The Cubicle Next Door (31 page)

She, falling in love with an Air Force officer who instructed at the Air Force Academy. Me, having feelings for an Air Force officer who instructed at the Air Force Academy.

I used to despise her because she didn’t “just say no.” But now I know better. I understand now that she couldn’t. Not if my father were anything like Joe. Not if he refused to leave her alone. Kept enticing her, entangling her, throwing up a giant detour sign that kept all her thoughts turning in his direction.

Acknowledge the parallels?

Of course I did.

I felt as if I were being drawn into her past. Felt her presence wrapping its fingers around my neck. As if she were trying to pull me back in order to gain a second chance at her own life.

I felt as if I were a hiker, scrambling for a foothold on a steep slope filled with scree. No matter how hard I tried to progress up and out, with every step I was drawn back, doomed to have to recover territory I thought I’d already gained. With every step, I hoped for a progression, but instead was rewarded with regression. To remain still was to be trapped forever on a barren slope. But to take a step, to try to leave, was to risk a slide.

What if it wasn’t her?

What if it was me?

What if I was just like her?

You’re supposed to learn about history to stop it from repeating itself. But I don’t know the first thing about her. Don’t know. Don’t want to know.

I’m exactly the sort of person I always make fun of.

But it’s not really that funny, is it?

THE CUBICLE NEXT DOOR BLOG

A plea

Help me.

Posted on January 17 in
The Cubicle Next Door | Permalink

Comments

A two-word entry? This is weird. Do you think she’s all right?

Posted by:
survivor | January 17 at 08:23 PM

I don’t know. TCND, if you’re there, can you let us know if you’re okay?

Posted by:
philosophie | January 17 at 08:24 PM

Where is NozAll when we need him?

Posted by:
justluvmyjob | January 17 at 08:25 PM

What do you want me to do? I’m only 15 years old!

Posted by:
NozAll | January 17 at 08:26 PM

Maybe she got called away from the computer before she could finish?

Posted by:
theshrink | January 17 at 08:27 PM

I heard about this guy once in China who was chatting with someone online when he started to have a heart attack or something. The other guy ended up calling all the way to China to get an ambulance for him.

Posted by:
thatsmrtoyou | January 17 at 08:28 PM

I doubt she’s having a heart attack “or something.” Wild speculation doesn’t help. It will only cause panic. Everybody just stay calm.

Posted by:
theshrink | January 17 at 08:29 PM

How do you know? Does anyone know who she is? Do you think the blogging company does?

Posted by:
justluvmyjob | January 17 at 08:30 PM

Thirty

I
didn’t post a blog for the next three days. An eternity for someone who normally posts daily.

Joe talked to me about the blog, just the way he talked to me about every blog entry.

“So what do you think she needs help with?”

“Who knows. Printer problems? Laundry? Opening a new jar of jam?”

“Think there’s something wrong?”

“With her?” With me? Definitely.

“Who else?”

“Maybe there’s something wrong with John Smith. Maybe he just won’t leave her alone.”

“Why would there be anything wrong with that? She obviously likes him.”

“Obviously.”

“So why should he leave her alone? That seems counterintuitive.”

“Maybe love just isn’t something she’s prepared to do.”

“You don’t prepare for love. It’s not brain surgery. That’s why they call it ‘falling.’ Falling in love.”

“Maybe she has osteoporosis. Maybe a fall isn’t just a fall. Break a hip and you end up spending the rest of your life in a nursing home regretting it.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I was speaking symbolically.”

“I know. But she’s not eighty-seven years old and I don’t understand the symbols.”

“I practically failed English in high school.”

“So explain it to me using computers or math or something.”

“Okay…maybe it’s the difference between multiplying something by three and cubing it.”

“Still not getting it.”

“What’s twenty times three?”

“Sixty.”

“Now what’s twenty cubed?”

“Twenty times twenty times twenty.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re killing me here.”

“It’s eight thousand.”

“Yeah? So?”

“Sixty is manageable. Eight thousand is totally out of control. Get it?”

“No.”

Of course he didn’t. That was the whole entire problem. He didn’t get it. And I couldn’t think of any way to be more plain.

Except, of course, to tell the truth.

But I was not prepared to do that.

“Jackie?”

“What?”

“Help me out.”

Help him out? I was the one who needed help.

Joe’s head appeared above the cubicle wall. He looked frustrated. “She likes him, but half the time it sounds like she hates him. Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t know. Why do you care?”

“Because I don’t get it. And she has to know. She’s stopping herself from doing something she wants to do. She’s holding herself back from him. There must be a reason.”

“Maybe she’s in control of her life right now and she’s afraid if she lets herself like him, she won’t be anymore.”

“She’s afraid of being out of control?”

“Maybe.”

“She’s
afraid?
But he seems like a nice guy. A normal guy. People fall in love all the time. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world.”

“But maybe it is. Love doesn’t make everyone’s world go around. Maybe love destroyed hers once.”

“Love that destroys isn’t love. It can’t be.”

Maybe not for him. But it had been for me.

Two days later, I was watching the evening news. Mostly to see what the weather was going to be the next day. The lite-news lady came on for her five-minute stint. She started with coverage of a county commission meeting. Then the camera panned away from her and zoomed in on a TV screen behind her shoulder.

“And now we go to Trevor Montero in San Francisco for an update on the status of the Cyber-Sweetheart Blogger. What’s the latest information, Trevor?”

“Good evening. The latest information is that, as of yet, we have no information. For viewers who have just tuned in, America’s Cyber-Sweetheart, known to the blogosphere as TCND, the initials of her blog, The Cubicle Next Door, posted an ominous two-word blog three nights ago. Those two words were ‘Help me.’ And there have been no posts from her since.”

The camera angle slowly widened to take in the building behind him.

“Blog readers, who feared perhaps TCND was having a heart attack or some other medical emergency, immediately flooded the blogging service with e-mails, urging them to send medical care to TCND’s address of record. The blogging company has continually stated that, although the cyber address of TCND is a matter of public record, the physical street address of the blogger is not. This evening, they are again stating they have no responsibility in this matter and they have no authorization to send someone to TCND’s address nor to release that information.”

Trevor turned toward the building that had been his backdrop and the camera zoomed past him to focus on a podium that had been set up on the front steps. A woman was speaking.

“As we have consistently stated since the events of January seventeenth, we have no corporate responsibility in this matter. Access to personal information is on a need-to-know basis and only for the purpose of operating or improving our product. Any employee or contractor who comes into contact with such information is bound by confidentiality agreements and subject to prosecution if they do not choose to abide by them. Are there any questions?”

“Do you maintain the home address information of your clients?”

“As a matter of course, we do not.”

“But is there not some way you could back door the information? From e-mail addresses or credit card billing information? Something?”

Of course they could, if they wanted to
.

“That is not within the purview of our company’s mission.”

“But what if TCND is lying on the floor of her home having a heart attack?”

Then I’d already be dead, wouldn’t I?

“To post a blog entry takes several steps. If TCND were having a medical emergency, it is highly unlikely she could have performed the steps in the correct sequence necessary to post a blog.”

The camera zoomed out and panned the crowd. It was filled with a diverse demographic of people. Some of them were carrying signs. One was shaped like a heart and had “TCND + John Smith” scrawled on it. Another said “SAVE TCND!” And right next to it was one which said “SAVE OUR PRIVACY!”

The screen’s view switched to Trevor and then split to reveal the local newscaster. “Why has there been such keen national interest over an anonymous blog, Trevor?”

“It’s because this blog has pulled the heartstrings of America, Becky. This blogger, because she is anonymous, could be the girl working in the cubicle right next door to me. Her very anonymity has given credence to the all-American myth of the girl next door. It’s not the fantasy of falling in love with a model or a movie star, because most of us don’t work next to people like that. It’s the fantasy of falling in love with a woman you admire but are too afraid to tell. The fantasy of hoping against hope that this woman actually admires you too.”

“So you’re saying it could be anyone?”

“It could be anyone.”

It could be me
.

I ran up the stairs and logged on to my computer. Logged onto the blogging site. Brought up a new post. Stared at it, not quite knowing what to type. In the end, I settled for this.

“I’m okay.”

I was about to post it when I thought about all those people who had called the blogging company. All those people who had tried to save my life. And I decided they deserved something more. Something as close to the truth as I could tell them.

THE CUBICLE NEXT DOOR BLOG

I’m okay

I’m okay. I was just overcome—overwhelmed—with information about John Smith I never expected or anticipated. And it uncovered information about me I hadn’t known before…almost wish I didn’t know now.

I’m not used to feeling. I didn’t think I had any right to feel. I would almost rather have a root canal than feel this way. But it doesn’t matter what I tell my head. I can’t control the things I dream in my sleep. Is it even possible that you dream of me too?

Posted on January 20 in
The Cubicle Next Door | Permalink

Comments

You really scared me. Actually root canals don’t have to be painful. They only fail about five percent of the time.

Posted by:
NozAll | January 20 at 06:23 PM

You’re missing the point. She’s saying that the things she’s thinking are excruciating. That she’d rather inflict bodily pain on herself than subject herself to emotional pain. TCND, I’m just glad you’re okay.

Posted by:
philosophie | January 20 at 06:25 PM

I had to redo every project I did over the last few days. I wasn’t concentrating. Anyway, I can never remember my dreams.

Posted by:
justluvmyjob | January 20 at 06:26 PM

There are a lot of people here who care about you. Hope you have the same support in your real life. Maybe he is dreaming of you. You should ask him. But if he starts telling you he’s having that dream where he walks into a bunch of talking spiders and gets caught in their web and then they bite him and he takes a pair of scissors and cuts all their legs off…run away. Fast!

Posted by:
theshrink | January 20 at 06:30 PM

You’re a survivor too. It takes one to know one. (Hey, shrink—I have that dream all the time!)

Posted by:
survivor | January 20 at 06:37 PM

Thirty-One

H
mm.”

For Joe to talk to himself while he worked was not unusual, but there was something in the way he said “Hmm” that sounded dire. I waited for nearly five minutes before I asked. “Care to share?”

“Kumbaya and that sort of thing?” He began humming “It only takes a spark…”

I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to the keyboard.

“New e-mail. The department’s looking for someone to deploy.”

My hands froze. “When?”

“Next month.”

“Where?”

“Iraq. Think they’ll send me?”

“Why?”

“Jimmy’s getting married next month. Pete’s wife is having a baby.”

“What’s getting married and having babies got to do with deployment?”

“I’m single.”

“You know, you ought to talk to them about marital status discrimination. It’s not fair to make you go just because you’re unattached! There’s got to be something in the…” In the what? Employment contract? Labor laws? Joe was military. They could make him do whatever they wanted. “There’s got to be something. You just got here.”

“In June. Technically, they can deploy me anywhere they want, whenever they want.”

“But everyone else has been here longer. One of them should have to go.”

“Yep. That’s what I’ll say to Colonel Webster. It’s not fair, sir. I haven’t been here long enough yet.”