I shook my head tiredly, clicking one of my own pens over and over and pointing to it to demonstrate what I was annoyed about.

  He made a silent, “Oh,” before mouthing, “Sorry.” He set it down gently and went back to his work.

  I went back to the contract… 43 seconds – that’s all the silence I got, when the desk started shaking.

  What the heck?

  I took notice of my feet on the floor, as still as could be. Then this couldn’t be an earthquake.

  I looked around my computer at Michael yet again. His whole body seemed to be vibrating but it was just his leg bouncing, moving the entire desk.

  I closed my eyes, willing myself to count to ten so I wouldn’t explode.

  I cleared my throat, “Michael?”

  “Hm, yeah?”

  He looked up from his screen. His leg continued to bounce against the side of the desk. He obviously hadn’t realized what his movement had been doing. Pens and other random baubles on the desk were rattling, how could he not notice?

  I let out a huff of air through my nose. “You’re shaking the desk.” I pointed at my bouncing pen and pad of paper. “Please stop.”

  He looked down at his leg as if surprised that it was moving at all. He gave me a guilty look, his head dipping for a minute. He looked up through his lashes, unfairly long, his eyes round and his shoulders curling a little.

  “I’m so sorry, Drew. I’ll try to stop distracting you.”

  “Thank you,” was all I said before sitting up straight and getting on with the contract, hoping I could ignore him for the rest of the day. Something in me told me that wasn’t going to happen. For as long a day as it had been already, I knew this was just the start of something long. And heavily caffeinated.

  It really wasn’t meant to be. I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a longer day. My “trainee” as Trevor had called him, had the mental capacity of a goldfish, the wit of one as well.

  “So Drew, what do you like to do on your time off?”

  Without breaking eye contact with my screen I responded, “Hang out with my cat, read. Super exciting stuff, you know.”

  Good Lord, I hate small talk with a vengeance.

  “Cool, cool. Cats are cool. I had a cat growing up but it didn’t really like me much, he was always running away from me.”

  Can’t imagine why. God, make it stop!

  “And books are great. Reading is great. I haven’t done much of it lately, it seems like there's always too many fun things to do, but I like a good adventure as much as anybody…”

  And so the day went on, and on, and on.

  ? ?? ?

  At home finally, I kicked off my shoes and hung my jacket.

  “Husker, I’m home,” I called.

  A meow was heard before my cat, Husker, swaggered up to my legs, wrapping himself around them.

  “Such a good boy,” I purred to him as I brushed his soft, grey fur. His golden yellow eyes looked up at me as he gave an inquiring prrr and head butted my shin before wrapping himself around my legs once more.

  I went to my bedroom, needing to get out of my stuffy, corporate work clothes and into sweatpants and an old tee shirt. I sighed as I shrugged into the oversized shirt, soft and well worn. It was one of several of the same shirt; it was so comfy, I couldn’t help but get more of them.

  That’s better, I thought as I left my room and walked over to the kitchen.

  I decided on a frozen dinner – as appetizing as reconstituted vegetables are – not having the energy to cook for myself. A serving of sliced turkey and potatoes with asparagus on the side. Of course, on the box, everything looks great: steaming, fluffy potatoes with moist turkey and gravy, with thick, hardy spears of vegetables looking bright green and fresh. We all know how it really is: soppy potatoes and gravy, tough meat, and drooping little things that I was guessing were meant to be the asparagus.

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  My mind drifted back to my traumatic day at work as my meal cooked...

  My hazel eyes bored into the back of Trevor’s head as he walked past the desk.

  “The” desk, not “my” desk. Grr…

  I quickly shifted my eyes to my computer screen as he turned around, not wanting to be caught glaring at him, glaring at my screen instead.

  He walked over anyway.

  I really must be cursed or something. What’s the deal, God? Or whoever is up there?

  “How’s it goin’ over here, guys? You’re not giving Michael a hard time or anything, right Drew?”

  I looked up at him, using all of my inner strength to not snarl. A placid, calm look glazed over my face; a practiced maneuver.

  The nerve of this man.

  “Michael is doing well and is picking up the job rather quickly. I don’t imagine he’ll be needing my help for very long.”

  Please let it not be very long.

  “Alright,” he cheered lightly, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

  Ick. Get off.

  I picked his hand up by the pinky and took it off my shoulder, dropping it like a bug. I couldn’t help my nose from turning up a little and crinkling.

  “No thank you, Trevor. You know I’m not one for physical contact.”

  He rolled his eyes as if I were making a big deal out of nothing and smiled anyway.

  Michael’s brows knit together, whether in concern or confusion, I didn’t know. I really didn’t care; I just wanted to get back to the file open on my screen and work. Michael had been independently working for the last half hour, so I had been on a roll and hated this interruption. He sat still, more still than anything I’d seen. Still as a stone. Was he breathing?

  Trevor started talking to Michael about some ball game that had happened recently and Michael sat back, breaking his frozen stare. I didn’t bother listening in, opting to get back to work. I was in the middle of editing a procedural report and needed to focus.

  Man, I wish I had audio for this. They’re so loud.

  It has always been difficult for me to read without being able to hear the words, even as a child. Maybe that’s why I talk to myself so much. Or maybe it's a byproduct of avoiding people for most of my life…

  The microwave beeped that my dinner was ready, bringing me back to the present. Right, I was home, in my kitchen. I breathed a sigh of relief, not caring how dramatic I sounded. I was grateful to be home.

  A soft meow and brush against my leg reminded me to get Husker’s dinner ready, too. I opened a can of his food to a chorus of mewling, my cat begging like he’d die any minute now. He lifted onto his back feet, his front paws pushing against my leg. His head was raised as he continued to sing.

  “So impatient,” I teased him as I set his dish on the floor.

  Husker dove at the bowl, chowing down his food quicker than I could finish getting my own ready. He acted as if I had starved him all day instead of feeding him this morning and leaving kibble in his dish for during the workday.

  “Little fatty,” I chuckled at him, his small eating noises music to my ears in comparison to what I’d had to deal with earlier.

  “Oh buddy, you would not believe the day I had. I was ambushed before I even had a chance to sit at my desk, and get this: I have to train someone, and he’s the embodiment of happy doggo energy.”

  Husker looked up and meowed.

  “I know, right?” I sighed. Talking to my cat, that’s definitely sane behavior. Oh well, I don’t care. “I don’t have a choice; I have to do it. It just sucks. At least I get to come home to the bestest boy in the world,” I ended with a baby voice.

  He stared at me, bowl empty, as if I was the cause of it. I couldn’t help but chuckle at him.

  It was a night like most others, really. Outside, the sky couldn't decide if it wanted to rain or not, the clouds hanging heavy and grey. The smell of petrichor felt almost permanent here in this city, only abating during the occasional bright, sunny day.

  After I finished eating, I opted to shower before vegetating in front of the TV, needing to get that icky positivity – or whatever germ it was that Michael had – off.

  I let the floral scent of the soap ground me, light like violets. The pounding of tiny droplets on my skin, dribbling down upon contact. I tipped my head back, letting the water stream through my hair, the shower a massage on my scalp. I couldn’t stand the scent of most soaps, they were all too strong. But this one was the perfect balance of clean and lightly scented without tipping into straight-up perfume.

  I eventually turned off the water, watching the steam and vapor waft and dance around the showerhead, swirling in the humid air. It was mesmerizing, but the cool air from the bathroom rushed me as I opened the shower curtain, breaking my focus away.

  I continued readying myself for the evening, reveling in the silence and peace of my own home. A KISS band shirt went over my head, the black and white faces of the musicians wide eyed and sticking their tongues out, and I stuck my legs into some joggers.

  I looked around my room. Despite its small size, my apartment had everything I owned. Sparse but not Spartan, I had a few knick-knacks and pictures to decorate the space.

  There was a picture of Husker as a kitten, and another of him playing with a toy cat wand that I was holding with feathers on the end. A small stuffed elephant that someone had given as a gift – “a friend for your desk,” they had said – sat atop the small entry table next to my keys.

  I still need to take you to work. But I also like having a clear desk…

  I looked at the elephant with scrutiny. “I’d rather train you than him,” I said, not caring that I was speaking to an inanimate object. I was in my own home; I could be weird if I wanted to be.

  Grabbing a bag of pre-popped, sweet kettle corn out of the kitchen, I sat down on the end of my bed, bag in hand, and I turned on the television.

  I scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. Nothing was catching my eye. I didn’t feel like watching anything new, but nothing old felt right either. Action, Adventure, Mystery, Documentaries. Scroll, scroll, scroll.

  Thirty minutes later, my belly full of snacks and still no show to watch, I turned off the TV and sighed heavily. No luck on the entertainment side of things tonight.

  Another heavy sigh escaped through my nose as I looked back towards my bedroom after putting the popcorn away. Standing in the middle of my apartment, I couldn’t help but admit that I was tired of early nights.

  I’m not even thirty and I’m ready for bed before 10:00? I don’t think so.

  I grabbed my jacket off the peg by the door and walked out, letting impulse lead the way for once. A little voice in the back of my mind nagged about something, but I ignored it, locking the door behind me. That off feeling should’ve clued me in.

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