Wide Awake in a Field of Deadbolts

Slight whiff of toner, or is it White-Out? Brief heat of manuscript lifted from the printer, against my face. What is it about the new hire that has everybody talking? Her newness, perhaps, her éclat cutting through each of us, like a sword through wet bamboo; it’s a graceful violation. And then the water breaks, and then a darkening sky rolls over the lake, and then a meeting is called to introduce her, to make her understand, to allow her to share in our delights! Here is the coffee machine, there are the filters. You may store your lunch in the communal refrigerator, but please remember to empty yourself, all of you. Feel free to decorate your cubicle with pictures, tack up a view of the lake behind you to remind you of the lake behind you. Don’t listen to those of us who are certain of the small death each photo you tack up represents. Familiarity breeds intent, intent signals purpose, purpose is a proposition you make to those who observe, quantify and assess you; and use as many legal pads as you like. And the retractable pencils, they’re all yours. Marigolds. Sunflowers. Black-Eyed Susans. Just keep it yellow. Paper cuts will happen. Band-Aids are in the top left drawer in the kitchen, next to the cake-cutting knife we pull out for anniversaries, birthdays, retirements, record days, or the first time you see all of us converge on the conference room, leaving you alone in your cube.