Notes From the Invisible: March 27
Title: Notes from the Invisible: March 27
Author: adina_anne
Rating: PG-13/M for sexual references. Possibly to increase later.
Author's Note: So, I haven't actually written original fiction since high school, but I had a moment today and it decided to settle in my head and manifest itself into something of a story. Originally I was thinking something along the lines of my rpg Caro and Never Been Kissed, but I think it took a slightly different turn. I like it. I may or may not find the time to write more on this.
“Please enter your password, then press pound.” The robotic feminine voice held more optimism than she felt like acknowledging but she obeyed its cheery command.
“Sally… The coroner’s report came this morning. I thought you should know. There was a carbon monoxide leak in the apartment. His neighbor’s rat also…” The recording took in a shaky breath. Sally blankly stared at the computer screen before her. “If, if you need anything…we’re all here for each other. You know you’re not a stranger.” Another pause. “We’ll let you know about the funeral.”
“Sally! No phones at work!”
“Sorry, Mr. Allen.” Sally had always been the quiet one in the office. She never broke the rules, she never chatted with the people near her cubicle. For the past two days she had hardly done anything except work. Mr. Allen liked her. She was the kind of employee who would forget about lunch breaks, who never talked back and did exactly what she was suppose to. She was a sheep. A short, plump, socially inept sheep who’s skin looked as if it had never seen the light of the sun, but a loyal and dutiful sheep. Those were Mr. Allen’s favorite kind.
Sally put down the phone, carefully so even she couldn’t hear the sound of the plastic frame hitting the faux wood finish of her desk. She stared at it for a moment. Normally she wasn’t such a perfectionist. Careful yes, but not perfect. She would never use the word perfect to describe herself. Then again, she would never normally have the phone out during work anyway.
She stayed staring at the now silent phone until a lock of her blonde hair fell out of place and blocked part of her view. It was then that she closed her eyes and told the tears back off. She didn’t need this. She didn’t want this. A week ago life had been normal. She had been the invisible worker who made just enough to come home to her apartment every evening and slip past her two roommates while saving up the little she had so she could get a place of her own. A week ago, she would spend the weekends in the valley. She would walk through the fields and swing on the tire swing that, if you got enough momentum, would swing fearfully over the calm river which always shown golden in the light of the setting sun.
But that was a week ago.
Doreen, a tallish twig-like woman with vibrantly curly red hair, walked by with Alice, the new woman from Wales. “So then I told him no, I wouldn’t have sex with him in the graveyard. What kind of person likes to have sex in a graveyard, for Christ’s sake?” Doreen had always been a little wild. Apparently pseudo-narcolepsy was beyond her.
Sally looked up, not at the narcolepsy, but at the image of a graveyard. She’d have to go to one of those soon. Probably next week. The field of grey headstones wouldn’t sway in the wind like the tips of the green grass of the valley. She missed her time in the valley; she missed the fact that she’d never be able to go there again. It would be too hard.
But that didn’t matter now. Now she was at work and Mr. Allen had already chided her. She couldn’t remember the last time he had even looked at her. Right, work. She looked up at the computer again, expecting to see the color coordinated spreadsheets she was editing but instead saw a picture of herself smiling. Stupid screensaver. Just as her hand hovered over the mouse, ready to eradicate the moment of happiness she once had, the picture changed.
She remembered that moment. They had picnicked by the river. He had recently seen The Incredibles and was trying to convince her to watch it. “Superheros are cool, Sally. They get to wear capes. Well, not in this movie, but in others.” He had then taken the classic red and white-checkered tablecloth off of the ground and tied it around his neck. Captain Picnic had spent the rest of the afternoon saving her from the dreaded fields of grass.
His mother had taken the picture when she was coming down to see why they had been gone so long. Captain Picnic’s arm was wrapped around her shoulders, holding Sally’s back to his chest as he kissed the side of her head.
Sally lowered her head and closed her eyes tightly, this time internally yelling at herself to keep her emotions at bay. She couldn’t do this. Not now, not here. Not ever. It took her a moment, but finally she stood up and walked toward the bathroom. She walked to the back, her half-inch heels making slight clicks on the tile of the floor. She had always liked that sound; it made her feel more sophisticated, more important. Just not today. Today it reminded her that there was more to life. That there was fashion, work, reputation, a floor and probably five-year-olds in Indonesia who were paid seven cents a day to nail heels into the bottom of shoes for women in the U.S. to look taller and sexier.
She leaned one shoulder against the wall and closed herself off from the world. Her skin prickled slightly and she felt a slight warmth around her waist and on the side of her neck. She tilted her head, falling into her disillusionment. If she stayed like this, if she never opened her eyes, if she never moved, he would always be holding her, wordlessly telling her that he would always be with her.
“You know, if you use skim milk instead of cream-Oh, sorry.” Sally looked up quickly, her face going rosy against the off-white it normally was. Alice stopped mid-sentence and almost tripped over her own heel as Sally hurriedly pushed through. “What was that all about?”
“No one knows anything about that girl. I’ve never heard her speak more than three sentences in a row and then only when she was telling Chad about the Roudin audit.”
“What’s her name?”
“It starts with an S... Sammy, or Sarah or something. Oh, Sally! That’s it. I heard she knits hats for chemotherapy patients. Oh no wait, that’s Maddie.”
Sally returned to her desk to find a picture of Bojo the frog. She had found him in a flower shop down the street from her apartment while she was going to get flowers. Since that day he had been living in a small box in her bathroom. He liked to make noises while she was in the shower every morning, but other than that he was the perfect pet for someone who avoided attention.
That night Sally went home. She unlocked the apartment, opened the door, walked through and closed it, relocking everything from the other side. Neither Tammy nor Shareen looked up from their rerun of “Married with Children.”
She passed them and headed into her room, dropping her purse and coat on the foot of the bed. She spent a few minutes rummaging through the drawers of her dresser before sitting down on her violet and soft yellow bedspread. In her hands, she held a cardboard box the design of which was easily recognizable as multitudes of pink roses. He had pointed it out to her one day in a small town shop near where he had lived. She told him she would never use it but he insisted that she have it anyway. “It’s the perfect thing to leave on your desk so any thief will at least think you have enough class to write you letters by hand.”
She opened the box and looked at the pad of rose-covered paper still wrapped in plastic. She picked it up, carefully taking the plastic wrap off before digging into the box again. She took out a piece of plastic used only to make the box look more spacious while elegantly holding the pen, pencil, eraser and envelops in place during shipping. After she removed all the packaging and disposed of them, she put the tip of the pencil onto the top of the first piece of paper.
March 27
Captain Picnic,
Your sister called today. She told me how it happened and that Snowflake next door went with you. She said I could be with your family if I wanted. I don’t. They are too nice to me. Being with them would mean going back to the valley. I would see the tire swing in the distance and the golden river. But you won’t be there, so what’s the point?
Mr. Allen snapped at me. He’s never done that, but for some reason I don’t care. I cared when Doreen and Alice found me in the bathroom. You were there, weren’t you? I could feel your arms pulling me against you. For once they saw me. They even talked about me and eventually got my name right. I don’t want to meet them. I don’t want to hear more about Doreen’s sex life or Alice’s adventures through Europe. I’d rather just stay hidden in my cubicle where no one knows my name. I have nothing interesting to tell them. Nothing except you, but I won’t share you with the world.
Yours always,
Invisible Girl
She used her sleeve to blot away the tear-stains before folding the letter and placing it in an envelope. She didn’t know where to put it, but, for the time being she figured, it could stay under her pillow.
Author: adina_anne
Rating: PG-13/M for sexual references. Possibly to increase later.
Author's Note: So, I haven't actually written original fiction since high school, but I had a moment today and it decided to settle in my head and manifest itself into something of a story. Originally I was thinking something along the lines of my rpg Caro and Never Been Kissed, but I think it took a slightly different turn. I like it. I may or may not find the time to write more on this.
“Please enter your password, then press pound.” The robotic feminine voice held more optimism than she felt like acknowledging but she obeyed its cheery command.
“Sally… The coroner’s report came this morning. I thought you should know. There was a carbon monoxide leak in the apartment. His neighbor’s rat also…” The recording took in a shaky breath. Sally blankly stared at the computer screen before her. “If, if you need anything…we’re all here for each other. You know you’re not a stranger.” Another pause. “We’ll let you know about the funeral.”
“Sally! No phones at work!”
“Sorry, Mr. Allen.” Sally had always been the quiet one in the office. She never broke the rules, she never chatted with the people near her cubicle. For the past two days she had hardly done anything except work. Mr. Allen liked her. She was the kind of employee who would forget about lunch breaks, who never talked back and did exactly what she was suppose to. She was a sheep. A short, plump, socially inept sheep who’s skin looked as if it had never seen the light of the sun, but a loyal and dutiful sheep. Those were Mr. Allen’s favorite kind.
Sally put down the phone, carefully so even she couldn’t hear the sound of the plastic frame hitting the faux wood finish of her desk. She stared at it for a moment. Normally she wasn’t such a perfectionist. Careful yes, but not perfect. She would never use the word perfect to describe herself. Then again, she would never normally have the phone out during work anyway.
She stayed staring at the now silent phone until a lock of her blonde hair fell out of place and blocked part of her view. It was then that she closed her eyes and told the tears back off. She didn’t need this. She didn’t want this. A week ago life had been normal. She had been the invisible worker who made just enough to come home to her apartment every evening and slip past her two roommates while saving up the little she had so she could get a place of her own. A week ago, she would spend the weekends in the valley. She would walk through the fields and swing on the tire swing that, if you got enough momentum, would swing fearfully over the calm river which always shown golden in the light of the setting sun.
But that was a week ago.
Doreen, a tallish twig-like woman with vibrantly curly red hair, walked by with Alice, the new woman from Wales. “So then I told him no, I wouldn’t have sex with him in the graveyard. What kind of person likes to have sex in a graveyard, for Christ’s sake?” Doreen had always been a little wild. Apparently pseudo-narcolepsy was beyond her.
Sally looked up, not at the narcolepsy, but at the image of a graveyard. She’d have to go to one of those soon. Probably next week. The field of grey headstones wouldn’t sway in the wind like the tips of the green grass of the valley. She missed her time in the valley; she missed the fact that she’d never be able to go there again. It would be too hard.
But that didn’t matter now. Now she was at work and Mr. Allen had already chided her. She couldn’t remember the last time he had even looked at her. Right, work. She looked up at the computer again, expecting to see the color coordinated spreadsheets she was editing but instead saw a picture of herself smiling. Stupid screensaver. Just as her hand hovered over the mouse, ready to eradicate the moment of happiness she once had, the picture changed.
She remembered that moment. They had picnicked by the river. He had recently seen The Incredibles and was trying to convince her to watch it. “Superheros are cool, Sally. They get to wear capes. Well, not in this movie, but in others.” He had then taken the classic red and white-checkered tablecloth off of the ground and tied it around his neck. Captain Picnic had spent the rest of the afternoon saving her from the dreaded fields of grass.
His mother had taken the picture when she was coming down to see why they had been gone so long. Captain Picnic’s arm was wrapped around her shoulders, holding Sally’s back to his chest as he kissed the side of her head.
Sally lowered her head and closed her eyes tightly, this time internally yelling at herself to keep her emotions at bay. She couldn’t do this. Not now, not here. Not ever. It took her a moment, but finally she stood up and walked toward the bathroom. She walked to the back, her half-inch heels making slight clicks on the tile of the floor. She had always liked that sound; it made her feel more sophisticated, more important. Just not today. Today it reminded her that there was more to life. That there was fashion, work, reputation, a floor and probably five-year-olds in Indonesia who were paid seven cents a day to nail heels into the bottom of shoes for women in the U.S. to look taller and sexier.
She leaned one shoulder against the wall and closed herself off from the world. Her skin prickled slightly and she felt a slight warmth around her waist and on the side of her neck. She tilted her head, falling into her disillusionment. If she stayed like this, if she never opened her eyes, if she never moved, he would always be holding her, wordlessly telling her that he would always be with her.
“You know, if you use skim milk instead of cream-Oh, sorry.” Sally looked up quickly, her face going rosy against the off-white it normally was. Alice stopped mid-sentence and almost tripped over her own heel as Sally hurriedly pushed through. “What was that all about?”
“No one knows anything about that girl. I’ve never heard her speak more than three sentences in a row and then only when she was telling Chad about the Roudin audit.”
“What’s her name?”
“It starts with an S... Sammy, or Sarah or something. Oh, Sally! That’s it. I heard she knits hats for chemotherapy patients. Oh no wait, that’s Maddie.”
Sally returned to her desk to find a picture of Bojo the frog. She had found him in a flower shop down the street from her apartment while she was going to get flowers. Since that day he had been living in a small box in her bathroom. He liked to make noises while she was in the shower every morning, but other than that he was the perfect pet for someone who avoided attention.
That night Sally went home. She unlocked the apartment, opened the door, walked through and closed it, relocking everything from the other side. Neither Tammy nor Shareen looked up from their rerun of “Married with Children.”
She passed them and headed into her room, dropping her purse and coat on the foot of the bed. She spent a few minutes rummaging through the drawers of her dresser before sitting down on her violet and soft yellow bedspread. In her hands, she held a cardboard box the design of which was easily recognizable as multitudes of pink roses. He had pointed it out to her one day in a small town shop near where he had lived. She told him she would never use it but he insisted that she have it anyway. “It’s the perfect thing to leave on your desk so any thief will at least think you have enough class to write you letters by hand.”
She opened the box and looked at the pad of rose-covered paper still wrapped in plastic. She picked it up, carefully taking the plastic wrap off before digging into the box again. She took out a piece of plastic used only to make the box look more spacious while elegantly holding the pen, pencil, eraser and envelops in place during shipping. After she removed all the packaging and disposed of them, she put the tip of the pencil onto the top of the first piece of paper.
March 27
Captain Picnic,
Your sister called today. She told me how it happened and that Snowflake next door went with you. She said I could be with your family if I wanted. I don’t. They are too nice to me. Being with them would mean going back to the valley. I would see the tire swing in the distance and the golden river. But you won’t be there, so what’s the point?
Mr. Allen snapped at me. He’s never done that, but for some reason I don’t care. I cared when Doreen and Alice found me in the bathroom. You were there, weren’t you? I could feel your arms pulling me against you. For once they saw me. They even talked about me and eventually got my name right. I don’t want to meet them. I don’t want to hear more about Doreen’s sex life or Alice’s adventures through Europe. I’d rather just stay hidden in my cubicle where no one knows my name. I have nothing interesting to tell them. Nothing except you, but I won’t share you with the world.
Yours always,
Invisible Girl
She used her sleeve to blot away the tear-stains before folding the letter and placing it in an envelope. She didn’t know where to put it, but, for the time being she figured, it could stay under her pillow.