Stacey Levine - Dra-

So, staring at the phone, Dra— began to weep with desire to use it, and also with the fear of asking permission for it; nevertheless, she resolved to ask, propelled both by urgency and the fundamental human need to make a successful telephone connection — the latter being something she had accomplished so few times in life.

The secretary, squinting, smiling, muttering, had now set an array of cups on the table, each smaller than the last, and was cleaning them one by one with a rag. Gesturing for her attention, Dra— silently indicated the phone and its shiny metallic receiver, no bigger than a hook, really. She cried more noisily, chiefly as a contrivance to gain permission to use the phone, but she also cried because she was genuinely shaken, she realized — by her terrible lateness for work, by not finding her Administrator, and by the disorienting, tiny shape of the phone.

“What the hell is the matter?” said the secretary, setting a cup down, stepping closer, unsteady on her high wooden shoes.

Dra— cried on, mouth open and inarticulate, before she managed a single watery sentence about the Nurse, and consolation, and the odd, sinking finality of meeting someone for the first time.

The secretary reached for the eyeglasses on a cord around her neck, staring archly. “Your problem is that you don’t keep busy enough. You don’t have interests. Haven’t I got my little white figurines? Having interests whiles away the time.

“If you want to find your Administrator, that’s fine, but get started with life, too. Oh, you could focus on your own feelings — so selfishly, as in those awful old radio songs — or you can move to the beat of time, finishing each day’s business as nice as you please, finding job satisfaction and being content to know that anyone who achieves less than you will be ground down to less than nothing!”

Daunted, she grinned meagerly at the secretary.

“Why do you smile at me?” the secretary said. “Smiling is for dogs. In ancient times, it signified deference amongst them. Well, things haven’t changed much, have they?” She smirked and went on: “Why must you see this nurse? Can’t it wait? Do you have stomach troubles?”

“Maybe that’s what it is.”

“Do you have to go to the hospital?”

“Why, yes, maybe,” she replied, though she had not considered it before; however, the idea sounded appealing.

“Oh, you don’t want a hospital,” the secretary said. “Because once I was in a hospital — do you know what it’s like being set into a strange bed? Even if you’re lucky enough to have a visitor, you can’t kiss or hold each other or even cry together without the whole world walking by and a nurse walking in and sticking a thermometer in somebody’s mouth.”

Scarcely listening, unable to wait another moment, Dra— sprang for the phone, shaking, taking it by its curious metal loops while glancing fearfully at the secretary, who seemed not to mind this behavior at all, but only glanced down at her hands, as if considering a different set of troubles altogether.

Presently, though, she stood and reached out absently to help install the telephone’s loops over Dra—’s fingers, murmuring, “There we are,” and activating the phone by squeezing its center, hard.

The telephone emitted several simultaneous tones, and listening to these, trying to separate them in her mind, Dra— heard the secretary behind her explaining with a sudden burst of enthusiasm that this type of phone was very popular now, and that lately, it had caused quite a sensation in general because it had been designed with the idea that the phone and the user’s mind functioned in identical ways, and soon the phone went dead.

The secretary said, “I see that look on your face, that overly needy look that says all you want is someone to take care of you! That’s trouble all over. People don’t like that, you see. Oh, I know your type and the tricks you play. You’ll cling like cream to try and find someone, anyone, to stay with you, and there’s never an end to it, because you can’t let go. I know your type.”

“That’s not true!”

“It’s a crime, that’s what it is. Funny, I could almost fall for something like that — when I was younger I did, you know, and nearly died from it too. Dependence, that’s what we’ve been talking about all along — leaning on someone and leaking all your troubles right into their arms — is that any good? I’ll bet this isn’t the first time you’ve wandered the halls like some little addict, looking for the odd bit of kindness here and there. My question is, why do you do this? Are the causes chemical? There’s got to be a reason!” The secretary turned in her seat.

She removed her glasses and sighed, pressing her eyes with her fingers. “Oh, sit down, why don’t you?” she said to Dra— tiredly. “Shut your eyes; I’ll get you something more to drink.” She stepped away then returned not with the previous cups, but with a glass jar full of a heavy, sweet tea that Dra— immediately swallowed, its oily taste somehow eliciting a sensation of grief, and in turn, the tea seemed sadly to grow even sweeter.

The secretary sat next to her again, sighing, resting her head on Dra—’s shoulder as Dra— felt her face open with the tea’s strange melancholy and her hand, heavy with the phone apparatus, fell to her side.

“Why, look, Missy, you’ve had no real help in your life, have you?” the secretary said, facing her, voice vibrating close to Dra—’s face, lips fleshy and pink. “A fool could see that every pore of your being is just begging for attention! Now, I’m not interested in this great big hee-hoo over your lost Administrator and the Nurse and what have you, with you roaming all over creation, searching for places that aren’t even on the map. But I guess I understand. You just haven’t found your niche in life. Everyone has a niche; what’s yours? That’s right,” she said tenderly, reaching to pull Dra— onto her lap and against her breast.

In the long silence that followed with the secretary’s hand pressing on her shoulder, Dra— began to weep again, the arid scent of her own breath coming back to her.

After a time the secretary shifted and said, “I just hate the qualities of a child in a grown woman, don’t you? I hate a whining voice; I hate a lip blister. Well, everyone has their tics, I suppose. Take me, for example. I’m a giggler. Oh,” she said, prying the phone’s metal loops from Dra—’s fingers, “never mind this silly thing; it never worked anyway; you dial a number and it turns into an altogether different number, huge, growing always bigger, right into infinity before your eyes like a pestilence! I hate this phone.” She threw the apparatus on the desk, producing an enormous crash, then smacked her lips contentedly.

“It’s a problem to be so all alone like you are, I’ll say,” the secretary continued. “It’s unfortunate. Now, listen to me. I’m going to tell you how to fix everything. Forget that Administrator — she’s no good, none of them are. Why don’t you get into a different boat altogether?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her face still pressed against the secretary’s blouse.

“Well, do you know that long ago, when I began working, there was no one else here at all? I worked in solitary. But one day, a great many new employees came, there were so many, really, people were everywhere, all working away like fleas, yes, and how we talked! Actually, we didn’t talk much in the least. Still, ‘friends,’ it’s called, and it’s not half bad! I’ll have no truck with this mooning over lost administrators, you see, because there are always friends in this world. I had tons of friends, and after a while, do you know what happened? Poof!” She laughed unpleasantly so that lines of strain appeared across her face and disappeared in a moment. “They were all gone, every last one of them, because they were nuts. It happens like that in life. Just imagine: in the future, the friends you know now will be gone. We lose our friends over and over, many times, don’t we? My!” the secretary sighed, smiling fondly, removing her glasses and wiping her eyes; and Dra— suddenly realized that they had not introduced themselves to one another.