As the small crowd huddled around Amber, Mel could only hear
soothing whispers, the occasional gasp, and the wail, “Why is he always like
this?” Mel knew that “he” could be Amber’s boyfriend, father, or brother as
they’d all been the source of her misery at one time or another. Her boyfriend
for being passionate about his various causes but cold to her; her father for
being snide and dismissive about her boyfriend; and her brother for getting the
best version of their mother’s affection.
Mel didn’t want to know any of this information about her
colleague but given the small compressed space they’d been given for lunch and
breaks, it was impossible to avoid what Mel had secretly begun to call,
“Amber’s in-person facebook status updates”. Because of Amber’s need to
over-share, Mel was in the know about stubbed toes, cheating neighbours,
perfect crème brulee, lazy naps, sex mishaps, and recently formed ass dimples.
Amber with her permanently rosy cheeks, big innocent brown
eyes, and naturally pouty mouth got away with overcrowding the staff room with
her day to day tribulations. She was part woman, part toddler and her
co-workers wanted to protect her from the sharp edges of adult life. Except for
Mel who inwardly winced whenever hearing her vocal fry and squealing at
anything “adorbs”. Mel imagined holding a fist in front of Amber’s face 70s Dad
style and sputtering, “I’ll give you something to cry about”.
Though the moment Amber let out her usual “Lads, get this
one” Mel imagined jet-packing through the ceiling and into space in order to
escape the anecdote, Mel was mostly jealous. Not of the attention—she’d hate to
have the constant concerned eyes of the staff posse focused on her, the older
women tucking strands of hair behind her ear. No, that’d be much worse than
being a silent audience to a one-woman melodrama. She wished she could just do
the simple act of sharing, whether it be a rant, observation, or as she wished
most of all, relief of breaking open to let out whatever was simmering just
below the surface. She feared that all that lie supressed would slither and
wind its way around the cells of her body, suffocating and mutating them into
incurable blocks, which would kill her days after being discovered. At least
that’s what the women’s magazines and self-help books said would happen if she
didn’t open up more to the world.
So, on New Year’s Day Mel decided as her only resolution to “share
my mind and open my soul to others.”
She figured that talking about Christmas would be an easy
opener for the first day back to work. But her recounting of how her creepy
Uncle Peter grabbed her ass as she put away the leftovers of the big family
dinner and said, “That’s some fine ham right here” didn’t have the jovial ring
she was going for, mostly because she forgot to explain that he was the husband
of her mother’s sister and not a blood relative. The staff just stared at her
awkwardly which made her laugh and turn red. When she added that the only
presents she received were five pairs of socks, they nodded as if this made
perfect sense.
In the following days, she chewed on and spit out at least one
random thing that had been in her thoughts. “I had my recurring dream last
night that I had a baby and kept forgetting to feed it or change it for days.
The tiny thing was scrawny as hell but didn’t even cry. At least last night I
didn’t dream I was drunk, like I usually do.” She could see some of the women
give each other the almost imperceptible sideways glance before saying
benignly, “Probably your subconscious trying to soothe itself for you not
having any.” She hadn’t thought of this and wished she could stuff that share
that felt like a big balloon back down her throat.
She tried the trick of grousing, which she noticed was a sure
way to get out pent up rage. After one colleague lamented that he could have
slept for five more hours, she said, “Today when I woke up, I fantasized for
about five minutes stabbing a fork into my forehead just above my nose. I often
have this fantasy.” They laughed nervously and one made the joke, “We better hide
the cutlery!” before all suddenly found something fascinating on their mobiles.
Health was another common worry maker so she shared that she
had a constellation of moles getting all funky looking on her back. This
resulted in a round of “ewwws”; “TMIs” and “you oughta tell a professional
about that” but none looked in her eye or rubbed her shoulder as they said it.
In fact, they seemed to back away. Which made her try harder, “Lads, I feel
numb every day. I feel like I’m wading in wet cement just to get through life.
I feel like I’m losing myself.” They stared at her in a silence for so long, that
for the one and only time, the sound of the refrigerator humming could be heard
during a work day. “Mel, you really oughta see a professional. That’s all
outside our wheelhouse.” They backed away even more, so she said brightly and
with a laugh, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She ate her apple in silence.
After that day, she stopped sharing anecdotes about sitting
on benches for hours to watch the pigeons. She kept to herself the joy and fear
of being followed by a fox on a morning run. And she didn’t tell anyone she
successfully made a pavlova.
Because she no longer had the floor and avoided the floor at
all costs, she started to notice that Amber had become quiet in the New Year.
When one day a colleague asked her if everything was ok, she nervously looked
over at Mel and replied, “Nobody wants to hear about my silly life.”
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