The first thing I thought upon arriving
at my desk this morning and finding something on my keyboard was that automatic
triage I so often fall to:
Someone’s
been here. Need to clean. What was touched? What has been altered? How clean
are my hands? How clean are all objects and surfaces? In what order would it be
best to touch or make contact? Need to wipe things down, but wiping down requires
an immediate hand-washing afterward, best done unencumbered, and the sink is
far away. Will want to put my things down beforehand, but can’t leave them
unattended; need to lock them up first. But can I do it safely? Yes—they
wouldn’t have touched the drawers very much if at all; I always leave them
locked. Don’t sit in the chair yet.
I don’t fault anyone for thinking
ill of this behavior.
It wasn’t always like this.
On my keyboard was a small generic Ziploc
bag, rolled up on itself. I saw dull colors inside through the plastic. Candy? Sometimes people do hand out
goodies to each other, and I am grateful for those times.... But why not just
plopped on the desktop? Why on my keyboard? Woulda had to get in close for
that.... Where would a body touch....?
But as I stuffed my backpack and
purse away, I saw the bag closer, and the dim blue and white and brown and
yellow came into focus through the plastic.
It’s
okay to sit in the chair.
There was only one person that
could be from.
I surreptitiously wiped the
requisite surfaces down anyway, and the bag, before starting toward the
breakroom; I used that sink every morning anyway.
But I stopped at Madman Joseph’s
cubicle first, grinning all afluster . . . .
It was a Breath of the Wild Link figure, about five inches tall, nicely
articulated all over, and packing a bow and arrow.
He
was too generous! It was too much! I’m no figure connoisseur, but I know
they’re worth more than just pocket-change!
But he insisted and I questioned
and he insisted again—said he didn’t
have a stand for that one anyway; couldn’t get it to stand up!
Joseph is a figure connoisseur—I catch him at it sometimes on his
computer. Just
how many species of Voltron ARE there anyway?
We laughed and talked.
“I may or may not like to just sit
him on my shoulder, when I play the game.”
Shifty
eyes above his incendiary grin. XD
I laughed and pictured the sight.... and then pictured the little Link on my shoulder....
Huh.... I wonder how he’d like me
just spitting all this out into my log. Ah but he’s a pretty carefree guy. Only
a little maniacal. Too bad Erika’s not here for him to startle from behind
anymore. (Well, too bad for him, not
for her.) I’ve heard him lightly blame it on PTSD from his time in Iraq.
Ah
I remember when they took us all out to play lasertag that one time.... and
SOMEHOW (???) I had come out the top-scorer on the winning team. (“Cyborg” was
the codename I had taken upon myself with that particular gun-harness; felt
pretty boss.)
But Joseph? Oh how he had kept popping up
and around every corner, blasting my suit again and again, and dancing away
with a wicked laugh! He positively harassed
me!
He was my most worthy adversary.
And in the after-battle rush, as we
all came pouring out from the cracks of the maze, running together and filing toward
the exit—and I spotted him—“You! What is
your PROBLEM?” I allowed myself to shriek in that wild vexation only a
female can assume without losing grace. I don’t think I had ever actually
allowed myself to indulge in it before, and that’s the truth.
He had been that infuriating.
I don’t even remember what he said
in response. But we were both smiling, and we swapped names.
And that’s how I met Joseph.
He’s a kind soul. Beneath all the
crazy.... he has a good heart. And he is generous.
Was I ever like that before?
Could
I ever be like that?
I haven’t always been like I am
now.
When did I become so touchy, so
fearfully meticulous, so.... cold?
When did I become.... like a Cyborg?
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