The
Wall
It was
one of those mornings when punching in seemed worse than sitting through Pink
Floyd’s the wall for the tenth time. The traffic sounds outside took on an
ominous tone which spoke of toil and deadlines. I lay in the bed watching the
ceiling fan revolve monotonously with each second ticking by. Like a puppet
animated by a ventriloquist I screamed. The knocking from the ceiling told me
my neighbor had reacted. She was young, nubile, and had a smile which could
wake the dead. Yet I’d started off on the wrong foot months ago. There was
little chance of me and the little bird sitting over coffee or a movie; though
I daydreamed so much more while dying of loneliness in my tiny cubicle.
I swiveled my body, my bare feet landing on the cold
hardwood floor. I had nearly fallen on that floor as I had so many ridiculous
mornings before. I managed to stand up in my boxers and plodded like a POW to
the sink. The cool menthol shaving cream perked up my endorphins ever so
slightly. My embalmed body was beginning to rise from the dead.
My morning ritual ablution of an icy shower worked its
magic bringing me into full wakefulness. I quickly toweled off and pulled
on some Dockers. The world outside awaited my arrival without even an iota of
anticipation.
I buttoned up my shirt, like a surgeon stapling a
suture. This dead end, nine to five, ego enhancer, sealed my stitched heart
with thread bursting at the seams. The loafers came on last. This gig
didn’t require fancy duds. Every job had its perks.
Soon I was sitting at my computer at work gazing at
the screen like cable TV. All the trivial data paraded before me like cartoon
characters. It felt like I was hallucinating in some surreal Kafka story which
transpired here and now. I glanced to my side, at the red lit exit door sign.
The door seemed to pull me like a tractor beam in a Sci-Fi movie. I pivoted on
my roll chair. For a moment I felt the freedom outside, imagining
mountain meadows with my upstairs neighbor, her braided hair dangling in the
breeze. Out here east of
Sandy, my boss, strolled by in her pants and jacket,
which mimicked a man’s suit. However, her imitation of a man appeared as a
woman playing make up. There were so many games in this pantomime of life. I
wondered if this was reality and all beyond was illusion.
I flailed my hands saying, ”Oh no. I wouldn’t wish
that on my worst enemy.”
The fluorescent day inched onward with coffee breaks
and keyboard tapping. I had an hour till transmigration in this loop of
recurrence.
She loomed over me, in close proximity, gazing
downward as an Olympian deity. She had a wry grin. I sat still caught in
the web of her femininity. She said, ”Dan, what do you do at home?”
I replied, “You mean away from here? I read a book
till I’m drowsy. Then I brush my teeth.”
I leaned back in my chair with my mouth hanging open.
I said, “I would have never guessed.”
I felt the impinging tingles from her touch.
I thought that sounded innocent enough. I said,”
Sartre is right up my alley.”
I gazed at her as she paced away turning a corner and
vanished into the hive.
The drive home took two hours in the rush of souls. I
unlocked my door, threw off my shoes and crashed on the bed. I heard arguing
upstairs. It sounded like my young neighbor was having a spat with her
boyfriend. I curled up without undressing. The ruckus above me died down
and I drifted into a deep sleep, steeped in
Morning came with percolation of aching joints. This
Sisyphus would put his shoulder to the grindstone once again. My reward would
be in heaven no doubt. That thought brought a chuckle to my secular humanist
cynicism. However, there was no use feeling sorry for myself. That just made my
burden heavier. This morning I almost looked forward to going to the machine
again.
However, I had made a little white lie. I knew nothing
of Sartre. If we ever did rendezvous for tea I’d be found out. I did the
morning ritual with a renewed sense of purpose. The office seemed a little less
soul crushing. Even the starched shirt felt less constricting. Though I
couldn’t see what
I entered the office feeling the atmosphere of
tedium and regimented routine. I passed through the rows of cubicles watching
the people hunched over their desks as though in a trance. This mind numbing
cycle of repetition set in motion a contemplation for me. What would I be after
twenty years of this? Yet
I sat in submission to the holy economic motor. It was
edging into
In my delirium I tried to gather myself back into a
semblance of order. I placed my fingers on the keyboard and began typing.
The words on the screen seemed like a different language. I watched my
co-workers move back and forth feeling the distance between us as though we
were subjects in a Skinner Box. Like inanimate objects we crossed paths without
interaction; though perhaps my perception was skewed. Perhaps it was me who
created this perception of this reality through my own timid reserve. Maybe I
should see my job as a crucial part of the greater good.
My chest pains waxed and ebbed throughout the
day. The loss of
I gazed at the tiny figures on the screen intent on
finding my center. Perhaps this world was where I’d found a niche. There were
many kinds of purgatories. The technological way of life may be our apotheosis.
Humankind was setting off on a cybernetic evolutionary voyage. Who was I to
question the wisdom of the Avatars? My passion for
I arrived at my domicile and fell into my bed. I
reached over pressing the button on my answering machine hoping for human
warmth; a kind voice from someone who cared. The first message was a political
survey. I erased it immediately. Then came a voice I didn’t recognize at
first. However, she introduced herself as
I made the leap and called her. My heart was pounding
a mile a minute. I stuttered, “
She sighed. “Dan, I hope I’m not
intruding. However, I’d like to have tea with you.”
I gasped, “Really. Well of course. I’d love to. It’s
so nice of you to ask. When would you like to meet?”
I was really stumbling over my words. She continued,
“Dan, don’t worry. I won’t bite.”
I was on my back in bed breathing rapidly.
Breathlessly I replied, ”Bite? Oh I’d have never thought that. Why of course
not.”
I sat up jerkily, “Oh it’s been quite a while. I mean
well.”
She interjected, “Since high school?”
I chuckled, “Well there is my sister. She and I are
good friends.”
I laughed nervously, “Oh you mean a woman
friend!”
I laughed again sputtering, “I understand
now.”
She went on, “So meet me at my place at seven tomorrow
evening. Be sure to brush up on your Sartre.”
I laughed, exhaling, “Of course Sartre.” She gave me
her address.
She said, “See you tomorrow, Danny boy.” She hung up.
The room seemed to spin around me. Dizzy with the
prospect of a new found friend I tried to sleep. However, I didn’t slumber till
after
The day went by like a flow of clouds in a high,
bright, and clear sky. I had a lightness of being which transcended my immediate
surroundings. I imagined a cool breeze breathing through forest green with
My daydream continued through the day. I departed the
land of doldrums into the brilliant beyond where a blue sky greeted me. I
worked my way through the traffic of humanity to her place. I climbed the
stairs ascending into her lair. I rang her bell, awaiting what the evening
held. The door opened and she stood there, wearing jeans and an oversize
shirt.
She smiled, and said, “Hey Dan. Make yourself at
home.”
I ambled in and stood over her kitchen table. She
walked up to me, pulled out a chair and said, ”Please sit down.” I sat as she
pushed the chair in. She sat across from me and said, “You were punctual. You
got here just a few minutes before we had arranged.” I
gazed at the clock above the kitchen sink which said seven o’ clock. She
smiled and said, “So what do you think of Sartre?” I
chuckled and gripped the table edge. I responded, “To be quite honest with you
I’ve never read Sartre.”
I grinned back, “Yea, but I guess I failed.”
She continued, “Noone to worry. I really liked your
shirt. That’s why I asked you over.”
I squinted, “Really? It was my shirt?”
I looked at the plush couch across in the living room.
I yearned to hold her in my arms sitting there. She replied, “Actually I dig
shy guys. I also know you like philosophy because your personnel file says you
have a degree in it.”
I relaxed some. “Ahhh, so big brother is watching; or
sister I should say.”
I got excited, exclaiming, “Do I like Thoreau? I’m
ecstatic about Thoreau!”
I held my cup precariously. I said, “Oh it’s an
unremitting yearning I have for that. I was just meditating on that today at
work.”
I squinted, “Yes I comprehend exactly your meaning.”
She gazed at me with a piercing stare. She said, “I
know. It’s just a fantasy. There is no escape from the machine.”
I nodded, “I know. I can’t imagine how it could be
done.”
I nodded affirmatively. We sat next to each
other. I couldn’t see a TV. I felt giddy.
I turned my back to her. Her hands dug deep into my
shoulders, plying my nexus centers into nodes of pleasure. I began
inhaling and exhaling to the rhythm of her nurturing. Her fingers slid up
and down my vertebrae, coaxing them into bliss. She clasped my neck, with warm
palms kneading me with physical empathy.
I nodded, “I’m much appreciative Maam.”
She straightened her back and turned around, her legs
bent toward me. She reached out and held my chin with her fingertips. She
kissed me with the velvety beckoning of her moist lips. Her kiss strangely
reminded me of Halvah, with its sweet sensation. She stood and motioned with
her finger summoning me with the words, “Come hither.”
She had a wry smile as she grasped my hand leading me
to the bedroom. I had never been seduced by the boss before. I felt like a
supplicant venerating my queen. Suddenly my world had transformed from black
and white to Kodachrome. My senses rejoiced.
We lay in the dark under a handmade quilt she told me
her grandmother had made her. I wondered what her grandmother would think of
this. I could feel
I woke to her sunshine smile in the mirror, as she
primped herself for work. She bundled her blonde hair in a pony tail. She’d
make an exquisite study for a nude, I mused. She must have seen me gazing at
her in the mirror, because her reflection smiled. She said, “Men are nothing if
not predictable. But you gotta love em just the same.”
I looked at the crinkly ceiling finish. I retorted,
“Women are nothing if not unpredictable. But you gotta love em just the same.”
She turned around with an impish smile and replied, “Aren’t we a silly pair?”
She wrapped a skirt around her hips and buttoned up her blouse. Next came her
stiletto heels. I wondered at how our gender roles might seem bizarre to an
anthropologist from Betelgeuse.
Our lips met again, as she leaned over the bed and
kissed me. She admonished, “You better get ready. You’ll be late for
work.” I looked at her alarm clock and saw it was almost seven. I heard
her close the door on her way out.
My work place was now a place where my life was
resurrected. This was where I met
One night about a month ago, Sandy and I drove into
the western hills high above
I held her close to ward off the fall chill. I
conjectured, “Yes and the cars are like corpuscles rushing through arteries.”