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I’m participating in Susannah Conway’s April Love challenge on Instagram, and today’s prompt is “five things about me.” So here goes:

  1. I have a sister who is one of my favorite people. She lives in a state of delight, getting excited about every joy. It’s captivating. I did not always want a sister, though. The whole time my mom was pregnant, I kept saying I was having a brother. I talked about it, prayed for it, dreamed about it. When a sister was born, I was flummoxed. It didn’t make sense to me. Our family already had a girl (me) so we needed a boy to make everything balance out. Gender roles were a big deal and part of my raising, so I figured a brother would have the necessary skills and traits to complement my own. So obviously I thought a mistake had been made and I wanted to speak to the manager. Offended at the audacity of God to deny my request and armed with a supreme practicality (even at the age of three), I set out to find ways to remedy this situation. I called her Tommy for the first three weeks of her life, perhaps hoping it would catch on. MeMaw told me that, if she kissed her elbow, she would turn into a boy. Excellent. Finally, an actual solution! I often snuck into her room to talk her into doing it herself. When she did not comply, I tried to help (don’t worry – no little sisters were actually harmed in the making of this story. I didn’t want to hurt her. Also, her crying would have alerted Mom to my subterfuge, so…not prudent.). But at some point, I discovered how rich life can be with a sister, and I’ve been pleased to call her mine (and also by her actual name) ever since.
  2. I grew up in a small town in the panhandle of Texas, and my parents still live on the farm there. When you grow up in an environment with a lot of narrow, rigid rules and expectations where compliance is valued over authenticity, you learn a few key skills, particularly if you do not naturally fit within those rules/expectations. I learned to pretend that I did by only revealing the aspects of my person that were deemed acceptable. As a result, to this day, it’s pretty difficult to get to know me because I walk into every social situation trying to figure out which parts of me are acceptable there. I’m getting better, but I’m still trying to work out how to turn that off. On the upside, I can get along with just about anybody. I can cheat the system.
  3. A better upside to growing up where you don’t belong is that, to make room for all that I couldn’t reveal, I developed a pretty large, pretty spectacular inner world. I have this world to thank for all the characters I’ve created and every story I’ve ever written. When I have a big decision to make, it’s a great place to walk through various potential outcomes. All my best decisions have been made there. It taught me the pleasure of my own company. It’s not a suitable substitute for actual intimacy, but it’s coming in really handy right now in the isolation
  4. Talk to me for even five minutes, and you’ll probably hear about something I’m reading.  I’ll suddenly get really animated and bouncy about it. I love books. I have a large collection, and I read 4-5 books at a time. I like choices, and this allows me to choose the one that most fits my mood or is in an audio format that allows me to knit or doodle at the same time. In addition to the books we’re discussing at my various (four…maybe five if I finish in time to join the discussion for the daytime book club at church) book clubs this month, I’m currently reading my Isabel Allende collection in the order she wrote them. I’ve read some of them before, but I’m excited about re-reading each of them when it’s their turn.
  5. I have so much yarn. On the one hand, I’m glad. I’ve been able to share some of it and also I am in zero danger of running out of things to knit (Keep Denton Warm is gonna be chock full of blankets, scarves, and hats this year. If that’s a thing we get to do. Someone, somewhere will need them. Surely.). But I thought I had it all organized last year and I just found another bag this week. *sigh* I come from a long line of yarn hoarders.

 

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It’s the International Day of Happiness. This week has been w.e.i.r.d., to say the least. I’ve had a few panic attacks, and I’m still at work as we try to accommodate students who have nowhere else to go and figure out what in the world we’re going to do next (I would welcome faster decisions here…I’m just sayin’.). But there’s also been so many opportunities for joy. Just in my little corner of humanity, there is so much goodness. There are also so many fun things online. Here’s a list for times when you’re feeling more anxious than happy or just want something hopeful.

  1. Italians singing from their balconies.
  2. Lots of love happening on the ‘gram. Nikki Mayeaux is posting a daily creative prompt called Poem Passwords. The pictures on #seeninquarantine are spectacular. Between her early start for April Love and purrs from her sweet cat, Susannah Conway is soothing my soul. Julia Turshen is posting daily foodie prompts. I love this list from worn_ware of people offering yoga, meditations, etc.
  3. Tessera Arts Collective in Philadelphia closed the gallery for now, but they are still on for installing a street art campaign throughout the city this Sunday.
  4. Local businesses that can’t afford to shut down completely are making the best of it with delivery and curbside pickup. The Dentonite is keeping a running list. I love watching local business owners figure out how to take care of their employees by offering alternate earning opportunities and giving devoted patrons the ability to still tip their baristas/servers (*cough* support Golden Boy *cough*). Also…Golden Boy has key lime and coconut pie right now, which are in my top three favorite pies (blueberry is the third, if you’re wondering).
  5. Aid Network Denton and the city of Lake Dallas are keeping up a list of ways to get help or get involved if you can give help.
  6. Nature is delightful. The canals are clear and the swans are back in Venice. And penguins at the Shedd Aquarium enjoy a tour of the zoo.
  7. Since you can’t go in person, many field trip locations and entertainment venues are coming to you. You may also be able to watch the stage production of your favorite musical online. The Metropolitan Opera is streaming. Andrew Lloyd Webber tweeted himself playing “All I Ask of You”, and Lin Manuel Miranda responded with his performance of “Everything’s Alright”. Yale is offering their course on The Science of Well-Being for free (audit only).
  8. For artists whose income is impacted by all the cancellations, here’s a list of places that may be able to offer support.
  9. Books resources! I didn’t know how much I needed Betty White reading Harry the Dirty Dog in my life until this week. In fact, many children’s authors are reading their books online this week. And one that made me salivate – download from a selection of over 300,000 books for free from the New York Public Library through their reader app!!!
  10. Debbie Allen is teaching online dance classes! So is Chloe Arnold!
  11. Joy the Baker is just a delight. As usual.
  12. People are putting their Christmas lights back up to spread joy.
  13. All the Julia Child is streaming!!
  14. What am I doing this weekend? I’m so glad you asked! 24in48’s Social Distancing Readathon!

I’m sure there’s more. What are your favorite things people are doing right now?

 

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Coffee Shop, Excerpt 2

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An ode to and appreciation of things not possible right now

“You changed seats.”

It takes a minute to realize you’re talking to me. I peel my eyes from the page and give you a once-over that I don’t intend to give.

You seem to enjoy it, but I blush anyway, caught in an unguarded reaction. I’m usually so careful. This is disconcerting.

I like and also do not like it.

You shift your weight, and I remember that it’s my turn to say things. But I can’t think of anything but how beautiful your lips are, and that seems non sequitur. Even I know that.

So I stick with, “What?”

You grin. It probably reaches your eyes, but I don’t have the courage to make my gaze go there yet. So I just have to trust that it does.

Trust is not an easy feat.

You pull up a chair and sit down, as if we planned to meet here. As if you understand that, of course, you’re welcome. I think that takes an enormous level of confidence.

I like and also envy that.

“You usually sit closer to the window.” You caress the rim of your cup with your beautiful lips and seduce the coffee out of it. I should look away, but I can’t seem to do so and also do not want to.

“The seat I like was taken when I got here, and I feel bad moving now.”

Your lips purse into a slight frown. Confusion? Question? Maybe feeling bad requires more explanation?

I continue, just in case. “That’s one more table that has to be wiped down. If I use both.” I shrug in what I hope is a nonchalant way, but I somehow doubt it comes across that way. I can’t often pull off nonchalance. “This one is fine. For today.”

I venture a glance at your eyes, but they’re so attentive, so intense. And blue. So blue.

I like that, but it’s a lot, and I have so many feelings, so I look down at my scone, which is also lovely but in a fully manageable way.

“Is it okay that I’m sitting here?”

It occurs to me that I might not seem like I want you here. Like this is an intrusion. Like I didn’t purposely choose this seat closer to where you usually sit when you come in, even though the seat by the window offers a superior view and was actually completely open when I arrived.

“Yes! Please stay!” Too much? Too exuberant? I force myself to meet your eyes.You’re smiling, so I decide to try a little bravery. “I like it.” Your smile deepens and your dimples show.

Wow. The effects of bravery are awesome. I think I’ll try some more.

“You. I like you.”

My eyes can’t hold your gaze any longer, and I’m afraid as soon as it leaves my lips that it’s too much after all. I’m usually so guarded. Right up the point when I’m really not. And that’s the point things usually fall apart.

I feel my face grow hot again. I can’t look up, but this time, that’s a good thing, because looking at the table gives me an excellent view of your hand gently touching mine.

“Good,” you reply. “I like you back.”

I look up just in time to see your lips stretch into a smile again.

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Honey Lavender Latte from Seven Mile Cafe in Denton, TX

I see you across the shop. You look like you’re glowing. I remind myself that it’s probably just in my head; I have a bad habit of putting halos on people who never asked for them.

But then you turn, and your smile is so easy. And is that relief that I see when you see me? Are you relieved to see someone you know or to see me in particular? Is that an everyone look, or is that what the look you reserve for me is going to look like?

I stare so long, caught up in your gaze and what you may or may not mean by it. I forget to react in any way other than holding that gaze. If I were actually thinking about how I must look, I imagine it would just seem like I’m staring as if I don’t see you at all or don’t remember who you are.

The truth is that I see you. That I catch myself watching for you, even in places I have no reason to expect you to be.

Like here.

As I’m wondering why you’re here, your relief topples into uncertainty, and I realize I still haven’t changed expressions. So I smile. Brightly. Maybe too brightly. I don’t seem to have a mid-range. I go from seeming detachment to over-exuberance in a flash.

I decide to embrace the enthusiasm. I wave and start walking your way, and the relief comes back to your face. Whew. Good. You lock your eyes with mine as you walk toward me.

Yep. Definitely gonna overthink about that.

 

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You might be a little faded. You might be a little dusty. You might spend most of your days perched on a shelf, more decoration than adornment.

If you were a hat.

If you were a hat, you might get picked up occasionally. Spun around. Twirled – up one arm and down another, landing briefly in one perfect moment only to be swept away and tossed to the side as another distraction appears.

If you were a hat, you’d spend a lot of time in boxes or on a rack. Rest is important for the spirit. But there’s a line between solitude and abandonment and, although it’s a fairly thick line, you might not always be able to tell the difference. It’s hard to see the truth of it when truth fades into things just being the way they are.

If you were a hat, you’d be nice hat. There would be nothing casual about you. You might spend a lot of time alone, but there’s no reason that ever had to come up in company. You’d exist to impress and command just a little more attention than others around you. Not enough to be off-putting. Just enough to be hard to ignore.

If you were a hat, your best days would be the ones when you didn’t have to think at all about how you’re only a hat. About how your whole purpose is to make them look good. About how much they love you, right up to the end.

If you were a hat, your worst days would be the ones when being just a hat is all you could think about. About how you only get the special events when you secretly know you’re much better suited to the everyday. About exactly how much time you spend on the table making small talk with the still-smoking ashtray and watered-down drinks while they all go dancing.

Sometimes you think you’re a hat. You make a grand impression, dashing into excitement and leaping to the next joy before any of the electricity has a chance to dwindle. But electricity burns, and who’s going to catch you when that shock jolts you out of the bliss?

If you were a hat, all of this would be fine.

But you’re not.

 

I’m writing 31 days of short stories (or whatever these are). Click to see the master list.

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Day 6 – Roger

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Roger: A Walkie Talkie Production

Jeff: I’ve got a delivery for the director ready. Who wants it?

Cassidy: I’m about to give this family a tour.

Trevor: I have class in five minutes.

Scott: Roger that. I’m on it, boss. Over.

Roger: What? Did someone call me?

Meiya: No…Scott was just letting Jeff know he got the message.

Scott: What? Oh, yeah. Roger that.

Roger: *static noise* What is that? What do I need to do?

Trevor: Nothing, man. Everything’s taken care of.

Roger: Okay. Cool. Let me know if you need me.

Jeff: We’re missing one of the bikes – does anyone know what happened to the red one?

Meiya: I think one of the admins borrowed it for an hour or two.

Scott: No – I have it. I just finished a tour and am heading back to get the director’s delivery.

Jeff: That’s cool. Remember to log your checkouts in the future.

Scott: Roger that. I’ll remember that next time. Over.

Roger: What? I didn’t take it.

Scott: No, I said I have it.

Roger: Oh, I guess I misunderstood. I thought I heard my name.

Cassidy: Scott, stop saying “Roger.” It’s so confusing. We all know you get the message when you respond to it. You don’t need to tell us you got it.

*Pause*

Scott: Roger that, Cassidy.

*Communal groaning*

 

I’m writing 31 days of short stories (although some are more snippets). Click to see the master list.

 

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Friday Prompt

On Fridays (or shortly thereafter…ahem) this month, I’m going to be following a Tumblr prompt that made the rounds for a while. I’m tweaking it a little, though:

On their 25th birthday, every person has the opportunity to request permission (because consent is sexy) to share the mind/vision of their soulmate. If permission is granted, they have 24 hours to observe and communicate with the person to see if they want to pursue a future together.

Trina knew he would say, “Yes,” the minute she blew out her candles. They’d planned it that way – a cozy dinner at home where the first thing she would see through his eyes was him carrying her to their room and laying her gently on the bed so that she would feel rested when she came back to herself. She closed her eyes, made the wish, and blew.

When she opened her eyes, she was sitting in a cafe. How did he get there so quickly? Or maybe it took awhile to take effect? Seeing through someone else’s eyes had to be a complicated process, she reasoned.

Maybe she should try saying something. Hello, Ryan, she thinks.

“Huh. Not Ryan. But…welcome? I guess this does actually work.”

Not Ryan?! But…no. That’s not right, she thinks. It was supposed to be Ryan. Ryan is my fiancee. We were supposed to spend the day together. Where am I now? Who is this?

“Works really, really well, in fact. Who is Ryan? Am I…are we…cheating? Feels a bit like cheating. Do you still want to do this?”

Oh, so everything I think…you hear. Huh.

“Apparently so.” There is a pause as he takes a sip of coffee. It’s not very good coffee. Grimace. “Sorry about that. I tend to go for quantity over quality. Is there something you prefer?”

Earl Grey would be nice. With a little cream. And sugar.

“Earl Grey it is.” He walks toward the counter. He leaves his book – Proust heavy reader – and his wool cap – brown, rose, burgundy, and turquoise stripes kinda sweet – at the table.

“Yeah, I’ve always been told I should read Proust, and I’m slugging through all right. It’s definitely more challenging than my usual fare, which leans more Crichton-esque.” She can tell that he smiles a little at this. Sheepish. Cute. “And the hat was a gift from my mom. She’s really into making hats this year.” Super cute. “Thanks. I bet you’re cute, too.”

She tries thinking about the selfie she took last year that she really liked, but before she could, she thinks of the unflattering one Ryan took when she fell over in the grass and had her mouth wide open, mid-cackle. Of course. Sigh.

He laughs a little, but not unkindly. “I like it. You look happy.” Pause. “And I was right. You are cute.”

He orders the tea, and the barista looks at him quizzically. “It’s not for me,” he explains. She looks back at his table without changing her questioning look. “I mean, I’m trying something new.”

You come here often.

“Are you trying to pick me up? Seems like overkill. I already said yes.” She can tell that he smirks at this. Charming. Witty. “I’ve gotta say – I like this arrangement. I always guess wrong at what others are thinking. It’s pretty helpful to have it right there in my head.”

Me, too. I thought it would be weird, but it’s actually super convenient. Pause to try and stop the next thought from coming, but it doesn’t seem to work that way. I also thought it would be Ryan.

“I can’t help you there, but I sort of wish I were Ryan. He seems like a pretty lucky guy.” He takes a sip of the Earl Grey, delicious and sweet, and the barista, still watching, shakes her head. “My name is Nick, by the way.”

Of course it is. I’ve always had a thing for Nicks. But they’ve always been trouble. Erm…I mean…hi, Nick.

He laughs out loud this time. She can’t help but think he must look crazy. This just makes him laugh even harder, although he tries to subdue it.

A few minutes pass in silence, so he says, “Listen, I know you’re into this other guy, and you seem great, but I want you to be happy. If he makes you happy, you should go back to him. I just want…” He sighs. “I’m fine. I want you to be happy.”

She can tell he means it. Okay. Yes. I’m sorry about all of this. Um…enjoy your tea.

Another laugh. “Not likely, but it doesn’t hurt to try something new, right?” Pause. “Even if it’s not for me.”

It’s still dark outside when she wakes up in her familiar bed with Ryan right beside her. He looks nervous. “Did it work?”

She weighs her words carefully. She makes a choice. “No.” She commits. “No, it didn’t. I guess it only works if you’re still looking.”

Ryan smiles, relieved. She falls asleep in his arms.

A year and three months go by, and things don’t turn out the way she planned. Nothing is ever really right between them from that point on. Her small lie is always caught in the middle. On the eve of his 25th birthday, she says, “I think you should do the soulmate thing.”

Ryan doesn’t look at her. He knows. He’s known for some time. “It wasn’t me, was it?”

This time she tells the truth, even though it sounds like exactly the same answer. “No.” She tells him a little about the encounter, but stops when it’s clear he doesn’t really want to hear it.

The next day, he spends a day away from her and returns, excited and apologetic. She had already decided by 10:00 a.m., to let him go, so the conversation is easy. Cordial. Civilized.

Two years pass. Other boyfriends – some named Nick who drink bad coffee – come and go. One day she sees a knit cap – brown, rose, burgundy, and turquoise stripes – bobbing through the crowd. She follows him and finally catches up. Nervous, she touches his arm. “Nick?”

When he turns around, it’s the face she’s always loved the most. The face she knew the best. The one she chose.

After a long hug, Ryan takes off the cap. “Ugly thing, but I figured it was the best way to find you.”

 

I’m writing 31 stories in 31 days. Click to see the master list.

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Lola

One of my proudest moments, getting sworn in. But more on that later.

When I was just a pup, I watched gumshoe movies. My tail would start wagging, and my heart would start pounding. I was always proud when I could guess who the ne’er-do-well whodunnit was, and I think Julie was proud of me, too.

“Lola, who do you think is the culprit?”

The dirtbag would come on the screen and I would bark like crazy, alerting the whole room (and sometimes the whole neighborhood) to my decision. She would pat my head and agree. “Me, too.” Then she would rub behind my ears just the way I like it. “Good girl. Smart girl.” I rolled over to let her scratch my belly, which she seemed pleased to do. “Smartest girl in the whole world.”

I enjoyed those times with Julie. But alas, they were not to last.

Soon, watching the movies wasn’t enough. I wanted to be in on the action. I wanted my own cases to solve.

When it was my time to go outside, I took advantage of it. I would patrol the perimeter of the yard, and alert the family to anything out of the ordinary. Most of them were less enthusiastic about my choice to share my skills with the neighbors than they were when I was performing for treats inside the privacy of our house. The neighbors didn’t seem to appreciate my vigilance either.

“Hey – would you make that dog shut up? People are trying to sleep here!”

I was just trying to root out dangers so that they could sleep in safety, but whatever. No one appreciates a protector. Heroism is a lonely life.

One night, I saw an intruder in the Geraldsons’ yard. It walked with a slink and had a mask embedded in its fur, like a bandit. I’m nothing if not fair, so I decided to issue a warning.

“Hey – you there – those trash bins aren’t yours!” I barked.

The reprobate turned to me and grinned. He grabbed an apple core off the pile and let the bin slam shut noisily as he sauntered over, clearly taking his time. “Aw, aren’t you cute, all riled up and huffing in your cage? What’s your name, sweetheart?” He flicked his prison-striped tail back and forth, giving him even more swagger as he approached. I noticed he also made a point of stretching out his legs so I could see his sharp claws.

I’m not one to be intimidated, so that got my dander up. I gave him a low growl as I ruffled up my coat and stood up as straight as I could. “I’m Lola, and this is my neighborhood, and I know you are up to no good. Now you just need to move along.”

He looked up at me and tapped his claws on the chain link fence between us. “And what are you going to do if I don’t?”

I bared my teeth. He wasn’t the only one with built-in weaponry. I let the silence sit so that he could get a good, long look at them. “I don’t expect that will be an issue. You’re going to leave while I’m still asking nicely.”

He snorted. “Well, that’s a cute little assumption, seeing as how I’m over here, and you’re over there, just where your rules and regulations say you have to stay. So as long as I stay over here, I don’t see how this is any of your business, and I’ll just keep doing what I like.” He turned his attention to the apple core, inspecting it. Then he looked me straight in the eye as he took a bite off the top that still had some of the peel left. That blasted scavenger!

I growled again and pushed the whole of my body up against the fence, causing it to bow slightly toward him. My nose pushed through one of the holes made by the chain link.

He seized the opportunity he had been waiting for. He dropped the apple core and swiped my face with his right paw. I felt a sharp pain and yelped in surprise as I drew back. I tasted blood when I licked my wound. I tried to shake off the sting with a few tosses of my head, and I looked up to see him trotting off as he snickered.

I lost it. I dashed far enough away from the fence to get a running start and then sprinted forward and leaped over it like a gazelle. I was on him before he knew what was happening. I returned the favor of the ripped snout and gave him a couple of retaliatory bites on his back and legs. He broke free and fled the premises as I barked after him, “And stay gone!”

I felt pretty proud of myself until I saw the Geraldsons’ back porch light go on. I tried to hide in their rose bushes, but it’s one of those biting shrubberies, so instead I stood very still, hoping that the darkness would be enough to hide my trespass onto their property.

It wasn’t.

“What are you doing here? Get back in your yard!”

I didn’t know how to do that without adrenaline, so I remained where I was. I bowed my head, hoping an act of submission would plead my case for me, since the humans don’t seem to understand canine and they were apparently already annoyed by my conversation with the intruder.

The Geraldson went back in the house, and I thought the coast was clear. Then I heard Julie at their back gate.

“Lola! Come here now!”

I knew I was in trouble because she was using only short words. I think she thinks she’s speaking canine when she does this, but I’ve never been brave enough to call her on it.

(To be continued…)

 

I’m writing 31 short stories during the month of October. Click for the master list.

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[Microfiction is any story told in 300 words or less, by many definitions. I suppose “micro” is in the eye of the writer/reader.]

I didn’t mean to do it. Not really. But there it was – the incriminating welt on Gerald’s head as he was loaded into the ambulance – so I couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen.

It all started on the day of the first accident. Stephi broke her ankle two days before the season began, so I had about a minute to take over as captain of the golf team. Our name – the Bedford Bettys – was a little outdated, so our first order of business was to come up with a new one. Thinking “A” was a good grade and a hole in one was the best thing that could happen on the course, I suggested “A-holes.” There were snickers all around, but I figured they just thought I was clever.

Gosh, was I wrong.

Gerald, captain of the guys’ team, was the first to congratulate us on our new name. He walked up and interrupted our conversation, “Sorry to butt in, ladies, but I can’t wait to see you wipe the green with your opponents in your first tournament.”

Laurel rolled her eyes and told him not to be a jerk. Naively, I jumped to his defense, which made him laugh and say, “Yeah, Laurel. Don’t be an a-hole.”

I saw my mistake, but it was too late. The shirts had already been printed.

The torment continued the rest of the week. By the time the tournament rolled around, I had had it. Right there in the parking lot, I dropped a ball, took my 9-iron, and let it fly. The next thing I knew, Gerald was on the ground moaning.

It was a pretty good shot, all things considered.

 

I’m writing 31 stories during October. Click to see the master list.

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The Case of the Missing Pen
(that was just here one ^*&#%!@ minute ago)

I have learned in my short year of being a cubicle dweller that there are very few things in life that you can count on. Officemates cannot be trusted to make a fresh pot when they finish the last cup. Drawers and cabinets will be inexplicably left ajar. That report will not be on your desk on Wednesday at 1:00 p.m., even though you desperately need it to be there in order to review it in time and not look like an idiot at the 1:30 meeting.

In fact, the only thing I can truly depend on is that, if I am not in my seat at 9:00 a.m., I will get a cheery text from Megan that reads, “Are we meant to experience the pleasure of your company today?” Which I guess is nicer than “Get your @$$ to work, you &$^#(*! slacker.”

What I really wish I could depend on is that when I leave my pen in one place that it will remain in that one place until I need it again. Alas, that is apparently not a reasonable expectation.

Eleven months ago, when I placed my first supply order for my desk, the office manager read over it and cackled. Once he recovered from his fit, he scratched out my naive order of three different pens, patted me on the shoulder and said, “I’ll just order you two boxes of each. For starters.”

He may have saved my life.

On a typical day, I lose three to five pens. I will put my pen down, but it will not be there when I go to pick it up. I don’t quite know how this happens, but I am committed to getting to the bottom of it.

First, the suspects. Usually, this loss occurs when I have walked away from my desk, so it could be any one who has access to my workspace. Coworkers. Supervisors. Passersby from other departments. Customers on their way to meet with the bosses. It could be anybody.

Second, the motivation. Do my coworkers see my absence as an invitation to come and hang out by my desk, during which gathering one of them will inevitably have a thought they can’t afford to lose and therefore grab my pen and scurry away with it, scribbling furiously on a notepad? Is there one lone offender who covets my pens so ferociously that a pen lingering unattended on my desk is too much temptation to avoid? Does the thrill of petty theft make customers who wander through feel alive?

Third, the evidence. Gathering proof is tricky. I could enlist an accomplice who watches my desk when I’m not around, but the drawback is that for all I know, I could be asking for help from the perpetrator. I could set up a hidden camera, but I’m sure legal would have issues with that. I could take my pen with me everywhere I go, but then who’s to say other things wouldn’t start to go missing?

I imagine all my pens hanging out together, somewhere, trapped and afraid because they know they’re not where they’re really supposed to be. Do they think I’ve abandoned them? Forgotten all about them? I most assuredly have not. Why, just this morning, I was about to read this report when…what’s that lump under there? Hey! My pen!

Case solved. Until next time.

 

During October, I’m writing a short story a day. Click to see the master list.

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