeting. I already knew that. We hadn't spoken in two weeks. While we needed to work together closely, we'd been communicating exclusively via email since the company masquerade. Speech was just too difficult. Richard had tried setting up conference calls, but I felt my voice left me naked, and always found a way to miss them. My voice betrayed too much. I couldn't afford to give anything away. Certainly not to him. I could be much more guarded in my writing. So we emailed, and memoed, and left notes on each other's office doors. But this meeting had been scheduled for weeks, and even I knew that he couldn't postpone my review. But why bring up the issue of promotion. I was sure Richard would want me out of the office. After everything I'd done, I certainly didn't want to work there any more, but I couldn't afford to quit. If he promoted me, we'd have to work together even more. So he must have an alterior motive, but what? I was the only one of the floor who hadn’t applied for the open position last week. Did he want to persuade me to apply? Did it make him look bad if I was the lone holdout? What’s “sort of promotion” anyway?

“A ‘sort of promotion’? What does that mean exactly?”

“Well, ________ and I...”

My eyes drifted to the picture of Richard's wife on the bookcase. It had never been on his desk. He always said that he didn't like to be “stared at” while he was working, so the picture had always lived on the shelves behind his desk. Where her stare could bore holes into the back of his head. Maybe that's what had 'impaired' his judgment so much. Now, she was staring directly at me, just like the night of the masquerade. I blinked and looked at Richard who had stopped talking.

“I'm sorry. I missed that. I must be microsleeping,” I grinned sheepishly.

“I was just saying that we're going on an extended honeymoon of sorts and that I can’t leave the office without someone in charge at this point in the merger. So, Simon’s agreed to take on my part in the merger talks, but I need someone to run the day to day office.”

Ahoneymoon “of sorts”... interesting way to put it. Still not very committed language, Richard. That'll get you in trouble. Besides isn't it kind of soon for a second honeymoon. I mean you just recanted your divorce “request” last week. Has she already forgiven you for our dalliance? I don't think so. Not yet anyway. Too quick. You still have clothes at my apartment for chrissakes.

“I see,” I said slowly, trying to suppress the anger rising in throat, “so I'm qualified to do your job, but only the 'day to day' stuff? Let me guess, the board doesn't want a woman dealing with the merger? Or is that just your bias?” I rose from my chair and strode to the door. “Well, you can take the promotion and 'sort of' shove it.”

As I stormed from his office, I could hear the buzz of the office come to a standstill. I could feel everyone's stares. I could feel Richard follow me through the maze of cubicles, but I kept walking, staring straight ahead as people moved out of my way. I could feel my heart sticking in my throat and the tears rising, but I had only ten more feet to freedom. I broke into a run near the foyer and heard Richard quicken to meet my pace. I couldn't bear to wait for the lift, so I ran for stairs. I threw open the door to the stairwell and darted through. Running down the first flight of stairs, I quickly glanced back to see the door closing on Richard and quickened my pace.

I didn't stop running until I reached my car. I fumbled with the door and climbed inside. As I started the car I could see Richard just approaching the door into the parkade. I revved the engine and briefly considered waiting and running him down, but decided all I really wanted to do was go home. I turned left and as I drove to the exit gate I spotted Richard in my rearview... waving a pink bag.

I'm not entirely sure how I got home. I don't even know how long it took me. The state of my mascara told me it hadn't been a dry commute. And I felt I hadn't breathed until I'd locked the door behind me. How could I have been so stupid? Now I couldn't possibly go back to work, but I could afford even less not to. Why did life have to be so complicated?

It was always times like these that I wished I liked alcohol. Or drugs. Or even cigarettes. Instead, I beelined to the cupboard above the fridge, pulled on the lock that I never really locked, and fished out my emergency chocolate. Skor!

I never felt I had much in common with other women, but I definitely fell victim to the chocolate gene. At least I didn't indulge with wild abandon, though that may have felt good at the time. I had rules about chocolate. Chocolate was for extreme emergencies only. This certainly qualified. Chocolate could only be enjoyed during a bath. If I finished my ration I would have to want another bar enough to towel off and freeze on my way back to the kitchen for a refill. And chocolate must never be eaten alone. Time for tea and sympathy then. Or at least tea and chocolate. I put on the kettle and went to draw my bath.

In the bathroom, I ran the hot water over my fingers until I couldn't bear it, then turned on the cold. I kicked off my sandals and stood staring in the mirror. My face was a mess. Mascara drained from my eyes and my “Raspberry Reputation” had been smeared from my lips. The corresponding stain was on my right sleeve. I grabbed a make-up remover pad and was all set to scrape the remains off my face when the words of my mother filled my ears. “Be gentle with the skin around the eyes. It's very delicate. Use soft, gentle strokes.” Too bad she'd never used the same advice to raise her children. I shook my head and silenced her. I finished removing all traces of ________ from my face, slid out of my blouse, and left it in the sink to soak. I rummaged through the wicker basket on the counter to find my favourite wallowing bath bubbles and added a generous splosh to the tub. Trading the rest of my clothes for my housecoat, I went back to the kitchen to make my tea and retrieve my chocolate. Only one element remained. I cranked the stereo on my way back to the bathroom and prepared myself for a long, wrinkly soak.