Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

“Sa-woon. Are they engaged yet?” the woman sitting next to me asked.

“I don’t see a ring,” said another colleague.

Had I imagined all this? This flirting? It appeared I had, because for the rest of the evening William acted like I wasn’t even there. I was such a fool. Invisible. Stupid. I had on flesh-colored stockings, which I could see now weren’t flesh-colored at all, but practically orange.

Around midnight, I passed him in the hallway on my way to the bathroom. It was a narrow hallway and our hands brushed as we squeezed by. I was determined not to say a word to him. Our running days were over. I’d ask to be transferred to a different team. But when our knuckles touched, a current of undeniable electricity passed between us. He felt it too, because he froze. We were facing opposite directions. He looked out into the restaurant. I looked toward the bathrooms.

“Alice,” he whispered.

It suddenly occurred to me that I’d never heard him say my name. Until this moment he’d only called me Brown.

“Alice,” he repeated in a low, gravelly voice.

He said “Alice” not like he was about to ask me a question or tell me something. He said my name like a statement of fact. Like after a very long journey (a journey he hadn’t wanted or expected to take) he’d finally arrived at my name, at me .

I stared at the bathroom doors. I read Women , Donne . I read Men , Uomini.

He reached for my fingers, and not accidentally this time. It was the briefest of touches, a private touch not meant for anybody but me to see. I put my other hand on the wall to steady myself, weak-kneed from a combination of too much wine, relief, and desire.

“Yes,” I said, then stumbled into the bathroom.

39.Suck it up.

40.I can’t remember.

41.We appear to be a couple people envy.

42.Ask me again at a later time.

Lucy Pevensie

Studied at Oxford College Born on April 24, 1934 Current Employer Aslan Family Edward, Peter, and Susan Work Trying to keep from turning to stone. About You Years pass like minutes.

Yes, I’m afraid the rumor is true, Wife 22. Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.

Rumor is true here also, Researcher 101. There is another world through the wardrobe. Sightings of fauns and white witches not greatly exaggerated.

Enjoyed reading your profile.

Did not enjoy reading your profile, Researcher 101. Employer: Netherfield Center. That’s it? As far as your photo, I despise that little silhouette. You could have at least used some clip art. A yellow raft, perhaps?

We’ll see.

Now that we’re friends, we should probably adjust our privacy settings so people can’t search for us.

Already locked down. New questions coming soon-via email. I refuse to chat the questions.

Thanks for coming down the rabbit hole to find me.

That’s my job. Did you think I wouldn’t?

I wasn’t sure. I know Facebook is a stretch. But you may surprise yourself; you may grow to like it. It’s immediate in a way email is not. Soon email may be extinct, gone the way of the letter.

I sincerely hope not. Email seems civilized compared to texts and posts and Twitter. What’s next? Communicating in three words or less?

Great idea. We can call it Twi. Three-word sentences can be very powerful.

No they can’t.

Let’s find out.

Let us not.

You’re not very good at this.

How’s your husband holding up? Anything I can do to help?

Get him his old job back.

Anything else?

Can I ask you something?

Sure.

Are you married?

As a rule, I’m not allowed to divulge personal information.

That explains your profile, or lack thereof.

Yes, I’m sorry. But we’ve learned from experience the less you know about your researcher, the more forthcoming you’ll be.

So I should just treat you like the GPS voice?

That’s been done before.

By whom, Researcher 101?

By other subjects, of course.

Family members?

I can neither confirm nor deny this.

Are you a computer program? Tell me. Am I writing to a computer?

Cannot answer now. Battery is low.

Look at you. You’re Twi-ing. I knew you had it in you.

Should I tell you when I have to go or just type got to go ? I don’t want to be rude. What’s the protocol?

It’s GTG, not “got to go.” And the good thing about chatting is there’s no need for long, protracted goodbyes.

A pity, as I tend to be a fan of long, protracted goodbyes.

Wife 22?

Wife 22?

Did you go off-line?

I’m protracting our goodbye.

Alice Buckle

Studied at U Mass Born on September 4 Current Employer Kentwood Elementary Family William, Peter, Zoe Work Trying to keep from turning to stone About You Minutes pass like years

Henry Archer Alice Buckle

Shut up already, cuz-we get that it hasn’t rained in California in months!

4 minutes ago

Nedra Rao Kate O’Halloran

You have captivated me

13 minutes ago

Julie Staggs

Is it considered child abuse to tie your daughter’s feet and hands to her bedposts with Little Kitty ribbons? Just kidding!!!

23 minutes ago

William Buckle

Free

1 hour ago

William has been laid off. Not reprimanded, not warned, not demoted, but laid off. In the middle of a recession. In the middle of our lives.

“What did you do?” I shout.

“What do you mean what did I do?”

“To make them lay you off?”

He looks aghast. “Thanks for the sympathy, Alice. I didn’t do anything. It was all about redundancies.”

Yes, the redundancies of you acting out at work. Of you mouthing yourself right out of a job, I think.

“Call Frank Potter. Tell him you’ll work for less. Tell them you’re willing to do anything.”

“I can’t do that, Alice.”

“Pride is a luxury we can’t afford, William.”

“This isn’t about pride. I don’t belong at KKM. It wasn’t a good fit anymore. Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this is the wake-up call I’ve been needing.”

“Are you kidding me? We can’t afford waking up, either.”

“I don’t agree. We can’t afford not to.”

“Have you been reading Eckhart Tolle?” I cry.

“Of course not,” he says. “We specifically made a pact not to live in the moment.”