By mid-day,
I’d taken too many calls,
typed too many letters,
and dropped too many memos
on the desks of VPs
who called me ‘hon.’
I told my boss Gary
I needed a break.
He said OK,
so I grabbed my cigarettes,
and went to sit
beneath a scraggly locust tree
by the parking lot.
A cool breeze
carried the smoke
from my menthol
as I watched the crawl
of skinny clouds
over the squat brick office.
“You sure
you want to do that?”
Gary had scrunched up his face
when I told him I got a dog.
“They just tie you down.
Like kids.”
I told him I did,
that Barney
was a great dog,
just old.
“Just wait,” he said.
“You’ll get sick and tired
of running home
to that stinky beagle
your bum neighbor
dumped on you.”
Gary leaned against the wall
drinking coffee.
He crossed his legs at the ankle
as I ran photocopies.
“Lemme ask you something,” he said.
“Don’t you want something else?
Something more exciting
than just this?”
Gary tipped his head
toward the open pit of cubicles
ringed by offices.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said.
“I mean, I do,
like want more
than just working
some secretarial job.
If that’s what you mean.”
Gary smoothed his tie.
He tapped his ceramic cup
with his wedding ring.
“I know one thing.”
He raised his mug
and winked.
“I want more coffee.
And a shot of Kahlua.”
I pressed a few buttons
on the Xerox,
feeling a gentle rock
as it sucked papers
in one end
and spit copies
out on the other.
“You’re good at that,” Gary said.
“Can I sneak something in?”
Coming close,
he set his cup down,
his hip grazing mine
as his breath fluttered
on the back of my hair.
Gary left early,
saying he had to
pick up his kids.
I caught the 5:10 bus,
sliding into a seat
to put my purse
on my lap.
I matched my breath
to the hum of the wheels,
picturing Barney,
picturing Gary,
closing my eyes
just as the bus passed
the boarding house
where I used to live,
right after leaving Mike.
“What a dump,” Mom said.
“You were doing
so much better
with him.”
I told her I wasn’t,
that things had been bad.
She said I never appreciated
what I had.
“At least Mike had money,” she said.
“That’s important.”
I said it didn’t matter,
that I was better
off without him,
without someone
who called me names,
pushed me around,
and kept me away
from anyone
and everything.
“I suppose,” Mom said.
“I guess you’ll see
if you are or not.”
Opening my eyes,
I waited for my stop,
thinking of my old place,
remembering the nights
without a TV,
without a phone,
passing time
with moldy paperbacks
and a blue plastic radio,
gazing out the window
to a hazed starry sky
before falling asleep.
