A
social disease
“Bitch! Bitch, you fucking bitch!”
He was back again. Liz
did not know who this “he” was. She wondered how masculine this body-less, nasty
encumbrance could really be? Was this once a horrible man or a toxic amalgamation?
He started pounding on the glass door. She tried not to look but it was like an
itch that could niether not be ignored or relived.Like getting insulted by a boar before he gored you.
“Ms. Arone? Ms. Arone?
Hello”
She turned back to the
interviewer. “Yes, sorry. I had a crink in my neck. It needed a stretch”
“I get that too Liz.
Sorry, Ms. Arone”
She who should not be
named “Liz” chortled. “We’ve been friends for two years, Courtney. Just call me
by my name”
“I can’t. We’re not
friends at this very moment! I’m sorry but I’m HR and I take objectivity very
seriously. We’re not friends again until this promotion interview is over”
“So, we’re not friends
for the next five minutes?”
“Don’t rush me, Ms. Arone. You don’t know where we are
in the interview”
“I do, I helped you write
it. Remember?”
Courtney curled her
bottom lip under her top one. She did forget and it was embarrassing. All that righteousness
evaporated in an error.
“Ok, fine. We are almost
done. So here we go, ready? Last question: How will your e-sales outperform
traditional phone orders and personal relationships with bulk purchasing
customers?”
“I’ll FUCK YOU TILL YOU
LOVE ME!!!” His fist barreled through the glass. It smashed to the
floor. Liz knew he was starting to cross over again. She remembered to look as surprised
as Courtney. She even timed turning her head in time with her too.
“What the Hell was that?”
Courtney got up from behind her desk and inspected the wreckage. His bellows
went right through her. She didn’t even flinch at his presence as he fumed and
gestured at Liz through the half-broken door.
I
need to get out of here. He’s going to be able to touch me soon. Let’s get this
done.
“To answer your question,
I don’t have an exact time table for my projective sales. I think a user-friendly
website will supplement our sales significantly. Not matter how good it gets,
some people are going to prefer phone sales. Or they like being wined and
dined. They want their vendors to feel like friends. I understand that. This
website isn’t intended to replace anything but rather open us up to more opportunities”.
Courtney walked back to her desk. She picked
up her phone and pushed one of the extension buttons. She looked at Liz and
gave her a thumbs up while she waited for her call to reach the nearest intern.
“Hi, this is HR, but I’m
also Courtney. Who’s this? Steve? Ok. I need you here with a dust bin. One of
the glass doors broke. I don’t know what happened, it just broke. Yeah, it’s
weird. I want this swept up and when you’re done, make the repair request.
Great. Thanks” She grinned at Courtney. “Steve is kinda cute. But I want you to
know I would have tasked the first person to answer”
Liz stared at him. In his
rage, he hadn’t thought to simply reach and open the door from the other side.
His arm darted in and around the gap in the glass.
Why
does he hate me so much?
“Liz?”
She snapped back to her
now resumed friend. “Of course. Steve looking like Steve is just a perk”
Courtney
laughed and Liz tried to join in. A small part of Courtney could see the
hesitation. The meek attempt to join in the levity.
He “let” her pass,
somehow. It was more like he couldn’t get his “hands” on her. Liz would have
more success in avoiding he if she let someone walk through him first. He
seemed to be only able to hurt her. Most of the time. Even then, his ability to
harm Liz with his touch fluctuated. He seemed to fade in and out of reality, in
and out of observation or earshot. It was a persistent but inconsistent enough
problem to keep Liz guessing. She’s had it for nearly two months.
I
need some help. I thought I could beat this. I thought I could outlast this but
enough is enough
Liz felt eyes resting
upon her again. She did not anticipate a greeting. She looked around. There he
was. Lingering. Not as haplessly endearing as he’d like to be was Jared,
hunching at an angle that contributed to the awkwardness. She felt corned.
“Hi Jared”
“Hey Liz!”. He smiled. He
lingered.
“What’s up?”
She flattened her lips.
He was contributing just enough small talk to prompt a polite response from
her. It was annoying.
“I just had my interview.
I think I did well”
He leaned a little
forward. “So you’re leaving us, huh? I’ll miss you. A lot.”
“I’m not leaving, I’m transferring.
Or at least I hope to. This website is my baby”
He smirked. “There’s
easier ways to have a baby, you know”. He pumped his eyebrows up and down. A
gesture that is never not creepy.
“I think a week of
codding is easier than 9 months and an additional 18 years”. It felt like just
the right amount of polite push back to fuel her escape walk. He even backed up
an inch. She trotted past him and waved. “See ya Jared!” She kept going.
“See
ya Liz!”. She wished he wouldn’t. They were work friends and occasional bar
buddy until he tried to kiss her. She wasn’t feeling it. She didn’t mind the
attempt rather, it was the lingering aftermath. He seemed to alternate between
a sad puppy and a problem dog. He often made her feel awkward and sometimes
even threatened. It was vague and maybe even subconscious enough that she
couldn’t bring it up with HR. She knew Courtney would have her back but she was
right about her lack of objectivity. She was her friend, and the higher ups
were not. Jared felt like an annoyance. Not the problem that was screaming at
her. His cries of “CUNT!” kept interrupting the
easy listening drifting through the lobby speakers.
Normally Liz preferred to
hand a human being some money but she was in a rush. There were no cabs in
sight. She didn’t feel like calling and talking to someone. She fished blue
notepad from her purse. She internally complimented herself for remembering to
buy a new one and carrying over the tally from the last book’s last page.
15,735
miles, ¼ quarter tank full
Better
get that oil change tomorrow
She added 9 to the tally
and filled her gas tank with her pen. She pulled out a $20 from her purse. She
looked around. A little busy.
“Magic
is shy, Liz. It works better when the only witnesses are already on board”
Like most practitioners,
she hated the M-word. But her friend, really her mentor, was right. She ducked
to the side of the building and crouched behind a dumpster. She held the $20 in
her hands. She looked at it. She believed in it. She tore it in half. The bill
fluttered towards the ground before disappearing. Liz walked back to the front
and waited by the curb. A blue Ford Escort rolled up to her. Liz was both delighted
and horrified it was driverless. This usually worked but sometimes it would
come with a “driver”. A silent driver composed of light, and the occasional comment.
She hoped no one would notice it’s absence. The passenger’s door opened without
a hand to guide it. She hoped in. She scooched herself to the driver’s seat. It
felt like she was sitting on someone’s lap. He legs felt entwined with another.
It was uncomfortable.
The
car moved with Liz’s intended destination the only input. She didn’t like
driving. She saw him in the rear-view
mirror. He was chasing her. Sometimes he went around and sometimes he’d go
through other people. Other cars even! Sometimes he’d flicker into the sight of
others. He caused swerving accidents. Sometimes he was angry enough to be hit himself.
It made her feel guilty.
Samantha was in the zone.
She had to concentrate if she wanted to more her fingers in the exact way. She
couldn’t concentrate too much or her
fingers would tremble. Talking to a friend was just distracting enough to find
that balance. She flicked the paint brush on the little cheek. She wanted to
get his complexion just right. She had to
if she wanted to make this work.
“Do you think I made him
too fat?”
Liz looked at the miniature.
He was wearing the official branded vest over his button down. Samantha was
glad she only had to wear the button down, tool belt, and khakis. She kind of
liked khakis to be honest. Not as much as she liked her tool belt though.
“I don’t know what he
looks like Sam, so maybe?”
She put him down. She got
up and walked over to her digital camera. She fished through a few folders. “Here,
look. This was from last month”. She handed Liz the camera. There was a beefy
looking 40-something wearing the same outfit as his figurine representation. It
was just blue instead of red. He smiled. He looked nice.
“Yeah, I think you got
him. So you make the people too?”
“I don’t have to. It’s
more about the building itself. I think it helps though. They get along with me
better if I make little figures of them. It’s like they know!”
Liz furrowed her brow. “Did
you make one of me?”
Samantha laughed. “Liz,
we’re friends”. She got up and walked to her room. She came back with another diorama.
“Of course I made one of
you, see?”. She handed it to Liz.
It was a miniature of the
apartment they were sitting in. There was Liz, in what up until that moment was
her favorite outfit complete with her “fun but functional” boots. Samantha was
there as well. Hunched forward in sweat pants and She-Ra tank top. Sam gave her
height, her stature, and presence an accurate adaptation. Their friends, their “coven”
as they sometimes jokingly referred to was there as well. “I’d like to think we
became closer over time, and we did, but this probably helped too”. She saw Liz
frown. “Don’t be like that. It’s not as manipulative as I’m making it sound”
“I’ll take you at your
word. It’s not like I understand anyways. This is your style”
“I’m really more about
the building, the institution, than the people inside it. You know that. You
can’t put a price on the peace of mind, the security you feel when you know you
are the master of your home”
“I can put a price on
anything”
Samantha smirked. “Can
you put a price on this?”. She flicked her hand and drew circles towards her
with her finger. The refrigerator opened. A pitcher of lemony water floated
towards the two. A mug followed by another swooped down from a self-opened cabinet.
They received the pitcher’s contents before landing on coasters. Samantha
picked up her glass and sipped.
“Parlor tricks are always
cheap, Sam. I’m not impressed with friggin’ cantrips anymore”.
“Did you have to use the
c-word?”
Liz laughed. It felt
good. She felt safe here. Samantha was queen here, master of her $1200 a month
domain. She always made dioramas of her apartments. Her tools were usually the
first thing she’d unpack.
