one hand, that sounded great! I could be near him. I could play him his favorite music and talk about great memories. Maybe it would be enough to keep him with us.
On the other hand, maybe it would simply make me an eye witness as to the destructive power of the disease. I'd be there to watch him dwindle away, to go deeper and deeper into that dark pool of forgetfulness that nothing could pull him free.
The phone rang. Its little red light lit up, glaring at me. I jerked back in my chair, staring at it.
It had to be Bud or Lucinda. They were the only ones who would call this line. Lucinda, as far as I knew, had no reason to call. It had to be Bud.
He could see what I was doing on my computer. Had his presentation finished? Had he looked to find that I wasn't even logged in yet?
I couldn't deal with another of his disgusting attempts to flirt with me. He always tried to touch me, too...
I just couldn't handle that right then. So I grabbed my purse and made it half way to the elevator when I remembered that I'd left the picture up on the back wall of the cubicle. I had to go all the way back in, yank it off, and then make another retreat.
I knew as soon as the elevator door closed that it was a mistake. I'd left Lucinda hanging.
Would she cover for me? More likely, she'd get blamed for not knowing where I was.
A man with short grey hair and a business suit the same color walked in. He eyed me for a moment before turning around and staring right at the panel of buttons.
My face felt hot and puffy. I knew my eyes had to be all red. It probably looked like I was just able to keep myself from bawling.
He probably thought I'd just been fired or something. Though, I imagined that to be in my near future as well.
My cell started buzzing in my purse as I walked down the street towards the subway. I ignored it.
It didn't stop even after I got back to my apartment. I slammed the deadbolt into place, kicked my shoes off my feet, and ran to the bedroom. The mattress groaned as I flopped down on it.
My pillowcase smelled of sweat. I hadn't done laundry recently. That mundane thought popped into my head, like my brain was trying to push my distress away.
No, I hadn't done laundry yet. I hadn't run the dishwasher in two days, either. Or wiped the furniture for dust, or gone to get groceries.
I pulled the pillow tight over my face, ready to let loose a scream. They always did that in movies, and right then it looked like it would feel so very good.
Before I could do anything, the phone rang. My first instinct was to ignore it. And I did. But it just kept ringing. Six times, seven, eight...
Finally, I rolled out of bed, marched into the small den, picked up the phone and pressed it to the side of my face.
"What?" I said, my teeth clenched.
I knew I shouldn't use that sort of tone, that I was projecting my anger and frustration onto whoever was on the other end. I hoped it would turn out to be a telemarke ter or someone like that. Someone I wouldn't feel too bad about tearing into. I needed to vent.
"Hey, it's me."
A male voice. Smooth, assured. Yet, the phone changed it just enough that I didn't immediately recognize the owner.
"Who's 'me?'" I said. I grabbed the coils of the phone cord, ready to rip it out. It would feel so good to break something.
"Is everything okay? You sound..."
"No, everything is not okay! Who the hell is this?"
"It's me, Drake."
I froze. A lump formed in my throat. Drake? My eyes widened. I couldn't let him be near me when I was like this. Weren't girls supposed to have some sort of mystery about them? Some secrets held back so that the guy had to do some chasing?
I thought you didn't care if he liked you or not? my conscience taunted. I gave it a mental "shut up!"
"Oh... Hi. Yeah, now's not the best time, okay?"
"Do you want to talk? You sound pretty upset," he said. Was that actual concern I heard?
It sounded genuine. But this guy was a player. A singer in a band who brought home a
On the other hand, maybe it would simply make me an eye witness as to the destructive power of the disease. I'd be there to watch him dwindle away, to go deeper and deeper into that dark pool of forgetfulness that nothing could pull him free.
The phone rang. Its little red light lit up, glaring at me. I jerked back in my chair, staring at it.
It had to be Bud or Lucinda. They were the only ones who would call this line. Lucinda, as far as I knew, had no reason to call. It had to be Bud.
He could see what I was doing on my computer. Had his presentation finished? Had he looked to find that I wasn't even logged in yet?
I couldn't deal with another of his disgusting attempts to flirt with me. He always tried to touch me, too...
I just couldn't handle that right then. So I grabbed my purse and made it half way to the elevator when I remembered that I'd left the picture up on the back wall of the cubicle. I had to go all the way back in, yank it off, and then make another retreat.
I knew as soon as the elevator door closed that it was a mistake. I'd left Lucinda hanging.
Would she cover for me? More likely, she'd get blamed for not knowing where I was.
A man with short grey hair and a business suit the same color walked in. He eyed me for a moment before turning around and staring right at the panel of buttons.
My face felt hot and puffy. I knew my eyes had to be all red. It probably looked like I was just able to keep myself from bawling.
He probably thought I'd just been fired or something. Though, I imagined that to be in my near future as well.
My cell started buzzing in my purse as I walked down the street towards the subway. I ignored it.
It didn't stop even after I got back to my apartment. I slammed the deadbolt into place, kicked my shoes off my feet, and ran to the bedroom. The mattress groaned as I flopped down on it.
My pillowcase smelled of sweat. I hadn't done laundry recently. That mundane thought popped into my head, like my brain was trying to push my distress away.
No, I hadn't done laundry yet. I hadn't run the dishwasher in two days, either. Or wiped the furniture for dust, or gone to get groceries.
I pulled the pillow tight over my face, ready to let loose a scream. They always did that in movies, and right then it looked like it would feel so very good.
Before I could do anything, the phone rang. My first instinct was to ignore it. And I did. But it just kept ringing. Six times, seven, eight...
Finally, I rolled out of bed, marched into the small den, picked up the phone and pressed it to the side of my face.
"What?" I said, my teeth clenched.
I knew I shouldn't use that sort of tone, that I was projecting my anger and frustration onto whoever was on the other end. I hoped it would turn out to be a telemarke ter or someone like that. Someone I wouldn't feel too bad about tearing into. I needed to vent.
"Hey, it's me."
A male voice. Smooth, assured. Yet, the phone changed it just enough that I didn't immediately recognize the owner.
"Who's 'me?'" I said. I grabbed the coils of the phone cord, ready to rip it out. It would feel so good to break something.
"Is everything okay? You sound..."
"No, everything is not okay! Who the hell is this?"
"It's me, Drake."
I froze. A lump formed in my throat. Drake? My eyes widened. I couldn't let him be near me when I was like this. Weren't girls supposed to have some sort of mystery about them? Some secrets held back so that the guy had to do some chasing?
I thought you didn't care if he liked you or not? my conscience taunted. I gave it a mental "shut up!"
"Oh... Hi. Yeah, now's not the best time, okay?"
"Do you want to talk? You sound pretty upset," he said. Was that actual concern I heard?
It sounded genuine. But this guy was a player. A singer in a band who brought home a
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