A Pocket Archive (45)

"Can I ask you something?"

I looked up from my monitor to see a familiar pair of milky-grey eyes peering at me from behind thick, coke-bottle lensed glasses. Long wisps of white hair stuck haphazardly out from beneath Mr. M.'s faded Chiefs cap, and he wore a thin, good natured-smile, which further emphasized the deep folds of tan, leathery wrinkles that made up his face.

"Sure Rey, what's up?"

"Do like your job?"

Amused, I gave him a half grin, propping my chin against my hand before discreetly clicking my mouse to reopen a tab with a spreadsheet. "Generally. I don't cry here very often at least. Why do you ask?"

"Because whenever I see you, you always have this strange little smile on your face."

I felt my brows arch slightly in genuine surprise. "Do I?"

Rey smiled and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, S. appeared in the doorway with a manilla folder in his hands. "Mr. M.? I'm ready for you."

I gave Rey a conspiratorial wink and he thumped his palm against my desk before shuffling after S. . As soon as the door had shut, O. leaned forward and gave me a suspicious look. "What are you actually doing over there?"

"Processing that I no longer have permanent RBF. You?"

O. rolled his eyes and strode over to my desk. I grinned and reopened Google Maps, sliding my chair sideways so he could stand next to me. My coworker took a sip of his coffee and squinted at the screen, staring for several seconds before recognition slowly flashed across his face. "Is that your old car?"

"Yup. During one of my trips through Nebraska, the Google Maps car was out, so I parked in like six different spots hoping they'd pass me." I laced my fingers behind my head and leaned back in my chair, exceedingly pleased with myself. "It worked."

O. made a face that was something between and smile and a grimace, pinching his brow between his thumb and forefinger. "That's fucking stupid."

"I think it's hilarious, thank you. And now I can play 'Where's Waldo?' with myself. Look." I scrolled with the cursor on street view past where the old chevy sat, parked on red cobblestone beneath a tree. "So if you scroll this way and go left...boom! There I am again."

O. shook his head, his face twitching slightly, vaguely reminding me of Bella Swan from Twilight. "And you did that six times?"

I shrugged. "Something like that. It's a small town and set up like a grid, so it was pretty easy to figure out where they'd be passing. So far I've only found myself twice, though. It's a little upsetting."

"What were you doing in the middle of Bumfuck Nebraska anyways?"

I slowly spun in my chair and gave O. a withering look. He stared back at me blankly for a second, then nodded, mouth pulling into a thin line.

"Ah, right. Sorry."

"You're fine." I swiveled back to my monitor.

"How's that going, by the way?"

I shrugged. "Slow. By the way..." I glanced at the clock display in the corner of my monitor. "have you seen M. anywhere?"

"Nope." O. checked his watch, then picked up his cellphone. "I'll call him and see if he got lost or something."

"Kay." I stretched, closing the Google Maps tab before grabbing my coffee mug and walking to the window, keenly aware blisters were forming on the back of my heels, despite the fresh band-aides I'd put on that morning. The late afternoon light bathed the office in a warm sepia, reflecting off of grey filing cabinets and I squinted, staring at the cracked pavement in the parking lot below.

Perhaps Rey was right; I did like my job, despite feeling like I'd never get used to the uncomfortable shoes and stiff office attire. "Business" and "casual" rarely seemed to run in the same sentences here. Still, I had found a place where I fit, and I had a definite sense of community- one which didn't feel forced or send an uncomfortable shiver down my spine. Maybe that was why my stomach churned whenever the giant and I spent evenings huddled over his laptop, house-hunting for a home of our own closer to family and The Rockies. Here, I was successful and established. It might not be a forever place, but I still wasn't sure I was ready to leave yet. At the same time, somewhere in my soul, I knew I had strong, inseverable threads pulling me back to a different life, which I was currently, to a large extent, missing out on. I felt like was always being pulled in two different directions, with no idea which one led home.

Or maybe I was just selfish.

But was I really? Was it wrong not to know?

I chewed my bottom lip, glancing back at the cluster of picture frames on my desk, locking eyes with the faces behind the glass, one of which had changed slightly in each rendition, testifying to the quantity of time that had already slipped through my fingers like sand in an hourglass.

Suddenly, the sound of an 8-bit melody interrupted my rumination.

"Yo!" O. quickly put his phone to his ear, then strode over to the main door. A moment later, he opened it for M., who quickly shuffled in, both arms laden with a stack of boxes from Blackhole Bakery.

"Sorry guys, traffic was a nightmare. Hey Kalishnikov, can you grab some of these?"

I set my coffee down and walked over to help.

Whatever the solution to my dilemma was, it was probably something best contemplated on a full stomach.