“She’s got my cat and she won’t give him back,” Esther complained to her co-worker.
“Why can’t you just go over to her apartment and take the cat back?” Peter was weary of Esther’s complaints about this neighbor of hers. Last week it had been a stolen unicycle. Esther did not ride the unicycle anymore; it had been sitting on the shared balcony for months.
“I did. She wouldn’t let me in.”
“Then how do you know he’s there?”
“He came to the door and meowed!” Esther cried.
“Report her to the police,” Peter said, hoping this would be the last remark required. He had work to do.
“It’s not like that,” Esther said. “I told you before, Peter. Melody and I used to be friends. She’s jealous of me. It’s either Bungee or the unicycle, she said.”
Peter laughed. “You don’t need that unicycle! Let her keep it! Esther, I’ve got to get back to proofreading here. We have a deadline, or have you forgotten?”
“But what about MY needs?!” Esther said, thinking she was joking, but the plea was too real to be funny, at least to Peter.
“This is a workplace, my friend,” Peter said. “Go work.”
Esther frowned and turned away. Her own cubicle was on the other side of the huge room, some twists and turns through a forest of padded portable walls. Her eyes burned. She had no other confidants at work.
There was a floor-to-ceiling window on one end of the room. Esther made her way to it and stared. Mulch, boxwoods, petunias and pansies: seen from above they made a messy but colorful patchwork on two sides of the parking lot. She’d wanted to perform on her unicycle there with everyone watching. It would have been a spontaneous show, a demonstration that she was so much more than an office worker. First one person would have noticed; then gradually the entire roomful of employees would have been drawn to the window as she executed impossible tricks on the tiny wheel.
The death of that dream was a high price to pay for a cat.
— Macoff
“Why can’t you just go over to her apartment and take the cat back?” Peter was weary of Esther’s complaints about this neighbor of hers. Last week it had been a stolen unicycle. Esther did not ride the unicycle anymore; it had been sitting on the shared balcony for months.
“I did. She wouldn’t let me in.”
“Then how do you know he’s there?”
“He came to the door and meowed!” Esther cried.
“Report her to the police,” Peter said, hoping this would be the last remark required. He had work to do.
“It’s not like that,” Esther said. “I told you before, Peter. Melody and I used to be friends. She’s jealous of me. It’s either Bungee or the unicycle, she said.”
Peter laughed. “You don’t need that unicycle! Let her keep it! Esther, I’ve got to get back to proofreading here. We have a deadline, or have you forgotten?”
“But what about MY needs?!” Esther said, thinking she was joking, but the plea was too real to be funny, at least to Peter.
“This is a workplace, my friend,” Peter said. “Go work.”
Esther frowned and turned away. Her own cubicle was on the other side of the huge room, some twists and turns through a forest of padded portable walls. Her eyes burned. She had no other confidants at work.
There was a floor-to-ceiling window on one end of the room. Esther made her way to it and stared. Mulch, boxwoods, petunias and pansies: seen from above they made a messy but colorful patchwork on two sides of the parking lot. She’d wanted to perform on her unicycle there with everyone watching. It would have been a spontaneous show, a demonstration that she was so much more than an office worker. First one person would have noticed; then gradually the entire roomful of employees would have been drawn to the window as she executed impossible tricks on the tiny wheel.
The death of that dream was a high price to pay for a cat.
— Macoff
Long live the unicyclic dream!
ReplyDeleteBut, she said she didn't ride the unicycle. And isn't it worth a cat?
ReplyDeletelkai
DeleteThe dialogue works. You want to keep reading to the end. Poor Esther.
ReplyDelete