On the Way to Work
By Edward Steere
Rise, stretch, shower, cook, dress, walk, train, meetings, sleep, work, work, work. The monotony of Thomas's life wore away at him. It was the same breakfast of oats with precisely the same number of beverages. One tea, one coffee and a tall glass of water. All of which promised great health benefits if taken daily for a prolonged time. The stretching, the cold shower, the walk to the train all based on advice he'd heard somewhere along the line. His life flowed between menial tasks, each of which promised great benefit but in the whole lacked coherence.
If I save, eat well, and behave as I ought to then won't life work itself out? He thought on the way to the train one morning. The sun occasionally broke through the leafy canopies above the pavement. It was painful to look at.
A morning fog-of-the-mind hung against the midsummer day. It softened detail and smoothed-out life. The light, though brilliant, was a blur, and the bright greens and blues of the summer in its splendour, a muddy splotch.
Then it disappeared.
The world in its brightness pivoted. The horizon shot up and out of view and darkness replaced it.
A shot of adrenaline and a split second reaction met with resistance. The shoulder strap of an old bag strained against the jolt. The bag hovered there and then joined the downwards plunge. The coffee came too, as it escaped from the travel mug, and hung there in suspension as the plummet continued.
A blinding light replaced the darkness, shining brilliantly, and his office was beneath him, a crumb as he fell. It occurred to him then how insignificant each piece was. Seen from this perspective, there was a bigger picture, something meaningful that composed the frantic activity below. From here, the world was ordered, and social conventions stripped—no need to comport oneself.
The rapid approach of the office block interrupted the thought. Moments were left to find a spot to land. On the smoker's balcony, a hammock swung in the breeze—as good a landing as any. He rolled off the canvas and into his peers. "Thom! It's you. We'd been wondering where you were?" Travis blew smoke from his cigarette, or at least, it was sort-of Travis. His eyes were casino chips, and ornate patterns encircled their edges.
"Are you okay, Travis?" said Thom, dusting himself off. "Oh, come now, Thom! You're late. You join us out here for the first time this month and then all you can do is point it out?" Travis flicked his cigarette off the balcony. "Your eyes, Travis..." Travis's mouth opened wide, and on his tongue, two dancing girls spun. Their state of undress made Thom feel uneasy. Distractions at work are wrong! One must maintain professionalism!
Thom nodded and chuckled, redounding a feeling that he'd missed the point. Why did it matter? Why should Travis care? I didn't accuse him of anything. It's simple from where I stand. Can't he see that?
The questions had weight, and doubt was reified. It stretched from the ground and searched for ankles to wrap. Dreams felt this way sometimes. Going for a run, a sudden feeling of ataxia when danger approached. It amplified helplessness and quickened his thoughts.
Feet like lead, he forced himself to turn. He stood with his back to the railing. In front of him now, where there should be a door, was a glass ear instead.
The tendrils started to pull through the faux tiles into god knows where. Wherever they went was warm somehow. Was it a release? From down there perhaps, with senses nullified, was a reprieve, escape, freedom from his mind.
"Thom!" His blank stare broken. "Listen, Thom. Get back to your desk! Smoke break's over." A voice reverberated through the ear. The others were gone, and there was one thing to do. The training videos said that unexpected solicitation should always be met with caution and, a thorough investigation of the origin for authenticity.
The sides of the canal were greased with a waxy film. The hole was too small, but the lubricant could be enough. It was a tight squeeze, and through the canal, two fingers parted and made way. The fingers clamped down tightly locking in place, and with a slight pop, the ladies room emerged into view accompanied by screams of shock.
"So sorry!" His hands were stuck, he couldn't cover his eyes. "I came in from the balcony. I thought this was the office." He did his best to avert his gaze. The screams didn't stop as the occupants ran about. With every second, the scene became more manic, and arms raised high, the ladies scampered around. "I'm sorry! Please be calm. I'm stuck now, I can't get my head out."
A familiar face dropped in from the ceiling. The face belonged to Anne. A rope tied to her legs let her down. An accusing look crossed her face. "So. This is what you think of us?" She said through a scowl. It was challenging to take her seriously with her hair tied under her chin. "It's there so it won't fall out!" She seemed upset. "Now, just go. You've seen enough." "But I." She pursed her lips and blew hard, and the ladies swarming about the ear all congregated to watch him fall from sight back through the fingers on the wall.
This is all wrong! He thought to himself. I know not to put them in a box, and not to assume.
The floor met his coccyx in agonising deceleration. The ear swung open. The office was dimly lit, and no sound travelled. The suits thought it was best to suspend employees in unrelenting numb. No steps echoed, and voices lost their melody.
Thom's thought bicycle lay chained to the desk. Unhitched, it carried his mind where higher-ups wanted. The handlebars were restrained. It went only one direction. It followed a painted line and didn't dare diverge. All bicycles went one way, no deviation from the path.
The rides a long one which ends in numb. Stepping off of the bicycle, and then chaining it, work was done.
Exhausted, his mind retreated, and the world blurred by. Joining the afternoon shuffle to the train, the feet in front were a slowly shuffling beacon as the darkness of the staircase down closed in around.
The rows of seats were worn by the shuffle-cycle. A window to the left revealed an underground tunnel, lights flashing by—an empty chair to the right. No one would take it. The commuters crumpled their faces as if screaming their disgust.
What did I do? He thought to himself and bowed his head. A bare crotch was all that met his gaze as a sense of dread gripped him. He was naked, and he was alone. Why can't I change their minds? Why can't they see me for who I am?
Through the darkness and the fear, a light touch pierced through. Someone was there and reached out.
"Is this seat taken?" came the lady's voice. "No. Please, take it!" She turned away from him and gripping her phone, took a selfie of them both and then turned back. "It won't do you any good, you know?" Seeing only a blank expression, she pressed on. "In truth, most people don't care what you do. You'd have to be extraordinarily rude for them to look up from their phones."
Her voice had a calming effect, the world took form and worries eroded. There was a warm feeling of fabric against skin. It was reassuring. Sweaty bends and folds which usually clung uncomfortably instead felt good. They were real. They felt right.
A ring filled the air, and a speaker crackled into life. The station slunk into view. Where did she go? I must remember my thank yous. She was gone, and the platform wouldn't wait.
The platform was firm and didn't give way. The stairs were steep and set blood coursing as muscles flexed. A sense of immediacy returned to the world now, no burden of what could be done wrong. Brief freedom from judgement, but who was passing it all along?
There were fallen heads all marching to the rhythm of the day. Did they worry, too?
The pavement crept into view, lambent from the setting sun. She was there. Sitting in his favourite coffee shop. Had she been there before?
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, smiling.
"Sure, no problem."
"I wanted to say thanks."
"What for?"
A guarded crease of incredulity stretching across her forehead. "Just then? On the train? I hope I haven't mistaken you for somebody else?" She smiled. "You know, I've seen you here before. I've noticed you looking. You didn't have to make anything up!"
At that moment, he shed the weight of a thousand excuses. It reaffirmed purpose. It elucidated the lies, the rituals, and the rules which muddied life.
She sat there as the epiphany dawned, and he chose to do something bold. "May I ask your name?"
THE END