Monday, May 10, 2010

assorted excerpts

Priests don’t want to pray, they want to fuck.” It sounds like someone famous said that but that’s not the case.

I’m not a priest, yes, but I like things, yes.

My second job keeps me in a cubicle and in that cubicle it was 11pm. The lights above turned off and I heard movement. I spoke loudly, making sure not to yell, "I'm still here "

I look down the aisle of cubicles to a girl with dark hair behind her janitor push cart.

"Ok, can I come clean?"

"Of course"

She moved her way down as I came back to my seat. I didn't stare but then she came in my cubicle for trash and asked if I had any dishes I wanted her to clean.
I told her "If I did, I wouldn't make you clean them anyways."

She was really pretty. Naively pretty. I estimated that she was a bit younger than me.

I went back to working on nothing. I heard her leave with her cart and move to another office hallway. I went to the kitchen to refill my water bottle purposefully so I could see her. I was curious.

As I walked out of my office door into the main hallway she walked past. I was in my socks as I usually do late at night here. Nothing is said but I continue walking. I walk back from the kitchen towards my office after filling my bottle and ask her, "What time do you get off work?"

"3 or 4a.m."

"How old are you?"

"16", she said.

"Doesn't seem too legal…"

"No, it's ok. I'm homeschooled. I'm Elizabeth's granddaughter." She pointed down my hallway where Elizabeth, whom I knew as lady who thought I looked like her grandson so much she took a picture of me , worked in her cubicle space. After a quick second, I realized and told my 16 year old janitorial friend that, in fact, her grandma thought I looked like her brother.

She agreed. "Yeah, you have the same eyes."

I did this thing where I walked away suddenly. Half attempted charm, half amazement at a situation. I turned around and asked, "What's your name?"

"Hessa."

"Alright, Hessa. Pleasure to meet you."

I had hoped God was real that night because something had struck me; I was going to die some day. Then I decided that I didn’t want God to be real. I told a lot of people he was every day but it’s like reading the family Christmas book to the kids before bed – Santa’s not real but it makes a normal day better.

I only realize things when I’m not in my black suit and plastic neck strap. That’s why I realized to go back to the office that night and talk to Hessa again. Plus, I couldn’t remember if her name was Hessa or Bessa.