The Cubicle Next Door (34 page)

He bashed in one side of his waffle bowl with his spoon. “Because I’m not the same person anymore.” He picked a piece up by a jagged edge and dipped it into his ice cream. “Anyway. Let’s talk about you. Tell me about your sordid past.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Oh, come on. There must be something you’ve never told your grandmother.”

“There really isn’t.”

“Forget high school. What about college?”

“Nothing.”

“Boyfriends?”

“I’ve never had one.”

“Why not?”

“Do you remember where I went to school?”

“Sure. MIT.”

“Exactly.”

“And? Tons of guys there!”

“I majored in computer science.”

“Even better.”

“It was a social nightmare. Every single guy was determined to lose his virginity, if he already hadn’t, as soon as possible. I turned every guy in my major down at least once.”

“So the old, ‘Hey, baby, read my code’…?”

“Didn’t work for me. Until I was a senior, and that’s actually what they wanted me to do. I made friends with the guys, of course, but I never wanted them to get the wrong idea. I never wanted them to get too friendly.”

“So you’ve never had a boyfriend?”

“After graduation I almost did.”

“Now you’re talking. So what happened?”

“With Rick?”

“With Tom, Dick, or Harry. Whoever.”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. You’ve got to give me more information or…I’m not going to help you finish the rest of that.”

I looked down into my bowl. A casual observer would not have been able to tell I’d even touched it. But Joe had me figured out. He knew the guilt of not finishing what I ordered would be unbearable. Because the only reason Americans were so fat and wasted so much food is because they kept consuming more than they needed and bought more than they could ever use. I gave in. “Nothing happened because that’s about the same time Grandmother broke her hip.”

“Define the word ‘happen.’”

“To take place.”

He frowned. “Try again.”

“To cause to be.”

“So what you’re saying is, you didn’t
marry
Rick because your grandmother broke her hip?”

“What!”

“You didn’t
move in with
Rick because your grandmother broke her hip?”

“It wasn’t like
that!
”

“You decided not to
bear his children
because your grandmother broke her hip? You could stop my speculation by just telling me the rest of the story.”

“Okay. Stop. I didn’t go out on a date with Rick because grandmother broke her hip.”

“And how long did you know this guy?”

“A year.”

“So if you’d been able to stay in Boston another five years, then maybe you would have kissed him? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m not saying anything. You’re the one who’s doing all the talking.”

“Sorry.”

We ate in silence for a minute.

“Rick. That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“There’s never been anyone else you’ve been interested in?”

“Not enough to lose my head over.”

“Heart.”

“I meant head. That’s what my mother did. She had this…fling…a summer of love, with my father. He was a pilot, teaching at the Academy. Got sent to Vietnam. Died. He never even knew there would be a me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And my mother flipped out. After I was born, she left.”

“When?”

“Hours after I was born. She walked out of the hospital that same day and never came back.”

“Where did she go?”

“India.”

“Why?”

“She’d always been into the groovy stuff. Make love, not war. All that.”

“Fill in this blank for me: My mother freaked out when my father died, therefore…?”

“Therefore, love isn’t worth it, is it? Because what she called love ruined three people’s lives: Grandmother’s, mine, and hers. I am a love child. And let me tell you, there is no love. How can there be love when your mother dumps you the second you’re born?”

“And therefore, love is…?”

“Overrated.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Hmm. Mind if I have some?” He’d finished his ice cream and now he was eyeballing mine.

“Go for it.” I slid the bowl to his side of the table.

“You sure you don’t want any more?”

“I’m fine.”

“How’d you like it?”

“It was really good. Fabulous.” It had been.

“Not so overrated then?” His eyes locked onto mine. And I knew he wasn’t talking about ice cream. Not anymore.

“No.”

“See? Sometimes it’s worth taking a risk. Trying something new.”

If only he knew. “Here’s the thing, Joe. What kind of mother abandons a baby? The only souvenir of a man she loved? What kind of insanity is that? If it’s love, then I can live without it, thank you very much.”

“I don’t think it was love, Jackie. Love doesn’t make you run away. Love makes you come back.”

“Then what’s the opposite of love? Hate? Are you saying she hated me? Because frankly, after thirty-two years of thinking she just didn’t want me, learning she hated me would just about…”

“I don’t think it was love that made her flip out. I don’t think it was hate that made her leave you. I think it was fear that made her run away.”

“Fear.”

“I think she was a coward.”

If he had been hoping that statement could get a rise out of me, he was mistaken. He could call my mother anything he wanted. “A coward. Well, maybe you’ve just helped me out. I’ve lived my life being everything my mother wasn’t. Surely I can not be a coward too.”

“Can you?”

“Of course I can.”

“Then you might just have to learn how to love.”

THE CUBICLE NEXT DOOR BLOG

You don’t get it

Thanks for all your guesses of my identity. I’m glad you’re having a great party here online. But you just don’t get it. I’m not revealing myself.

John Smith doesn’t get it, either.

Have you ever taken the basic stuff that makes you who you are and laid it out on the table in front of someone? And then had that person look it over and say, “That’s not what you think it is”?

What do you say to that?

Especially when you think they meant to provoke you into looking at your life differently?

Here’s what I did. I packed it all up again and put it away.

Posted on February 14 in
The Cubicle Next Door | Permalink

Comments

Unpacking the psyche is a noble effort and not to be treated lightly.

Posted by:
NozAll | February 14 at 06:52 PM

So what’s wrong with that? Maybe he called it like it is. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Posted by:
theshrink | February 14 at 06:53 PM

Are you speaking literally or figuratively?

Posted by:
docsin | February 14 at 06:54 PM

Give him another chance. He’s just a guy. Like every other guy.

Posted by:
philosophie | February 14 at 06:55 PM

He’s either with you or he’s against you. You don’t need the extra weight if he’s not pulling in your direction.

Posted by:
survivor | February 14 at 06:56 PM

Thirty-Four

I
was working one afternoon in mid-March, running tests on the system when Kate suddenly materialized.

“Hey.” She cast a glance behind her and then edged toward my cubicle.’

“Hi.”

“Can we talk for a minute?” Her voice was so low I had trouble hearing her. “I just wanted to stop by and…you know…”

Not really. “Were you looking for Joe? He should be here after sixth period.”

“No. I wasn’t looking for him. I was looking for you.” She placed her hands on her hips. Took them away and crossed her arms in front of her instead. “The thing is, Joe is a really nice guy.”

I felt my eyebrows lift.

“I mean, beyond all the jokiness and the flyboy stuff…”

“Yeah?”

“So I just wanted to know if…”

Clearly, the subject of Joe was making her uncomfortable. Was she thinking about having an affair with him?

“Well…he likes you. You know that, right?” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. It’s not like we’re in junior high. But he deserves to be taken seriously. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Taken seriously? Then he should try
being
serious for a change.”

She cocked her head. A line appeared between her eyebrows. “But…it’s like they always told us when we were little. Boys wouldn’t tease you if they didn’t like you.”

Nobody had ever told me that. “So Joe’s been talking to you about me?”

“Yeah. Nothing bad, obviously. He’s just…confused. So I was trying to help him see things from your point of view.”

“Which is?”

“I know it probably seems strange to you, being friends with your ex-wife.”

“It doesn’t particularly bother me.”

“We shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place. I just…we thought if I told you we really were just friends…”

“We who?”

“Joe and Steve and I.”

Oh, so now I was a group project?

“Joe’s different since he’s stopped flying. He’s changed. He’s much more serious.”

“I don’t know what he was like before. He’s fine now. It’s not him, it’s me.”

She frowned. Then shrugged. “I just wanted you to know.”

Half an hour later, my tests were done, but I was still staring at the computer monitor. At the same frame I’d been staring at for the previous ten minutes.

Joe liked me.

It was unavoidable now, because the words had been spoken out loud. And now he would know—for certain—that I knew, because Kate would probably tell him she told me.

How had I gotten myself into this mess?

By being tempted?

No. By letting myself hang out around the temptation. By setting up a lawn chair and parking myself down right beside it. What a fool I’d been. You can’t play with fire and not get burned. You can’t hang around Joe and not fall in love.

I’d known it would end like this. I’d reconciled myself to going through life alone. And I was still going to go through life alone. Only now I’d have to do it with an ache in my heart.

I’d just have to hope it wouldn’t be chronic.

The next Tuesday, I was sitting in my cubicle, minding my own business, when Joe returned from class, dumped his bag on the floor, and then came to stand in front of my cubicle door.

I flicked a glance at him.

“Hey. There’s one of those movies you like playing at Twin Peaks.”

“Which movies?”

“The Indian ones.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” I’d never seen one in a theater. Maybe I’d have to go.

“Want to go?”

“Where?”

“To see the movie.”

I turned my chair so I could look at him. See if he was kidding. “You want to see a Bollywood movie?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never seen one before.”

I was on the verge of saying no. But as I looked at him, I just couldn’t do it. So I made a deal with myself. I’d say yes. I’d give myself one last chance to be with him before I started saying no again. For the rest of my life.

That’s how we ended up in the center of the Kimball’s Twin Peaks Theater, perched on the first seats in the upper section, legs propped up on the railings. We were halfway into it when Joe started talking.

“Have any more popcorn?”

I handed him the container.

He fished out a few un-popped kernels and started crunching. Shifted in his seat. Crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. “Okay. Enough dancing around the subject. Just kiss her already.”

“Shh!”

“This is torture. Why does it keep showing them dancing in Paris and Tahiti and Saudi Arabia? They live in India. And they’re both dirt-poor.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“They love each other, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t they do something about it? Hold hands. Anything.”

“It’s not like they have to fall into bed every time they meet. There’s something to be said for self-control and physical restraint.”

“There’s also something to be said for not looking like a dancing marionette.”

“If you can’t watch nicely, then please leave.”

“Okay, okay.”

He was quiet for a few minutes, and then he leaned toward my ear again. “How can you watch this without understanding the words? Why aren’t there subtitles?”

“Are you blind?”

“No.”

“Then use your eyes. Can’t you see what they’re feeling?”

“Maybe. I can guess. But it would be nice if it were backed up with words. Then I’d know for sure. I mean, she could be crying because she has something in her eye. How am I supposed to know for certain it’s because of something he said? Give me a break. I’m a guy!”

“Just…shut…up.”

He was good for about two minutes, and then he leaned toward me again.

I took the popcorn container from him, hunched over, arid shifted down three seats.

He followed me.

I shifted down two more.

He did the same.

“If you don’t stop talking I’m going to stand up—right now—and scream.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh yes, I would.”

“If you stand up, then I’m going to stand up—right now—and kiss you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh yes, I would.” He was serious.

I plunged my hand to the bottom of the popcorn container.

There was nothing there but a few kernels Joe had left behind. I grabbed them and shoved them into my mouth. Started crunching.

He didn’t say another word. Not for a long time. Not until one of the more elaborate song-and-dance sequences at the end. Then he leaned over and looked me straight in the eye. “If they sing one more song…”

The images from the movie screen cast kaleidoscope shadows on his face. His eyes were sweeping back and forth across my face.

“Aren’t you going to stand up and scream?”