The Christmas Gift

Source: (Picture of a gift in Christmas paper)

“Ugh! This deadline is looming and I don’t have anything yet!” Sara looked up from her computer long enough to roll her eyes but otherwise ignored me. Fuck her anyway. She never gets her shit done on time. Last month she kept me waiting on her stats until five minutes before the sales meeting. Edward nearly lost his shit when I didn’t have an action plan ready for her failing accounts. One more write up and I can fire her ass. I can’t wait to have one less perky sales bitch fucking up my day.

Unfortunately, I’ll have to cover her accounts and I specifically reassigned Dr. Bunt to her after the Christmas Party Incident. I’m pretty sure he roofied me but I can’t prove it. The problem with being roofied is the drink math is hard to do until it’s out of your system and too late to prove anything.

Maybe he’ll at least check out my kids tonsils. The health care plan here is shit. I work 60 hours a week for barely enough to keep us housed much less pay a $5000 yearly deductible. Thank God I don’t get sick much… except for my Christmas gift from Dr. Bunt. That might turn into a problem at some point, but for now I can steal some samples and keep it under control. I fucking hate that guy! I need to fill Sarah’s spot quickly. I wonder if I can direct recruit and speed things up a bit. I’m going to make a list of potentials this afternoon.

“JoElla!”

“Huh?” I look up from my revelry.

“C’mon. Edward is waiting for us in the meeting room. Scott has some sort of announcement.”

I enter the conference room through a thick curtain of dread. Scott is the big boss and rumor has it something bad is coming. Also, I’ve never liked the way he looked at me. Maybe I won’t have to worry about Dr. Bunt anymore… I wish that was a comforting thought.

Or not. Scott looks me up and down creepily, as I cross the threshold, “JoElla, I need to see you after the meeting.” I swallow hard and mentally prepare for the worst. I would almost rather be fired if I didn’t have two kids to feed.

At least I can share my Christmas gift.

An Open Letter to my Crappy Boss

Source (picture of a stop sign set against a cloudy sky)

Dear Barbara,
I’m struggling to understand
What possesses you
To behave so spitefully
In nearly all of our interactions.
Was there something specific
I did to upset you?
Or are you driven by
Some internal greed
For the kind of power
Given only to
Middle managers?
I’m asking because
I’m losing the ability
To give a Fuck
About your feelings
Or even pretend to…
As you might have noticed
After that one time
You know the one…
The time I said
“Fuck you.”
Right to your face
But, of course,
It wasn’t deserved
Or in any way earned
By your actions
When you forced me
To work…
With pneumonia…
So I didn’t lose my job
I mean,
I’m not without
Regrets
However…
Telling you off
Will unlikely
Ever be among them
On the other hand…
I do strive to be
A kinder person
One who lives without…
Hatred
One who has…
Compassion
And as much
As I wish
Truly, truly wish
(Oh, how much I wish)
To be rid of you
I also want to understand
How much suffering it takes
To harm for no reason
With nearly every action
(Seriously, is there anyone
You actually like?)
Because it must take
A deep self hatred
To need to grasp
So tightly
To even the tiniest
The smallest
The most minuscule
Morsel of power
I mean…
You don’t seem to know this but
Your job…
Is not all that.

Originally published on Medium:
https://medium.com/lit-up
https://medium.com/@NatolieWebb

Toxic

Source:(picture of open scissors in someone’s hand)

He wished his third wife were here. She was younger and prettier and made other men’s eyes follow him, with envy. But she was away on one of her weekends and he was stuck staring at his first wife’s ugly, wrinkled face.

“How could you let this happen to her?” he spat angrily over his daughter’s broken body on the hospital bed between them. “How could you let her marry him?” He turned and stomped towards the door.

He didn’t notice the scissors until they were stabbed through his trachea.
“How could you let this happen?” his first wife asked.

Dying

Source: (picture of a person getting their blood drawn)

    

He would die. His disease would progress and he would die and they both knew it. It was heartbreaking, she thought, to find love when it was already too late make a life together.  

“I know it’s incredibly unfair to you,” he said, “but I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m in love with you. I’m not even sure if I should have told you. I’m so sorry.”

Her throat caught and tears escaped to her cheeks while her hands clutched the forgotten tubes of blood, she had drawn moments before. He was so young and so sick. This was not how she had expected to find love.

“I’m sorry.” he repeated, lamely. He wished he hadn’t spoken up so awkwardly. Maybe it hadn’t been the right thing to do. “Forget I said that. Go ahead and label my blood and we’ll pretend it never happened…”

“Please?” he asked in response to her silence.

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want to forget it. I feel something too. It’s just… I wish it was different…”

“You mean you wish I wasn’t dying? Yeah. Me too.”

Her tears came faster.

“I’m so sorry. It wasn’t fair to put that on you. I convinced myself that it would be better for you if you knew but…” He swallowed and dropped his head. He wanted to wipe her tears away but he didn’t know if she would want him to. The silence settled like a weight on his broken body. He had to explain. He had to make this right somehow. “It was selfish. I wanted to feel this. I wanted to love you before I died but it’s not fair. I should have kept it friendly.”

“No. No you shouldn’t have. You were right. I would’ve wondered. I’m glad I know.”

“I’m not asking you to act on it. I hope you know that. I really have just enjoyed talking to you, being your friend. I mean I know it’s been professional on your part but I feel like we’re friends. I don’t really hang out with a lot of people these days. It’s so awkward with my old friends. They don’t know how to handle this but with you… it’s been really nice. Talking to you makes me feel normal somehow. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

She took a shaky breath. “It does mean something. I don’t exactly know what but I like being around you too. I look forward to seeing you every week. In fact… ” she stammered nervously but reminded herself how short his time was and gathered her courage, “In fact, I feel my heart leap a little when you walk through the door.” She said it fast. It felt like pulling a band aid off her heart. It was the best she could do in that moment.

“What now then?” He asked.

Jazz

Source (Two musicians from behind with lights in front. One plays trombone, one guitar)

Rain lashes the car windows as we drive through the city, matching my mood. I’m tired and my body hurts. I really don’t want to be out tonight.

“You got this, Babe? Maybe I should bring you home real quick.” My husband knows I’m hurting. I can’t hide my constant yawning or the circles under my eyes.

“I’m ok. I got this.” I’m lying and we both know it. I wouldn’t bother but his buddy from his army days is in town and we promised him and his wife a great time. I tell myself I’ll get through the evening.


Several minutes later we meet up with Joe and Mary at the venue. Joe is already revved up and ready to go. “Hey, you guys ready? We are going all the way out tonight!” He does a little dance and we laugh. Joe is a good time every day of the week but tonight I can tell he’s already been at the bottle and he’s gunning for an all nighter. The party never ends with this guy. I stifle a yawn and hope I’ll be able to hang.

The usher shows us to our seats as the band starts playing. And it is bad right off the bat. It begins with a funky guitar riff, then percussion, then the bass kicks in and soon the band is jamming and the whole crowd is moving, including me. By the time the sax lights up we are keeping time in smooth style. We rock rhythmically with the music and each other like we are one mind, heart and soul.


I forget myself, grinning nonstop and clapping with the crowd. The music takes me out of my aching body and into oneness with the experience. I lose track of time and before I know it we’re on our feet for the finale and I have forgotten how terrible I felt.

We step out onto the street, talking excitedly about the performance we just watched. “Alright! I am ready to get my dance on. Where’s the nearest club?” Joe asks.

My husband gives me a sideways look, part concern, part hope. I know he’s ready to get his groove on too. “What do you think? Are you up for a club?”

“Yeah, Baby, I’m all in.”

To the reader: I had the pleasure of checking out the Berks Jazz Fest in Reading, PA this past weekend. If you like Jazz music and have the ability to go I definitely recommend it.

https://berksjazzfest.com/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ectstr5zqu4&list=RDEctstr5zqu4&start_radio=1&t=421

Carolyn

Source (Graveyard at night):

“What would happen if I crossed the threshold?” he teased sliding his left foot closer to the mausoleum.

“Don’t,” I pleaded, “it’s not funny.” ignoring me, he pantomimed reaching for the door.

“The last time I saw him he disappeared through that door,” she said it quietly but my head snapped back in violent surprise at the voice.

Carolyn was the weirdo who stalked us on our nightly forays through the graveyard. She had never spoken to us before, I actually didn’t know she could speak. She was creepy, sure, but because we all knew her story, we shrugged off her strangeness.

Now, though, she put her face an inch from Eric’s and asked in a hair raising voice, “Do you want to go with him?”

“Fuck this freak,” Eric stepped back from the door, visibly unnerved. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

We left as quickly as three teenagers trying to maintain bravado could. I looked back only when we reached the gate. Carolyn hadn’t followed but I thought I saw her shadow near the mausoleum. Waiting…

“Kai, you coming or what?” Jordan stood by the gates waiting for my response.

“You said we were going to hang out in the park tonight. I told you, I don’t want to go back to the graveyard.”

“C’mon,” Eric put his arm around my shoulders where I angrily shrugged it off. “Stop it, Kai. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I? Because you were plenty ready to beat feet out of here last night.”

He reddened slightly but maintained his attitude, “Fuck the freak. We’re going in. Feel free to wait here by yourself.”

His look of smug satisfaction told me he knew his argument had landed. I wasn’t about to stand out there alone. He walked away without even waiting for my answer.

“Fuck you, Eric.” I swore as I followed him through the gate.

Eric, like a man with something to prove, made a determined beeline for the mausoleum. I kept a slower pace behind him but stayed ahead of Jordan. I didn’t want to hold up the rear.

As we approached, Eric’s steps faltered and stopped completely, still well away from the mausoleum.

“What’s the matter, Eric? Scared?” Jordan goaded him. Eric didn’t answer. He didn’t even look back. He only stared… straight ahead. I followed his gaze, straining into the shadows and saw immediately why he stopped.

The voice came, as if carried on the night breeze, almost inaudibly but with perfect intonation, “Fuck you, Eric.” An exact replica to my insult at the graveyard entrance, it chilled my blood.

“Fuck you, Eric.” it said again, louder, more clearly and the figure in the shadows began to emerge.

Carolyn.

I didn’t know where I was at first. I was under a bowl of brightly twinkling stars. My comprehension came in stages… The sky, I slowly realized… The graveyard! I sat up abruptly.

Carolyn stood a few feet away looking at the mausoleum. Horrifyingly, I heard the muffled screams of my friends from inside. What the fuck was happening?

“Carolyn…” I tried to sound cool but the blood whooshing in my ears made it difficult.

“Don’t worry about them. I sent them to get my brother.” She turned toward the mausoleum, staring wistfully at the door behind which I heard my friends panicking.

What was she talking about? Her brother died in a car accident. “Carolyn, let them out.”

“I will when they get my brother. Tell them. Tell them to get him.”

Ummm. Ok? What choice did I have? I stood shakily and walked to the door. “Guys?” they continued pounding, “Hey! Stop! Stop!!”

“Kai?” Eric’s voice, I could tell he’d been, crying. “Kai, that crazy bitch locked us in!”

“Yeah. It’s me. She padlocked the door. She’ll let you out when you get her brother for her.”

“Kai, what are talking about? Are you crazy?”

“Um, I’m not.” I let the implication hang in the air. “Just go get him and she’ll unlock the door.”

Silence, punctuated by intermittent sobs… Don’t be dense, my brain pleads.

“Ok…” Jordan finally called through the door.

“Ok?”

“Ok. We have him.”

Carolyn looks ecstatic, “Leo? Leo? Leo! I’m bringing you home!”

“Give me the key, Carolyn.” she didn’t move but remained placid when I grabbed the key from her hand.

“Ok, you guys. Be ready.” I unlocked the door and we ran and ran, leaving a screaming Carolyn behind, not stopping until we reached safety.

We made a pact that night to never tell a soul.

“Hey, Kai, did you hear?” Jordan approached me after third period. “They locked that crazy bitch up last night. She must have tried some of that shit with someone else.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Call her what a crazy bitch? She locked us in a mausoleum. I think it qualifies.”

“Yeah and Eric sobbed for his mommy and you wet yourself, so what?”

He flashed red, “Fuck you, Kai. What’s up your ass?”

“We did that to her. How do you not get that? Obviously, she wasn’t right. She followed us around like a zombie while we hung out in the cemetery. Like, what a sick fucking joke, right? Eric pretended like we were going to go in mausoleum and shit… Her dead brother is buried there. We fucked her up with our callousness. For real, how is this still ok for you?”

“Fuck you, Kai. She was crazy before we did any that. We didn’t fuck her up. Eric said you were on the rag today and to leave you alone. I should have fucking listened.”

He turned on his heel and stomped off. I watched him go without regret. I knew the friendship was over. They would become twosome I would move on to better things.

For the past three years I’ve brought flowers to Leo’s grave as an act of attrition. Today, as I approach, I see a new name on the mausoleum and my heart sinks because I already know what it will say.

Carolyn.

Ode to my Bullshit Coworker: I Wish He Were Toast

Source:

My friend tells me there’s mouse poop in the office toaster

It’s the one Bob and I bought together

While he still graced us with his daily presence

But I hated Bob

I hated his presence

I hated his ugliness from the inside out

And yet

I learned to imitate

My disgusted disdain

Reflecting his misogynist abuse

So it seems an appropriate punctuation

And I stop using the toaster

(Like I stopped using my kindness)

To protect myself from harm

Because it was safer

But maybe…

I’ll buy a new toaster

Because I like toast

(Unlike Bob)

It’s like bread only crunchy

A little plain on its own but spread anything on it at all….

And it magically transforms into a crave-satisfying treat

What could be more versatile?

And surprisingly wonderful?

I prefer toast over Bob any day of the week

If only Bob had known

He could have smothered himself with honey

To become more palatable

Kombucha

Source (large clawed footprint on pavement):
https://www.pexels.com/photo/ancient-animal-antique-architecture-207190/

“I see you like kombucha.”

“It is very good for you. Helps you lose weight.” My eyes rolled involuntarily. I’m not going to get all impressed because you notice I’m overweight. It’s not like no one has ever noticed before. I start to walk again but I feel a surprisingly strong grip on my wrist. I hate when I underestimate tiny people.

“Here,” I give him my last dollar, “now let go. It’s not cool to be touching strangers.” His grip remains steady and I realize I’m going to have to kick him in the face.

“I didn’t ask for your money.” He spits, grabbing my coat with his other hand.

“And I didn’t ask to be manhandled.” I pull back forcibly and manage to free both my coat and my hand from his grip. His high pitched laugh echoes in the alley shaking me from my usual city demeanor. I tell myself he’s a random weirdo but I run a block or two to be safe and cut into a bodega to make sure he isn’t following.

“Oh you want more kombucha?” The shop owner eyes me eagerly. “I have more in the back. Something new. Come see, come see.” I stare at him blankly. What is with everyone today? Am I the only person in all of New York who drinks kombucha?

“It’s ok. Come see.” He steps out from behind the counter and pulls back the beaded curtain at the back of the store.

My eyes go wide and I drop my bottle to the floor. It rolls with excruciating slowness across the uneven floor, stopping at his feet.

“It’s ok. A perfectly normal reaction.” He picks up my bottle and holds it out, beckoning me. I can’t decide if his smile is kindly or insane. “You go in. You can ask her for help.”

“uurr… iIi…ggh…” I want to speak but when I open my mouth only a gurgling sound comes out.

“Go!” He shouts forcibly and my feet move forward of their own accord towards the dragon behind the curtain. I hear a melody of clicking beads behind me as the curtain settles and I am alone with her.


“You like kombucha?” it sounds like a question but I somehow know it isn’t and I stay silent. She looks me up and down as if reading me. “Do you know who I am?” I shake my head. “I am the one who can grant your deepest desires, even the ones you don’t know you have.”

I find my voice, “I know what I want.”

“Do you? I am not so sure. Humans are easily confused and often don’t know their own minds. It matters not. Would you like me to grant your deepest desires?” I feel myself nod through a haze of confusion. She laughs and my heart feels like glass.

“Look in your pocket. You will find a delicious cake like no other. If you eat the cake you will have complete awareness. You will be able to see yourself, and everything else clearly. The cake will give you infinite wisdom but nothing else. Nothing, that is to say, from the material world.” She looks at me coyly, “Or…” her piercing eyes relish the pause, “you can give me the cake and I will grant you my best kombucha. I make it myself,” she gestures a clawed arm towards her belly, “and it will never run out. When you drink it you will never wish for anything ever again. You will have all the material things this world can give you. You may decide. I will wait.”

…

“Did you find the kombucha?” The bodega owner asks with twinkling eyes as I exit.

I don’t bother answering. I clutch my bottle to my chest and step out onto the sidewalk.

I’m a Cat Person!

Starting things out on a light note…

My family always had cats when I was growing up and I love them. Nothing makes me feel more at home than cuddling in bed with a purring cat on me. To me it’s the epitome of relaxation.

Are they stinky? Absolutely.

Do they puke everywhere? Yup.

Do they stick their damn claws on my face, scratch my bed and beat the crap out of each other while I sleep? Umm yeah… Pretty much every night.

So what’s to love? You might ask if you are a dog person… Especially if you are a dog person, since cats unlike dogs could give a flying F what you want, and will totally pee on your shoes if you cross them (true story).

Well, I mean, they are undeniably cute. Just check out this picture of my cat stalking me in the bathtub:

Continue reading “I’m a Cat Person!”