Straightenings

Straightenings

The door was open but the light was already off in the office, and the blinds were drawn. The late August sun, powerful still in its old age, probed with dull yellow fingers at the slats and sides of the blinds. Eric sat with his shoulders forward and down, hands in his lap, his nose almost touching his desk. He looked to be at prayer, but his heart was fractured and inward-aimed. He had no words to offer to anyone or anything who had allowed this.

Moments stretched out without Eric’s caring if they would ever add up to another hour, moments punctuated by occasional sounds from the hallway, the passing noises of commerce. Most of his coworkers were readying to go home, the day’s business and busyness mostly concluded at this hour. As they passed his door, the other workers glanced in to see if he was looking up, to see if a nod or a “good-night” might be offered, but when they saw his posture and the dark nimbus around him, they passed on without speaking. This, then, was what grief looked like.

Dave had endured the silence of the day, this first day of Eric’s return to work, but now at day’s end, he was unwilling to leave the bank without speaking to his colleague. He moved down the hall in long, agile strides, phone and blazer in one hand, and stepped into Eric’s doorway. Eric had barely moved since Dave had passed the door more than two hours ago. He paused for a beat to see if Eric would sense his presence and look up, but the beat stretched into a minute.

“Hey.”

Eric jumped just a bit, his hands coming up and striking the underside of the desk. He looked up at Dave, his face as blank as a new tombstone. After a few seconds, his eyes found focus and he jerked his head in a slight greeting. “Hey, yourself.”

Dave leaned against the door frame and managed a smile. “Need anything? I’m about to head out, thought I’d see if you need anything. Wanna go get a bite?”

For a moment, he thought Eric hadn’t heard him, or that he didn’t intend to answer. Then the man in the chair shook his head, then shook himself as if chilled. He shook his head. “No. But thanks. Really.”

“Okay, then. You sure? Or hey, we could hit that new driving range out on the parkway. Yeah! Weather’s perfect, man. Let’s go hit a bucket of balls. Beer’s on me. What do – “ He broke off when he realized that Eric was staring hard at the wall just to Dave’s side. He peered around at the wall and then understood. A picture of Lynn in a delicate white frame hung there. He looked again at Eric, who rose from his desk with a movement so fast it was almost a blur. He walked towards the door, eyes fixed on the photo. Dave stepped into the office and to one side to give him some room.

“It…it’s crooked,” Eric said, his voice just above a whisper. He reached up with both hands, shaking as if palsied, and straightened the frame, then stroked it with his fingers.

Dave watched his face. “That was in Scotland, right?” he asked.

“New…New Zealand,” Eric said, his voice catching. “When we took the Hobbit tour.”

Dave started to respond, but voices in the hallway interrupted him. Loud voices, profane and boisterous, cutting through the dustless conditioned air. A knot of black workers sauntered through the hallway, the evening cleaning crew. They couldn’t see Dave where he had moved, but they looked in at Eric. Most of their facial expressions were blank, but one, a massive creature with a red do-rag on his head, smirked at Eric, his eyes hot and hostile. Then they walked on. And the chatter resumed. Louder.

Eric hadn’t moved. His hands were still touching the photograph, and his face was still turned towards the door. Dave watched him for a moment and started to speak, but then the voices poured through the open door, full of something that swarmed like things with stingers.

“Dat de one who bitch died? He back at work already? Maaaaan, lissin here. I be takin’ all kinds of muhfuhn time if my bitch died. Ain’t cos I care, but cos, gyat damn, man, time off, nomesayn?”

Dave felt as if ice water had been poured down his back. He watched Eric closely, wondering what his friend was thinking. Another voice joined in from the hallway.

“Got dat right. Specially if she look like dat ones bitch. You muhfuhs ever see her? She be fresh, ain’t no lie –“

“Ain’t no lie!” chimed in one of them.

“Aw, man, you know how them rich white bitches look. Movin’ like they got somethin’ jammed up they ass –”

“Argh ahh hahahahahahaaaa….!”

“ – an’ yeah, she need somethin‘ jammed up her ass, aight? You know I’m proclaimin’ now – “

One of the other black men said something in a softer voice, and the voice of the first one who had spoken rose again with anger in it. “Aw, fuck dat shit, man. Muhfuh ain’t got de heart to say shit to me! Ain’t gonna say shit, ain’t gon’ do shit, ain’t gon’ do a motherfuckin’ thang ‘cept cry like a white bitch. White bitch cryin’ ovah his dead white bitch – “

“Man, dass col‘!”

“Argh ahh hahahahahahaaaaaaa…..!”

“You got dat shit right! Hey, man we – “

The voices dropped in volume as the cleaning crew stepped into a stairwell. A heavy door banged shut behind them, and their hooting and clamor subsided as they went down to the basement. Dave stared at Eric, trying to read him. Not a single muscle fiber in Eric’s body had twitched. Dave realized that he had been gripping his coat and his phone so hard that his hand was cramping. He gestured to the desk. “Hey, come sit down. Eric. Eric?”

Eric looked at him, looked through him, then looked back at the photograph. His hands came down with surreal slowness, finally hanging at his sides as if empty of bone. He turned and moved to the desk, sat at the chair. Dave moved back to the door and looked up and down the hallway, then turned back. “You okay, man?”

Eric was looking at the surface of the desk. Then he looked up, over at the wall. Dave knew he was looking again at Lynn’s photo, the photo of a young woman wearing a white blouse and jeans and her blonde hair poked through the back of a baseball cap. She was smiling at the camera, a face-splitting smile to her husband, who had taken the picture on a happy, windy day. Eric’s face was pale and still, a waxwork model of its owner. Dave noticed a sheen of sweat on his friend’s face. He cleared his throat. “Hey. Hey, look. Pay no attention to those assholes. You know how some people are. Nothing we can do about it. Let’s go hit some balls. Or at least get a beer. We – “

“Nothing we can do about it. Nothing we can do about it.” Eric’s voice was just a bit louder now, just a bit harder. His gaze swung from the photograph over to Dave. “Nothing we can do about it. Well, that’s true, isn’t it?”

Dave was a product of his age, and some dismal little drawer opened in the cabinet inside him and the information in that cabinet told him that he should at least suggest revenge, something that someone in a movie might do. But he couldn’t speak, and Eric spoke again, his voice stabbing through the gloom of the unlit office.

“Nothing we can do about it. I can’t fight them. You can’t fight them. They’d gang up on us. Even one on one, who’s going to fight that gorilla with the red scarf on his head? He’d kill both of us. Unless we used a gun. You got a gun, Dave? Me neither. So what do I do? Hire a hit man? Kill them because they said something? Complain to HR? Get them fired from the cleaning crew? They’d say…they’d say it was racial. You know they would. So then I’d be the one in trouble.”

“What do you want me to do about it, Eric?”

“Do? Do? You don’t have to do a thing, Dave. I didn’t ask you to do a fucking thing. I want you to leave me alone. I get to go home now and think about these fucking animals who insulted the memory of my….of my….” His voice splintered.

Dave held up his free hand. “Hey, man, I know. I know. I hate that shit. I hate what they said. But I don’t know what – “

“You don’t have to do anything!” Eric’s scream startled the taller man so much that Dave dropped his phone and blazer. He bent to pick them up, and Eric spoke again, a bit softer. “Just leave me alone. I can’t do anything. I can’t do anything about any of it.”

Dave stared at him for a few minutes. Then he had a thought. “What…what if they come back, Eric? You’d better leave before they do come back up here. I don’t want you to get involved in anything with that bunch.”

Eric didn’t speak. He simply sat, staring at Dave, his face unreadable in the gradually darkening room. Dave felt the beginnings of irritation, as if he were being accused of something, as if he were being weighed, evaluated. He opened his mouth but then decided not to speak the words that had been forming. He shrugged. “Hey, call me later if you want to talk.” He backed out into the hallway, looking both ways again, then back at Eric.

The man at the desk leaned forward, reaching into his trouser pockets. Keys jingled. Dave could hear the sound of a drawer being unlocked. He saw Eric lean farther forward, resuming the position he’d been in when Dave first came to his office. Eric’s voice was soft but steady when he spoke.

“Talk. Yeah. Talk will help everything.”

Dave watched him for a moment, then turned and walked down the hall. Just before he reached the elevators, he heard Eric’s voice.

“Talk.”

~ copyright 2023 by S.K. Orr