Lifeless

Jarring buzzing sounds jerk me from a state of gray, and I wake to find myself in a strange room decorated with green floral fabrics and with sheer pink walls. The sleep in my eyes causes the colors to blend in a messy, stomach churning sight. I rub my eyes to free the crusty formations, and only then do I remember that I'm in my aunt's bedroom. Glancing at the alarm clock, I notice it's eight in the morning. It's later than I wanted to get up, but I figure I could wait to get to the office until nine-thirty or even ten. As tempting as it is to put in a full day at the office, it's Sunday, and I have to make sure Dani stays home and got to bed at a decent time since her mom was away. Looking outside, I noticed it was unusually sunny for this time of year. She'd probably wear herself out rollerblading around town with this splendid spring weather.

Even though I have plenty of time, I still shower and dress in a hurry. Knowing this town, I'd get stuck in church traffic on my way to Minneapolis. I hate church traffic, especially with the inadequate parking some of them have. Sometimes, I'd rather put up with Monday jams on I-35 than sit through pedestrians dawdling as they cross the streets to get to their church services. Why would someone relinquish their mental freedom like that, anyway?

Before grabbing a quick breakfast and running out the door, I knock on Dani's door.

"Come in."

At that, I open the door to find Dani dressed in track pants and a tee shirt with her rollerblading gear in hand.

"I figured you'd go out today," I tell her.

"You know me too well, Cuz," is her reply. "I figure I may as well head out now while everyone's at church. The parks will be fairly quiet with everyone at church, and then I can beat the after church crowds to the local Walgreen's."

At that, I can't help but chuckle.

"You know, Dani, if you keep hanging out there, they're going to put you to work!"

"I wish. Then I could do something constructive on Sundays besides blade all over this measly town."

I smile. "Well, Dani, until you are old enough to get a decent paying part-time job, I'll see if there's anything you can do at HC."

"Alright," she says. "Just keep me away from those damn chaplains."

I can't help but crack up at Dani's inadvertent sacrilege. No wonder she's my favorite cousin.


As I predicted, the drive out of Eden Prairie is mercilessly slow courtesy of church traffic. Several times I have to squelch the urge to throw out some choice profanities to those that are holding up vehicular traffic. Church traffic makes me want to negate that notion of Minnesota Nice in one fell swoop. Just ask my co-workers; they still don't know how I got such a mouth. If they took a dollar out of our monthly salaries at the hospital for every time we said "damn" or "hell" (yes, just the milder swear words), I'd probably be half a million dollars in debt by now, and I've only worked for the Hennepin County Medical Center for five years. Of course, it feels like that amount of time has passed by the time I escape the Eden Prairie city limits and can head east to Minneapolis at a reasonable pace.

I make it to my office building around nine-thirty after fighting some two-bit city worker for a space on a curb. At that point, I did tell the guy to go to hell, which prompted him to compare me to Carrot Top. How juvenile; I've heard that one more times than I can count even though my hair is actually red and not the rotting pumpkin meat color that excuse of a comedian has. Of course, there are better things to think about than that fool. I stride to my office, creating a brief but enjoyable breeze that counters the rather strong sun.

Before I get to my office, I notice that Simon is the only other human in the building, which is both a relief and the source of a lurking migraine. Unlike many of the janitors we have who are a bit zealous when it comes to religion, Simon keeps a fairly low profile. Then again, he is Jewish, so he'd stick out like a sore thumb in this city. In spite of his religious beliefs, he's an okay guy for conversation when I need a break from pulling overtime. It can get annoying, though, but at least now I know why. He has a thing for red heads. Of course, I'd have never known that had it not been for one of the volunteers at the cancer center. Apparently, the girl was in a couple of his classes at the University of Minnesota one semester, and she told me about his insistence to get in the course, which was taught by a professor emeritus known for her scarlet hair. After hearing that, I couldn't decide whether to be flattered or startled. I also stopped wearing even knee length skirts since he likes to drop things on the floor as I walk by him. So, even in the summer, pants are my wardrobe standby, but finding long enough pants can be a chore, especially with my legs.

"Good morning, Angel," he greets me.

With a slight eye roll, I greet him and make my way to my third floor office. I've long since given up trying to get him to call me Kittleby so he doesn't always sound like he's coming on to me whenever he says something as simple as hello. As soon as I'm in the elevator, thoughts shift to the massive pile of tasks ahead. Between finishing the updates on the Obesity Program's patient database and writing the training manual for the operating system modifications on the Burn Center's computer system, I'm looking at a minimum of five hours at my desk. The only way I'm going to get through this day is with some quality music. When I get to my desk, I take out my iPod, connect it to some speakers and find my favorite piece by Malcom Arnold: "Four Scottish Dances". It reminds me of my mother's family, specifically Dani's mom, who I also regard as Mom from an emotional/spiritual standpoint.

The updates oocuppy me for a solid hour, and soon I'm listening to music that is reminiscient of my father's ancestry: "To a Nordic Princess" by Percy Grainger. I loved this song as a child; my father played it all the time when I was growing up. After his tragic business trip to Northern Ireland, though, I had a lot of difficulty listening to this song. His death just happened to be the final blow to my waning faith in Catholicism, which made finishing my courses at the University of Saint Thomas nearly impossible. Whenever I hear this song, I can't help but glance at my diplomas from that very school then revert to writing the introductory paragraph to the first chapter of the manual, scribbling and scratching out words along the way.

Eventually, the elevator makes an ever familiar ding, and I realize that little work is going to get done at this point. At least I've made significant strides in writing the first chapter with four out of six sections completed. Those sections just happened to be painful to write, as I introduced some new jargon that is bound to baffle the trainees and in turn garner a truckload of complaints. Thus, I'm eager for a break. I turn down the relaxing, exotic Korean music that's currently playing and ring my hands before Simon makes his way over.

He comes over and flashes that doofy boyish grin of his, a grin that would get my attention if I was maybe twenty years younger and looking for a somewhat older boyfriend that the parents might like in spite of the age difference. That's not the case for me, though. I bet Simon has high school freshman girls eye him whenever they might cross paths, as he's not unattractive. It's just that he's way too young for me. My luck dictates that he's to be obsessed with me, though.

"How's the work, Angel?" he asks.

I worry about my eyeballs becoming stuck looking up as I give him a lackadaisical shrug in response.

"It goes," I mumble.

"I see. You know, you look so stressed when you do that," he continues.

"Do what?" I sigh.

"Roll your eyes. You shouldn't hide those magnificent steely eyes of yours. They are a lot richer and more profound than any blue or green eyes out there."

My, he's really going all out today with his lines. I wonder what's gotten into him, but whatever it is, today is not the day for it.

"And what's your point, Simon?"

"My point is more people should get a glance at your orbs."

"Look, Simon, we've been through this a thousand times-"

"Angel, I think you're under the wrong impression."

"Then why do you constantly drop things, or rather did when I still wore skirts to work?"

Simon flushes. A-ha! I knew it!

"You saw, didn't you?"

"Brilliant deduction there, Sherlock. Now may I please get on with my work?"

Simon sighs. "As you wish, Angel, even though I know you could use the company...and the distraction."

With that, he returns to his cleaning. As he meanders off, I watch and can't help but think that he's right. I do need to relax and spend some time with people. I just keep finding ways to justify spending countless Sundays in the office: a raise, a couple promotions, a comfy Christmas bonus and avoiding my mom's pleas for me to go to church with her. Sure, they're certainly valid, but it seems like the more Sundays I spend in the office, the fewer people I see, and it also means putting up with Simon. I look down at my writing; as far as I'm concerned, it's finished for today. I grab my belongings and sneak over to the elevator so I can avoid Simon. I'm heading to Martini Blu.

Traffic is light, so it doesn't take too long to get to the Grand Hotel and then to Martini Blu. Upon arrival, I immediately head for the bar and glance at the martini menu. I know it had been a while since my last visit, but I am still shocked at their rather unusual concoctions. As I look at the choices, I barely notice the bartender wander over to where I'm sitting.

"Long time, no see," I hear a voice coo.

I look up. "George!" I exclaim. "You're still here after all this time?"

"You know me. I love to mix it up," the bartender says. "How've you been, Angel? I haven't seen you grace this bar in quite some time."

"Ah, work's been busy," I tell him.

"So? It's not like you have anyone to go home to afterwards," he replies. "You should stop by more often."

"I should, but I just don't feel up to it most of the time. I usually work till eight then go home and crash."

"Is Eden Prairie still home to you?"

I sigh. "Yeah. It's easier for me to spend time with my aunt and cousin that way, but I'd love to move back to the city."

"Better not go to Saint Paul, or I might not see you again!"

"Oh, relax, George. I'd be willing to move here."

"Good. You can certainly afford something around here."

"Oh, trust me. Money is not an issue."

"With the way you work, that doesn't surprise me."

"Well, with the way I work, I don't have that much time to look around."

George grimaces at my excuse. "Right. Now, did you come here to chat, or would you like a nice elixir?"

"Hmmmmmm..." I hum. "Surprise me."



I finally make it back to Eden Prairie around dinnertime. Just as I pull in the driveway, Dani pokes her head out the front door.

"Hey, Cuz, what's for dinner?" she asks.

"That's a good question," I tell her. "Want to go somewhere? I imagine you'd like to not have your house burn down.

Dani laughs. "Oh come on. You can cook just fine."

"Dani, the last time I cooked was...a long damn time ago."

"Well, you twisted my arm. How 'bout Lion's Tap?"

"That's a bit out of the way. Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."




Dinner goes by in a blur, as Dani tells me about her Sunday rollerblading adventures and subsequent trip to the local Walgreen's. However, I'm only half-listening, as my food occupies my senses and bits of my conversation with George flood my mind. As I listen to Dani talk, I can't help but be bothered by the fact that she's so lively in describing her day. I recall George's insistence that I move back to the city and the smooth texture of the Metropolitan he concocted for me. Now my water feels like saline solution flowing down my throat, and Dani's vibrant chatter transports me back to times when I was more carefree, before I had my current job. Where did everything go wrong?

"Cuz? Yo, Cuz!"

I blink. "Wha'?" I ask.

"You were spacing out on me for a minute there," Dani says. "I was talking about my venture to the mall with one of the clerks, and I noticed you starting to zone."

My face warms against my will, and my embarrassment at that fact only worsens it. "Sorry, Dani. My mind is just...."

"You work too much, Cuz. All you ever seem to do is work. No wonder Simon's so enamored with you. He gets to see a pretty redhead seven days a week. What more could he want?"

"Who gives a crap what he wants? I want him to leave me the hell alone!"

"Whoa, there! No need for hostility. You know, you should ease up on poor Simon."

I sigh and wonder how I'm going to get this point through Dani's head. "And you, you know, are a little too optimistic, but that won't last."

Dani shakes her head. "Give him a chance, Angel. Seriously. You need someone."

"No," I whisper. "No, I don't."

"What, then?"

"I need to go back to the city. I talked to George about it."

"George? You saw him? What did you do? Decide to get a life?"

"Yeah, I suppose. I paid him a visit and enjoyed a nice beverage."

"Enough of the euphemisms. You don't have to fill Mom's shoes just because you're babysitting. Tell me. What made you do it?"

"Well, Simon said-"

"SIMON? You left work and decided to be social because of Simon?"

"Well, not Simon, per se, but rather something he said."

"He still pushed you out of the office with a comment, so he's still to...thank, in this case."

"Whatever, Dani."

"No, no whatever here, Cuz. I think you need to go back to city, if nothing else to visit Martini Blu more often. Hey, Simon can't sit at the bar, so you can maybe find someone a little closer in age. You need somebody besides Mom and me, though."

The air whooshes out of my lungs as I sigh in reluctant concurrence. "Maybe I do," I relent.

The server comes by, and I get the check.



Dani and I get back to the house a little after sunset. While Dani bounces out of the car and unlocks the front door, I take my time leaving my car and entering the house. There's something about this day that just kicked me down, and every last inch of my body feels limp and overstretched. Once I finally enter the house, I am overcome by fatigue, and my head pounds something fierce. I know no amount of medicine will ever ease this pain, a pain not caused by my drink, my job or even the people I regularly encounter. It is my own pain, pain that I canned and stored in the shelves of my heart years ago for whatever whacked out reason. I simply stick my head in Dani's room and let her know I'm going to bed before dragging myself to my aunt's room. When I get there, I flop on the bed fully clothed with one shoe dangling from my toes, not even still aware that I'm fully dressed. In defeat, I look at the ceiling and weep.