From: Graduer

At my wife's insistence, we shopped the art district of town for overpriced candles and curtains. My wife bought a small print for our kitchen. The artist told me that the image of a coffee cup and spoon came from an unidentified internet site. Clearly cheating, I thought.

By sundown the trunks were filled with large white plastic bags, some were paper with rope handles. Because of the amount of shopping, and because I was to meet up with a college friend of mine at an all night diner after shopping, we took separate cars. My wife separated the trunks into things that she wanted to look at at home immediately, and what could wait. The print stayed in my car. I was to buy frame hooks and have it up by the weekend.

I had about an hour to meet my friend, and despite having sore feet from the amount of walking that I had already done, I decided to browse the shops. The art district, also a major tourist attraction, presented various tourist traps. The horseback rides and aerial views. Key chains and license plates with your name printed on them. T-shirts, 2 for $10 or $6.99 each. Photo images with "your picture here" on the arm of a large Marlboro-like cowboy. "Genuine" bottled dirt, sand and rocks from the land, western wear and post cards of western wear. Everything smelled like leather or cedar. The ice cream shop lacked the power to overcome it. The upscale barbeque restaurant even deflected its smoke out and away from passersby, as if barbeque was too lower class to be so advertised, but was fine once decorated around parcely and procelin. Menus outside of restaurants were exotic and expensive. Even the local people had never heard of or eaten the things offered at these places.

I thought about her at her wedding. But all that I could imagine was her wearing a large western dress. It was black, burgundy and grey, maybe something I remember from a movie. She wore black shoes and black lace gloves. She lifted her skirt a little to walk up stairs because walking seemed like an extraordinary ordeal in a dress so elaborate. She seemed to be walking up the stairs in frustration, as if determined to punch someone for taking away the deed to her family land or something. Maybe this wasn't her I was imagining at all but some character in another story, because I had a difficult time picturing her face on the dress.

The art district was active only in two sections at this late hour, the bar, The Can-Cantina, and the local art gallery. Both were interchangeable as beer, wine and artichoke hearts were consumed in both spaces and patrons crossed the street that divided the two. The Can-Cantina was an outdoor, live music bar. The art gallery was well lit inside, with room for shadows in other areas that seemed to intentionally offset the brightness of the lights which focused on the art. I checked my watch, then I suddenly saw her there drinking an exotic beer I hadn’t heard of and standing in a group of people. She was swaying slightly. I walked into the gallery and bought a $3.00 beer and kept my eye on her. She caught my eye, and we looked at each other. She looked back at her group but was smiling now, or mildly laughing. I wanted to think it was because she had seen me, but I wasn't sure if she'd just laughed at what someone was saying. Her art work was mostly photography based prints of the city’s "old" buildings. She was taking advantage of tourist themes too. Tourists bought images of these buildings to mail home to loved ones to get them to try to understand their new or temporary environment, or hung them on their wall to remind them of the time that they were on vacation.

Because the prints were in black and white, they did well to emphasize the new buildings attempt at appearing to be filled with historic value. She focused mostly on the "general store" and the few mountain scenes. She had some kind of watercolor print also, a beach scene that looked like what you would see at a getaway condo. There was one abstract painting she created on display. I wanted to see clues in all of this, hints where she was trying to tell me that these paintings were of me or about me. Something that would let me know that she had always thought about me, or at least had been thinking about me.

I Don’t Want my First Kiss to be with an Atheist

I wasn’t very religious, but I wore a cross in defiance. Meanwhile he was sketching plans for various designs like one for a clothing line based on very radical beliefs: straight edge, veganism, freeganism, punk and metal music. I’m not sure how I became so unraveled when I was around him.

He invited me to lunch but I had made up my mind. There was no way that my first kiss was going to be with an atheist. It wasn’t entirely just that. He had many radical beliefs. I understand someone turning away from something, being against it, but to be so passionate about it, to make little upside down crosses out of black electrical tape and wear them was a little more than I can handle. I drove to lunch and wore a bracelet with the Virgin of Guadalupe on it. I wasn’t going to stand down. I wore a shape forming skirt, buttoned down dress shirt, high heels, my hair frizzy from the rain. I looked like a rushed librarian, except my heels were four inches high and spiked. He reached over the table, slipped his fingers underneath the bracelet without noticing its design and affectionately caressed my wrist with his fingertips. I felt helpless. I wanted him and I wanted to stay away from him. He offered to pay for dinner, offered me a ride when my brother borrowed my car, offered to share his vegan chocolate cake.

I had never done anything like this, and I told him so, and he was more than willing to give me anything that I wanted. Time, mostly time, time apart and time to pass together. There was a no touching rule declared by me, I don’t know if I could resist otherwise, and I might rush into something much stronger and sooner than I wanted. The rule become that once I made the first move, things would be official. I was arguing with myself every day. I wanted him, I wanted to get away from him. This wasn’t good, at least it couldn’t end well, I was sure of it. When I wasn’t with him, I thought of either not returning his calls or of going out of my way to see him. When I was with him, I was the same hollow, melting and unkempt girl who at any minute, would unravel completely, submit to what I wanted, kiss him, hold his hand. He was annoyingly understanding. Annoyingly patient and comforting. I was losing little by little, and though I denied it every day, he had complete confidence in our future. I told myself that I wasn’t really interested, but I made excuses to see him, call him, think about him. I planned a pre-relationship breakup and the excuses in my head: I was a germaphobe and couldn’t rummage through garbage in the middle of the night, loud music gave me headaches, my children could not be atheists, they didn’t have to be devout anything, I just didn’t want them to be atheists. My parents wouldn’t let me get away without at least a baptism. I would only ever know “I Wanna Be Sedated” because it was on an episode of My So Called Life.

Before him, there was only one - a four year unrequited love affair with a neighbor who went to private school. He once asked me for a ride to his girlfriend’s house so that he could spend the night, after which I drunkenly pledged complete and total devotion to him after looking up but doing nothing with devotion spells I found on the internet. He mostly dated inappropriately gorgeous women. He impregnated a Budweiser Spokes model and they are currently living with her mother.

Although I was sure it wouldn’t go anywhere, I still spent all of my spare time with him, the entire time keeping the word “no” ready to use. I thought that I had a pretty strong handle on the entire situation, I even had several backup plans of what I would do when he wasn’t around, and was thinking of one such plan (getting a unlimited movie rental pass and renting several nineties sitcoms), when he called me to say that he was considering moving an hour up north to meet up with a cousin so that they could finally form a band. He would spend a week or so exploring the city, investigating their inventory of instruments and musicians, scouting local clubs that would let them play. He was excited, I was a little annoyed at his enthusiasm until the night before he left, sometime after midnight at an all night diner he reached his arm across the table to grab my wrist, careful not to move in a way that would lead me to retract my arm. “Couldn’t you go with me?” he said. With such short notice at work, and a controlling boss (who thinks that every day off that we request, we’re looking for jobs in a rival office and checks our facebook statuses for postings of our whereabouts), there was no way. He looked sad, pained. “You’ll be fine, you’ll be back soon.” I told him. “But, I’ll miss you,” he said. I swallowed hard. As of that moment, those words, combined with his exact expression, eyebrows turned down in concern, biting his lip looking deep in thought, seemed to change things for me, and I knew I was soon to give in.

When he left he was walking around as though his duffle bag was heavier than it was. He walked with his head down, his shoulders slumped. Despite our physical distance rule, we held hands; it was late at night and the time made things feel desperate, as if he were leaving for Iraq. All of his excitement for this trip, all of the talks about the venues and of bands, of his cousins apartment, of seeing his grandfather, all of that was not what he was thinking about now. His mother prepared snacks for the bus ride, placed them in his backpack, and snuck a blank check in one of the side pockets which he found and tore into small pieces and threw in a receptacle. More desperation themes, as if he would have no money or food, as if he were travelling to China during a cholera epidemic. I bought in to the drama of the situation, holding his hand tighter as they called out for passengers to line up to board. We hugged goodbye and he boarded the bus, looking out the window at me as he sat down, the same sad expression on his face. He swallowed hard and then stared blankly ahead at nothing.

He called me and sent me text messages. When he got off the bus, his family was confused by his expression, his sadness. “She made it hard for me to come here” was the first thing that he said to them. He succumbed to his sadness and he cut his trip short, going through some trouble when trying to exchange his ticket. When he would arrive, it again would be late at night, more drama to give in to. I stood and searched for him when the bus arrived, standing by a homeless woman who had fallen asleep while sitting up against the building. He got off, and rushed to see me carrying his duffle bag and other bags, visibly heavy and making it difficult for him to carry them and walk quickly at the same time. But when we were face to face he dropped them and we immediately hugged tightly, his cross stung me at my chest. I closed my eyes, and then leaned my forehead against his before kissing him. I was completely helpless now. I hope God isn’t mad at me.

Ryan Adams and You

This was written awhile back.

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You’re in love with Ryan Adams. The last time you saw him, he invites you to a house party and it sounds promising. You walk up to him when you first come in but he hardly glances at you because he’s talking to his friends. You walk outside and don’t want to go back in for awhile, despite how cold it is that night. You’re not sure if you should stay or go. You look at your cell phone. You find old messages from him telling you that he loves you, telling you that he can’t imagine being anywhere without you. And you fell for it. You consider texting him about ignoring you, but decide to leave quietly instead to avoid feeling embarrassed about being there and being ignored.

Just as you are about to leave he steps outside and asks where you went, he says that he was looking for you and was hoping that you’d come. He embraces you, but you don’t move. “You ignored me,” you pout. He tells you that he’s sorry. That he was talking to his friends. He asks you to look at him and he tells you that he loves you and would never intentionally hurt you. You give in even if you still don’t believe him.

He holds your hand the whole night while inside but spends the rest of the night not talking to you, but to his friends. You both drink. It makes you forget about being embarrassed about constantly thinking that he’s not talking to you. You get to carry him to bed that night and fall asleep with him, you make him breakfast at noon.

The next evening he’s playing at Largo. You go and meet up with friends. One talks to you about Ryan’s new girl, a blond girl in a blue dress, sitting up front in a reserved area. Your friend is telling you about it, thinking that you have been over for awhile now, since you never “officially” got back together. She mimics those stupid quotes with her fingers when she says “officially” and it makes you want to slap her.

Ryan’s on stage, singing songs that he told you that he wrote for you, but that you know were probably written way before he met you. You try to do that math in your head but you’re too drunk to concentrate. He sings to this blonde girl. She’s smiling, her friends playfully tease her and they laugh together. You’re drinking, you stare at her. You try to leave at the end of the show, but he sees you and calls you over. You don’t see blonde girl. He puts his arm around you but you move out of it when you see blonde girl walking up to him. You decide to leave right away. He calls out for you but you ignore him.

At three in the morning you get texts from him. He wants you to come over, he thinks you should consider moving in. You read every message over and over again trying to understand exactly what he means but you don’t respond. You don’t want him to think you’re interested.

Next Friday he’s standing on your porch. He wants to come in. He’s got a guitar and wine with a gold bow wrapped around it. He says it’s for you but the label on the bottle congratulates Ryan on his “Gold” release. You drink amid a burning anger. He drinks with a drunk, horny smile. He convinces you to come to another show that night, on the premise of talking about everything afterward.

You don’t talk to him the entire way. But the blonde girl isn’t there this time. He sings to you this time. Intentionally staring at you when he says the words, “I ain’t got nothing but love for you now.” It sounds so desperate and pleading. Completely passionate and poetic. You try to convince yourself that he wrote that song for you, but you’re still not sure. You get upset again when you think about anyone else it could have been for.

He’s all over you after the show. He tells everyone to treat you well, that you’re his favorite person and that all of the bartenders, managers, music journalists, and friends that occupy the venue after the show should treat you as such. A manager asks you if you want a free drink. Another unnamed industry person tells you that if you have any trouble ever coming to shows when Ryan’s not sober, to call him.

You feel happy to be with Ryan and to be acknowledged, but you wonder if this is routine. If favorite person was code to all the people around him that it means just the favorite person of the minute, and it was their responsibility to make said favorite person feel welcome so that he can get laid.

You go home with him because he tells you that he needs you. That he can’t face sobriety without you. You both drink and make love. You know doing this is wrong, you know you’ll regret it, but you can’t help it and just give in with complete blind hope. In the morning you go through his phone when he’s asleep. You don’t know blonde girl’s name so you have no idea who is who on his outgoing calls list. You go through his bathroom drawers.

You make him breakfast but have to leave at noon before he’s awake. On the drive home you kick yourself for not remembering to check his text messages. You go home and check your voice mail and text message log for anything incoming and recent. You have no missed calls.

Lily

She wanted to let the dogs out one last time before bed. They ran out, barked and ran through the piles of leaves. “I’ve got to remember to clean up the yard this weekend,” she thought.
She looked over at her plants lined up against the house on the wooden picnic table. “Hello my Lily,” she said. Even though she knew that it sounded crazy, she thought that talking to her plants be good for them.

Her smallest dog stood by the door in an attempt to get back inside as quickly as she gave permission; it was colder outside than she thought it would be. She said, “Come on,” and gestured toward the door. The other dog hurried in behind her. She locked the back door but left the light on. She closed the dog gate so the dogs would stay in the kitchen. She turned off the TV and the living room lights. She looked over at the kitchen table and at the things that she would have to clean up tomorrow. Her husband left an empty cereal bowl on the table, his shoes and socks were under the coffee table. She checked garage door and locked all three locks, two deadbolts and the door knob lock. She closed the door to the laundry room and turned off the vent to the half bathroom. She was afraid of the dark and only turned off one light when another was on in her pathway. She couldn’t go out to the shed in the backyard alone to get things on her own, she had to call her husband to help her do this. She had visions of creepy people hiding in shadows. She thought about ghosts haunting her backyard or about ghosts walking though the front of her house on their way somewhere.

When she was young she was playing with her cousins in her grandparent’s backyard when they saw someone in the storage shed. A woman in a white dress was curled up and sitting on an old table, her bare feet on the lawnmower. As she watched her, the woman put a finger to her mouth, “Shhhhhh” she said, shaking and clearly upset. She ran to tell her grandfather, who talked to the woman who was hiding from her abusive boyfriend. In the end he escorted her away.

Last week when she went into her car the glove compartment was ajar. Thinking that the latch was broken, she started the car, which informed her that a door was still open. She leaned over and closed the passenger side door, confused and knowing that no one had been a passenger since that weekend and it was Wednesday. She texted her husband, “Did you get something from my car last night?” His response came when she was already at work, he called her and told her that no, he hadn’t, but that the police had been talking to all of the neighbors about someone going through their unlocked cars.

Now she locked everything. She grabbed her purse before heading upstairs to click the lock button on her car alarm panel just in case she might have forgotten to earlier. She left the front porch light on and locked the front door.

At three her husband hears something, he’s up and looking around. “Don’t go outside!” she yells. “Call the police if you see anything.” She knew he might try to do something rash in anger. He was the one who elected the “prosecute” box on the police report they filed. She got up, she was wide awake now, sitting on the top of the stairs. It was four a.m. She stared out the windows at the neighbor’s car, thinking that she would surely see someone soon and call the local police, a number which she recently programmed into her phone. Her husband let the dogs walk around and listen for noises. He looked outside through the curtains without caution. After some time he comes back upstairs. “We should keep all of the lights on from now on, and not lock the dogs in.” She agreed. “You didn’t hear that? Like a loud bang?” She hadn’t. “I also have to fix that other outside light by the cars, maybe put a flood light.” They headed for bed.

Even though she had to wake up at 6:30 for work, she was wide awake. She tossed and turned until she was uncomfortable in her own bed, then got up and did what she normally did when she couldn’t sleep. She grabbed her pillow and headed for the guest bedroom. “What’s the matter babe? Can’t sleep?” her husband sometimes was easily awakened when she got up. “No, I’m wide awake.” She even felt a little happy, like she was filled with energy, she thought she might just stay up and make a big breakfast, iron her clothes, take more time to do her makeup and hair. She would try to sleep first, since she knew she would just crash later in the evening if she didn’t.

She laid on the twin bed in the guest bedroom, curled up and faced the wall. She could hear an airplane in the distance and nothing else, she relaxed. She heard a small creek come from the direction of the door or the closet door, she wasn’t sure. She looked over quickly, and stared at the door for some time. “It could have been nothing.” She thought. She stared for what seemed like fifteen minutes and turned back around. After awhile she was started to get a little drowsy and knew that she would soon get up and head back to her own bed, as this was more comfortable and she might not be able to hear her alarm from the guest room. When she was about to grab her pillow and get up, a soft whisper, an unfamiliar, shaky voice, warm and humid and close to her ear said, “Hello my Lily.”

The Rules of April Fool’s

April Fools jokes are a tradition in my family. When I was young my grandmother would tell us that the ice cream truck was outside and that we could have what we wanted, and my sister and I would run to the front yard while my grandmother laughed at us, yelling, “April Fool’s!” No ice cream truck. But it was all in good fun; we laughed and planned revenge, telling my grandma things like “Grandma your food is burning!”, which would sometimes happen when she cooked and then went to talk to her friends on the phone. She would walk to the kitchen and we would all yell, “April Fool’s!” and we would all enjoy a good laugh.

My father, being true to his hereditary, also played a few pranks on us. He would say, “One of your friends is here to see you,” and we would walk to the front door and no one was there. For revenge, I called him after work and told him that my car didn’t start, something that happened to me earlier that same month, and he had to drive to school to help me. When he started to leave his house and said, “I’ll be right there,” I said, yeah, you guessed it.
I have a few small pranks planned this year, but it’s always good to be cautious, so I’ve listed a few important things to remember about April Fool’s Day pranks that might be helpful.

Keep the Jokes Lighthearted
Don’t be cruel. I don’t plan on telling my husband that I’m pregnant, and I don’t plan on calling my parents to tell him that I had a car accident or that I’m in the hospital. That’s just mean. Keep your pranks lighthearted. This year I told my husband that I flunked my exam. I’m telling my friends and some family that I’m going to eat meat again, after five years of being a vegetarian. Try not to tell people jokes that might greatly affect them or their lives negatively. Also, big jokes can have big consequences, so please be safe and don’t do anything dangerous like attempt to run in front of your friend’s car just to scare your parents, you might really end up hurt.

Don’t Prank Someone if You Can’t Be Pranked Yourself
People love revenge, they plot, they scheme. So be prepared for their revenge pranks, it’s only fair.

Don’t Let the Jokes Linger
Don’t tell your sister that creditors are calling her about an unpaid bill and then have her worry about it all day. It might cause her unnecessary stress. Tell the person the prank, and after they believe you, let them know that you’re joking.

Be Professional
I don’t recommend you prank you boss or anyone you work with, even if your boss is the office jester ala Michael Scott. You never know how they’re going to react and create an awkward situation. Also, keep in mind that not all people like to be pranked. Respect that. Try to prank only people you know will have a great sense of humor about being pranked.

Make it Believable
If you can elaborate in your prank, it makes it more believable. Tell your mom that the salon dyed your hair blue on accident but that you really like it, elaborate by telling her things like the name of the salon, and the time of your appointment. It’s also good to prank someone about something that’s happened before, like telling your roommates that lost your keys again and have to pay for new locks, but only after payday. Also, if you’re planning a revenge prank, be sure to space out the time between pranks so that they won’t remember to suspect you, and you can do it when its least expected.

Be Prepared to Apologize
Sometimes you’ll think it’s ok to prank someone, and find that you’ve made them upset. Be sure to apologize to the people who might have hurt feelings and be sure to cross them off of your April Fool’s Day prank list. If you’ve really hurt someone’s feelings and they’re very upset and you feel guilty about it, I would try to make it up to them somehow, maybe buy them some sunflowers or make them an apology dessert. Chocolate almost always makes things better.

All at Once and Never at All

Swim or Drown
I cry in bitter booms
I cry in deep and cool waves and swim in the thought of you
I am alive in the sway and am awakened by the reflection of the sun
You the energy of my body
You giving life to death and death to death
I cry tears to the distance of you
And pray in deep longing and burning when I am awakened by your breath
I swallow oceans in your presence
I sing my sun’s youth to you
I dance in paintings to the song of you
I move to you, the sun
I move when you, the sun are present
When your heart moves as the ocean
Billions of moves and waves and eddies and peace
I move with you, my song follows you to the depth of yours
To swim or drown
To rise with the waves of your words toward the autumn moon
Or to fall to the dark bottomless bottom you fall
I move with you



Young
I burn and bathe in shallow grooves
I sway with the yellow of the earth
I bury myself in brown crumbling tunnels
I am a thousand words before me
I have mouthed them well at passers by
I am youth! I am bare skin young and menacing
Honey brown and smooth with time
My hands are silk and strong
They carry mountains
And my open eyes seeping into the skin of elders
My hands rule this world
They are the creator of anything and everything all at once and never at all
I am conquering mountains with each step forward
The sun welcomes me he says, “Today is a bright day for youth!”


We stand by oceans
Menacing as they are
We are bigger in presence
My voice, my words, my thoughts, my deeds, are bigger than my body can stand
I am turning blue with the sky
I am possibilities and I make up all of this earth with my breath



Silent Feminine Games
You bring me down in cords in tunnels
You move chairs away from me
You move moons away from my window
You look away when there’s nothing to see
You move in hurricane tunnels to the sound and sway of nothingness
I am pennies to you
I sit towers above towers
And you see nothing but ground
You fly clouds to see me
And you bring wind, your gift of game
I sit un-mentioning to you, I sit alone away from you
I sit in silent feminine games
And blink in silent feminine moods
And you drink the honor’s drink
And you let me fall like sand

To the Earth that Buries Me
I fold in like cages
I bend and fold like concrete
I bend my hands at the sounds of the sun
I drink my life into drowning
I move and am moved
I let my song to be sung
I am not a failed figured temptress
I do not wake to the sounds of death
I do not string my voice in cords of thunder
I am worth bags of you
I am worth mountains
You the eyes sewn into knots
You the casket, the fire
You the tunnel the binds me
The rope that feeds me
The lock that keeps me witness to white cords that drape me blind
You the giver of hope and loss of mind
You who measures me in paper cuts
Oh you the bleeding wrist
You who makes me become the earth
You who will punish me with daggered bliss



Office Monday
Monday you are the bad news!
You are whispered about in offices
In corners by the coffee pot
Everyone publically loathes you!
Monday you are the goodbye to everything that was free
Oh Monday you poor thing
You are the stab in the corner of our eyes
You are the reminder again of the start of working days
And the farthest away from family weekends together
Of staying out late and renting movies
Of not waking up to early morning screaming alarm clocks
You are away from parties and drinking
Of working on hobbies or meeting potential attractive glares
Of comfortable couch cuddling with loved ones
You are the mess and cleanup after the celebration
You are the “do I have to?”
You are the dragging feet wrapped in business shoes
Who are taken out from weekend hiding
You are the reminder of back to the grind and real world
You are a reminder that we are slaves to ourselves and our money and our cars
You are the poor hated made up day in our minds that we’ve automatically accepted as bad because you are a culture assigned and infested day
All reminders of the far away famously celebrated happy day off that is Friday
Oh poor Monday, people refer to you as their first bad day
People say they hate you Monday! People want to sleep through you!
They say, today is my Friday! Hooray!
Oh Friday the wretched pretty prom girl
Who died and made Friday king?!
Oh poor Monday I say we reassign days
I say we have dates on Mondays!! Picnics and parties!
Monday I say we start rumors in the office about you, that you are the start of something new!
I’ll tell everyone that you are the beginning of hard work, and of freedom because we are allowed to work in the first place!
I’ll make flyers that declare Monday gold! Monday means money and seeing your co-workers and having the ability to work, and of good coffee, and swiveling chairs, and of office gossip!
I’ll send memos that say that Monday is another day that we are thankful for being alive, another day to get things done and to be productive and to learn something new!
Oh Monday! You poor thing, we’ll make something of you yet.

Operation Retrieval

I’m known to forget things. On a vacation from Houston to New York I once forgot my purse in a gas station in South Carolina. This weekend I left my purse in my drawer at work. I would have left it there for the weekend, hoping not to get pulled over, which has only happened to me once in a “bad” part of town where a gang patrol until stopped me thinking that I might be a gangster on her way to a drive by or something. But once they stopped me and found out that I was actually a nerdy college student in sweatpants on her way to the laundry mat, they talked about how I should think about not having such dark tint on my windows, then left me and almost took my drivers license with them because, like I said, I tend to forget things.

I realized that I might not need my driver’s license but that I needed my prescriptions in case of some kind of mountain cedar attack. Half way to work I realized that today was the day that the fired vice president of recruitment and retention would be packing up and moving things out of the office, to avoid the embarrassment of doing it during regular business hours. I sent a text message to a co-worker, explaining my predicament, expressing my desire not to see this fired VP and avoid all embarrassment and awkwardness. He only told me that maybe he would give me his signed confession, declaring his loss in humanity and begging for forgiveness. My coworker was obviously no help and this made me incredibly nervous.

When I first tried to get into the building, I realized that I would need my employee id to open the main doorways, which was kept, of course, inside my purse. Luckily, the students at this university work all weekend, and a Chinese international student was working in one of the labs, and he opened the door for me and walked away without looking at me, possibly hoping not to interrupt his train of thought. I was so grateful to get in and to show that I wasn’t stalking him or some kind of weirdo, that I was an employee there on serious business. I told him thank you and he was turned around and walking away when he said “you’re welcome,” his fuzzy, shaggy hair moving away from me.

To make sure he knew, although I’m sure he didn’t care and wasn’t listening, that I was in fact, an employee on serious business, I jingled my keys to show that I really did have access, and I made it a point to make a great deal of noise going into the employee entrance door, which led to our office. I opened all three doors with my key that led me to the main office, where my small front office desk was located. We recently had to change the key to this main door, in fear that the VP, who still hadn’t given up his key would come in and do something radical, our Executive Director always afraid of retaliation, always saying, “I’ll be sued” when having a discussion with anyone about the fired VP, or any number of disgruntled employees.

I opened the door, picked up the purse, and looked around to make sure that I didn’t leave anything else behind. I was only ten steps from the outside of the door, to the hallway, and then outside of the building in a door I couldn’t access from the outside. I started thinking about going to visiting my grandmother, who I always took to lunch, and who in return always requested a run to the Mexican bakery where she would buy my favorite pink cookies, when in I closed the door behind me, and looked up to see the VP, wearing a long coat and leather gloves, desperately clasping onto empty boxes stacked on top and inside of one another. It seemed like he was completely frozen, looking at me, angled in an attempt to drag the boxes and open the door toward the hallway that led to his office. I didn’t know what to say, do I say that I’m sorry? Do I act like it was just another ordinary day? Do I sympathize or ignore? What would he appreciate more? What would be best? I thought that maybe I should wait to hear what he would say first. I pretended to be busy, which is what I thought to be the best solution in any situation (at least when it came to running into the cute boys I liked, to avoid being nervous, which makes me babble and panic, usually), I looked at my keys, fumbled with my purse.

He looked down at his boxes, said a very non-enthusiastic, and rehearsed “Hi.” I was relived. I simple retaliatory and rehearsed hi and I would be gone, busy, on my way out, hello goodbye, it would all be over. “Hi!” I shouted, probably because I was nervous, and started to walk confidently down the hall and toward the door, but at the same time he overlapped my shouting to say, “What are you doing here?”
“Oh I forgot my purse,” I said, pointing to it, carrying a huge smile on my face, again, due to some kind of absurd nervousness. I started to walk out, to say goodbye, when he said, “Are you here to spy on me?” I was completely surprised. Spy? Me. Haha! I suppose he considered that I was sent to check up on him to make sure that he wasn’t destroying anything and that he was leaving quickly, and quietly, no problems, no issues, and that he was even leaving as promised, instead of delaying moving and causing more problems for us. I was disgusted now, a little angry even, it was a weekend, I wanted to go see my grandmother, I was hungry, and I’m a spy?

I sounded disgusted (it was actually the same tone I used when the police pulled me over), “Um, no, I said, I’m getting my purse.” I lifted it up at the straps, as if to demonstrate the evidence in a court case, exhibit A, I suppose. It was clear enough to me, simple enough. “I know you’re here to spy on me, don’t worry I’m leaving, tell your boss I said that.” I was even more angry now, and although I normally withhold my real feelings at work in moments like this, when met with angry bosses or students, I considered that I won’t have any consequences on a Saturday afternoon, with no other employees around, speaking to a FIRED employee. I was really shouting now, my voice echoing in the empty, cold hallway that was only different than a hospital hallway in that its colors were yellow beige and off white. “If you think that I would spend MY weekend, my valuable weekend doing something for work, or even doing something for work like spying on someone, you’re absolutely crazy!!” I felt blushed and feverish, my jaw tensed, and I also found that I couldn’t stop. I forgot that in moments of anger like this, I was prone to long and winded monologues. “I have better ways to spend my weekend, sir!” I was getting louder. “If you’d think that I’d rather spend it here, instead of having lunch with my grandmother, you’re completely crazy! You’re paranoid, do you think that the CIA is coming here to get you too?!” I stopped and caught my breath, I was breathing heavily as though I had been running. I got ready to turn around and walk away, making sure to calm myself down so that I could display that I can recover quickly, not let this bother me and be on my way, when I exhaled and saw the newest, youngest, and most handsome employee to our department, a grant writer, walk in behind the former VP of recruitment and retention. He looked at me like I was completely disgusting, as if I had just thrown up on his shoes. Shit. Oops. Behind him, two custodians were staring at me in confusion but curiosity. I still thought that I was right, that he had no right to accuse me of spying on him. I thought that if I continued to stand my ground, the new grant writer would see my side of it. What the fuck was he doing here on a Saturday anyway? “Don’t ever accuse me of anything like that again!” I yelled and waved my finger in the air accusatory, although it was pointing straight up as though I were about to do some kind of 1920’s dance, as I turned around and walked out of the door, which slammed behind me on its own due to its heavy construction. I was flushed, but now relief was overcoming me. I walked toward the parking lot with a head full of questions, I sent a text to my coworker which said, “I just yelled my lungs off at the fired VP, I’m going to get sued!” It made me feel a little bit better.