The Cubicle Next Door (26 page)

I shrugged. “Just the normal.”

“Decorate a tree? Make eggnog? Go to church?”

“I’ll probably go to church. Now that I have one.”

“No tree?”

“You mean why don’t I chop one down and kill it for my own pleasure? Americans chop down twenty-five million trees a year just so we can haul them inside and enjoy them for four weeks at our leisure.” I hadn’t decorated a tree since third grade, when the thought of cutting one down became too cruel to contemplate. Grandmother had been happy to agree. Less fuss.

Joe was giving me a strange look. “There is such a thing as an artificial tree.”

“It’s not like Christmas tree equals Christmas. A third of Americans don’t even put up a tree. And think of people in Africa and South America. Where would they get a tree? Or ornaments? That doesn’t mean they can’t celebrate.”

“So how do you celebrate?”

“By taking the thought of Christmas and extending it out through the year.”

“And the thought of Christmas is?”

“John 3:16.”

“For God so loved the world that—”

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t finish.”

“You already said the most important part.”

“No…that would be ‘gave his only begotten Son.’”

“But he wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t ‘so loved the world’ first.”

Joe took his eyes from the road, turned his head, and looked at me.

“He loved the
world
. Not just the people in it, but the entire thing. The ground, the trees, the animals, the air…he created all of it. With the same care he created us. We’re so egotistical that we put ourselves and our own conveniences first, ahead of all the other thousands of things God made. And the ironic thing is he put us in charge of all this. We were supposed to protect it. And keep it. And all we’ve done is ruin it. There’s no way we’ll be able to get around
that
on Judgment Day.”

“Yeah, well, I think most people are more concerned about explaining why they lied to their mothers or cheated on their science tests. So the Bible according to Jackie is…?”

“God with us. Emmanuel. Jesus left the place where he was loved and everything he had and chose to spend the day with us in his perfect world that we had messed up. He saw beauty in things that were broken and people who were discarded. He redeemed us. And then he taught us how to reduce ourselves for others. Reuse the mess we had created to redeem each other. Recycle his words and share them with everybody.”

“I can’t decide whether you’re weird or just plain different.”

“I’m me.”

He laughed. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.” The SUV slowed as he downshifted and turned off onto the exit. “Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. Redeem. So what do you give for gifts?”

“I give trees.”

“But you just said—”

“Trees and geese, although with avian flu I might give something else this year…”

“Well, do me a favor and leave me off the geese list, okay?”

“There’s only Grandmother and me, and we have everything we need. So I give gifts to people who don’t have
anything
they need. Did you know an acre and a half of rain forest disappear every second? And when trees vanish, then erosion and pollution show up. Sixty dollars to Heifer International buys a bunch of trees. I used to buy flocks of geese…you know, six geese a-laying…”

“I never thought of you as the sentimental type.”

I scowled at him. “And FARMS International sponsors a pedal-powered van rickshaw project in Bangladesh.”

“That sounds right up your alley.”

“You asked, so I’m telling. It’s a micro-loan project. All the loans have to be repaid and then recipients have to tithe. Which in turn helps support a church, which can then start reaching out into the community.”

“So you give gifts to people you don’t even know.”

“I give gifts to people who need them.” And every year I made one big gift. Last year, it had been a Gift Ark through Heifer International. It had cost five thousand dollars.

“Then maybe you could give a little my way.”

“What do you really need that you don’t already have?”

Joe fluttered his eyelashes at me.

“If you really want to do something for someone, go in with me on a women’s development project.”

“Which is?”

“Training women in livestock development. Most of those who live in poverty are women. They produce the majority of the third world’s food, but they own less than one percent of the land. Does that sound fair?”

“So what are you doing? Agitating for revolution?”

“Soliciting for education.”

“How much is it?”

“Ten thousand.”

“Dollars?”

“Dollars.” And I was almost there.

“You just plan to give away ten thousand dollars?”

“What use do I have for it?”

“Okay. I decided. You’re weird. You must be the only person in the world who thinks that way.”

When we reached Manitou, I decided to make things easy on him. “You can just go straight to your house. I can walk home from there.”

“Not while I’m driving.”

“It’s only a couple blocks.”

“And I only asked you to a dance. So only I get to decide where I drop you off. And I’m dropping you off at your house.”

He did better than that. He parked the car and came around to my side to open the door. Took my hand and helped me out. Only he didn’t let it go. He walked right up to the front door with me.

Thankfully, Grandmother had left the porch light on. It made it easier to find the key under the corner of the doormat.

Joe retrieved it and unlocked the door himself. Pushed it open. “Thanks for coming with me. Technically, we shouldn’t have been there, but I had a great time.”

“What do you mean we shouldn’t have been there?”

“It was the
cadet
Christmas Ball.”

“Then what was Todd doing there?”

“He’s an AOC.”

An Air Officer Commanding. He was in charge of a squadron of a hundred cadets.

“We shouldn’t have been there?”

“It doesn’t matter. Who knew? And we had fun.”

The whole evening I’d felt out of place. As if I hadn’t belonged. And I’d just discovered how true that was. I hadn’t.

“Well…” Joe leaned forward, his arms out.

I walked into them.

He gave me a hug and then he patted me on the back. “Thanks.”

I smiled at him, walked inside, and shut the door.

But on the way upstairs, I felt like crying. And I didn’t know why.

I found myself standing in front of Grandmother’s room, so I pushed her door open. “When you’re at a buffet and there are things to be picked up with toothpicks, do you use the same one for everything?”

She closed her book and took her glasses off. “You use a different one for each thing.”

“What about dip? If there’s a spoon, do you put dip on the vegetables or on your plate first?”

“Your plate.”

“And cheese spread…?”

“Goes on the plate first.”

“And when you go into the bathroom and girls are standing there smiling at themselves in the mirror?”

“They’re checking to see if there’s something stuck between their teeth.”

“You knew? All those things? How come you never taught me?”

“I—”

“The world is full of rules and I don’t know any of them. None of them. Not one. And Joe knows them all.”

THE CUBICLE NEXT DOOR BLOG

Why?

What did I ever do to you?

Why do you think you can just crash into my world and drag me out into yours? Why do you think I’d even want to go? Who do you think you are? Why can’t you just leave me alone? Why do I even care?

Posted on December 9 in
The Cubicle Next Door | Permalink

Comments

Are you just being rhetorical? Because I don’t know.

Posted by:
NozAll | December 9 at 11:58 PM

You care because he’s there.

Posted by:
philosophie | December 10 at 06:19 AM

What did he do? What happened? I don’t get it.

Posted by:
survivor | December 10 at 08:37 AM

It could be anything. Maybe you make him laugh. Maybe you help him see the world in a different way. Maybe it’s because you’re pretty. Maybe he admires you because you’re fearless. Maybe there’s just something about you that sets his heart on fire.

Posted by:
theshrink | December 10 at 2:30 PM

I still think it’s because he wants something from you.

Posted by:
justluvmyjob | December 10 at 3:12 PM

Twenty-Six

M
ost of the people who commented on the blog I’d posted on the ninth wanted to know what the big deal was. And I couldn’t tell them. Because I didn’t know.

But I did feel foolish. As though I had enjoyed something I had no right to. The ball. The dances. Joe.

I’d finally stumped NozAll. That had been worth it. And theshrink’s comment had made me laugh.

Fearless? Obviously he didn’t know me at all.

The whole ball experience had made me self-conscious. Self-aware in the worst sort of paranoid way.

Joe must have sensed my mood because he didn’t say much when we walked to church the next morning. And there was lots he could have said. Like, “My, your hair looks…different.” It would probably look different for the rest of my life. No thanks to Adele. Whatever she’d done when she was trying to scalp me had created a hundred tiny knots on the top of my head and a permanent pouf. And when I’d tried to wash all the makeup off my face earlier in the morning, the soap had left my eyes red-rimmed and dry. I sat on my hands during the service so I wouldn’t scratch my eyes out or tear my hair up by the roots.

We lingered for coffee after, chatting with some of the members…parishioners?…the nice people who filled up the pews.

On the way up the hill toward home, Joe asked me a question I had to stop and think about. “Want to go to the Christmas party with me?”

I did. And I didn’t. “Are you asking me on a date?” Another one?

“I’m asking you on a carpool. There’s not much point in driving separately. Especially out to Larkspur.”

That was true. Larkspur was in the hills between Colorado Springs and Castle Rock, but it felt as though it was in the middle of nowhere. Especially in the winter. At night.

“Oh. Then sure. But I’m driving.” And I’m not wearing makeup or letting anyone touch my hair ever again.

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“I think it’s better for the environment. I’ll pick you up at five thirty.” I’d signed up to bring an appetizer, so theoretically I needed to be on the early side of late.

“And…can I ask you a favor?”

“Just as long as it doesn’t involve a felony, like going to a ball you’re not invited to.”

“Nope. Just driving me to the airport. In Denver.”

“When?”

“The next morning. Sunday.”

“Just as long as I’m—”

“You can drive.”

The next, Saturday evening we carpooled up to Larkspur. When we reached our destination, we weren’t so early that we were able to park in the driveway. We settled for a precarious spot on the winding road that led up to the house. Joe carried a six-pack of beer in one hand and a duffel bag in the other. But they still didn’t stop him from somehow managing to open the front door for me.

I plowed my way through the crowd. A couple people saw the cheese mold I was carrying and followed along behind me. When I arrived at the kitchen, the countertops, island, and table were already overflowing with food. I did a little tidying up, mixed baskets of various shaped pretzels, and emptied several plates by placing stuffed mushrooms, mini quiches, and wedges of summer sausage on the same platter. I collected used cups and threw them away against my better judgment. By the time I was finished, there was plenty of room for my small platter, but half the mold had already been eaten. I confiscated the box of crackers from someone and arranged what was left of them around the cheese.

In the process I spied a familiar toxic mix of homemade punch disguised in a gallon-sized milk container sporting a hand-drawn skull and cross bones. Stayed well enough away.

I grabbed a bottle of water, filched a few mushrooms, and went out into the living room. I sat down on the fireplace hearth and waited for the festivities to begin.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Fifteen minutes of polite conversation later, Joe came stomping down the stairs. But it wasn’t the Joe I’d come with. This Joe was a malign elf chomping on a cigar. Dressed in a green turtleneck and tights with a red tunic over the top. An elfin hat. Long pointed ears and curly-toed shoes completed the picture. He had slung a garbage bag over his shoulder.

Someone dragged a chair into the living room for him. He sat down and began calling names. Ms. West Point was first.

She tried to just stand there quietly beside him, but he yanked her down on his knee.

“That West Point’s tough. I heard a story once about a cadet who was having a hard time staying awake. The instructor told him to stand up along the wall. So he did. He stood in front of a window, figuring the fresh air would help him stay awake. But he fell asleep anyway. And he fell right out the window. Woke up when he hit the ground. Got up, ran back to class. And you know what the instructor did? Gave him a Form 10 for leaving without permission.”

Everyone roared.

Ms. West Point just smiled.

Joe Elf handed her a brand new package of Form 10s, wrapped in a cheery red bow.

He went through about half the department.

And then he called my name.

I got up. Went over. Wasn’t about to sit on his lap.

But he smiled around the cigar at me and winked. And when he put a hand to my waist, I suddenly felt myself perched on his knee.

“A little bird told me you’re very belligerent…er…
diligent
about your job. That you treat computers like treasured children and coworkers like common criminals. So here’s a little something to help you keep the ruffians in line.”