Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Heavy Starch

He should have said something by now. I can’t believe he didn’t notice. His neck was getting red the last time he walked by my desk. I know he knows, he didn’t ask me to make his tea this morning. He made it himself. That’s it, he thinks I love making his damn tea and he’s punishing me. I can’t concentrate on anything until I know what he’s going to say. He’s called everyone else in there this morning but me. That’s my punishment, I’m being banned from his inner circle. That’s the only thing he knows will get to me. If I’m not in the inner circle I might as well quit. I’d have no power. The others will find a new link to the top. He can’t ignore me forever. He needs me to prepare for that big meeting tomorrow. Is he asking her to do my work? She would jump at the chance to cut me off, steal my job. Then I would be the office flunky, everybody’s errand girl instead of just his. Its nearly noon and he hasn’t asked me to confirm his lunch meeting yet. He’s trying to show he doesn’t need me. He’s leaving for lunch without a word. Why did I do it? It was such a stupid prank and I’m the only one who could have done it. I was sick of taking his shirts to the laundry. I’m supposed to be his assistant not his wife. He would never ask her to do it, she might get her fingernails chipped. I know he’s allergic to starch. I thought he might think the laundry made a mistake, but heavy starch, maybe that was too obvious. Did he call the laundry? Did they tell him I requested it? I can’t believe I did such a petty, mean thing. Just a little revenge, that’s all I wanted. I thought he might yell at me and make me take them back, but the silence is worse. I’ve already imagined what he might say, but I never imagined he would not say anything. I thought we would talk about it, I would say I was sorry, promise to talk to him before acting out of anger. He walked by again and the rash is spreading up his neck. He hasn’t even loosened his collar. He’s got his briefcase. He’s putting on his coat. He can’t leave without telling me what he needs for that meeting. I’ve got to stop him, confess and beg forgiveness. It’s too late. He’s gone. Maybe tomorrow.  

1 comment:

  1. Very Good Stuff! I didn't know you wrote prose so well. Bravo