White Noise

Dust

“You’re lying!”

That’s what I should say. But, I didn’t. I sat there picking the skin off of my lip. Twiddled my thumbs for the five minutes Mrs. Harris explained as to why I am being fired.

“I am sorry Ms. Reeves, this cannot continue. I do wish you well in your future projects.” The words hit like ice.

I look at her with pleading eyes. She was beautiful. How could her husband ever cheat— with me? Mrs. Harris stands abruptly, the chair squeaking. She leaves the room cold and distant.

My cheeks burn... I want to explain myself but I doubt she’d believe me.

For a moment, I thought about calling her back into the room. Explaining myself. Begging for her to let me keep this job. I cannot bring myself to failure, again.

I pull the things they’ve gathered from my desk into my lap, scanning each item I’ve received. My keyboard. Pictures of my family. Books. A single flower from Mr. Harris.

I did not keep that.

So, it must be new and probably the reason for this problem.

His smile is something I tried to forget. It’s hard. He was everywhere. Too excited to be in an office full of women.

Mr. Harris thinks he’s younger than he actually is. He has all white hair and wrinkles everywhere, but the charisma was there, sadly.

“And what’s your name, sweetheart?” His first words to me were a year ago.

I responded, shyly, “Elia.”

He giggled, “Elia?” He took a step closer to me. Breath warm. “Elia, what?”

“Elia Reeves, sir.” I choked a little. Nobody spoke to me in the office. We all went different ways. Sometimes I’d get a coffee from Mrs. Harris’ assistant, you’d think we’d all be having a blast with just us women.

“Are you sure that’s your name?” His laugh was unsettling from the moment I heard it across the room.

It always had disgusted me. From then, he couldn’t wait to torment me in the office. The days he came I wanted to leave extra early, I even asked Mrs. Harris to change my lunch hours. I do admit it was making me look guilty.

I just wanted away.

I got what I wanted.

The small box sits in my lap. Has failure always been this small? It doesn’t feel this way.

Outside, the sky is too bright. I squint as I look for my car.

I don’t even remember unlocking the car. Traffic. Gripping the wheel too tight. Heart beating faster than I’ve ever felt before. Can’t wait to explain this to my mother.

I park in front of the rundown building. Some bricks were falling off, the paint job in the lobby was peeling. The elevator wobbled up and down between floors.

Inside smelled like dust and soap. I hear my footsteps a few times. The echo confirmed I was alone again.

3b.

I jam the keys into the door knob, the door groans as I push it open. It obviously hasn’t been touched in a while.

It’s too quiet for me.

I head towards the kitchen with the box glued to my hand. I hate looking at it. I stuff it into a cabinet, away from me.

My shoes slipped off. The floor was cold. The place is nothing.

White walls. One couch. A window without curtains.

I sat on the dusty couch, thinking of every interaction I’ve ever had with Mr. Harris in front of Ms. Harris.

And then—

Music?

It played as I walked through the halls earlier.

But it’s playing again.

The same one. Over and over again.