u s e y o u r h a n d s

Bethany opened the door as she knocked, rapping lightly on the solid-core door. She was framed by the hallway’s darkness. The feeble light in Cliff’s office failed to make anything glimmer but as it fell on Bethany’s skin, she gleamed like a pearl. Something in him began to stir, then churn. He stared stupidly at her while the tumult grew. Three seconds passed before Bethany saved them both with an easy smile and a flip of her hair. This flip distracted Cliff from the intense nausea brewing.

“Her hair deserves a novel,” he thought. And it was unfortunate that Cliff was not a writer, because a flurry of disjointed and bizarre observations flew through his mind as her hair rose and fell again on her shoulders. The color made him hungry; it was a mix of honey, cinnamon, fresh bread. He wanted to touch her hair to confirm that it was unspeakably soft and clean. She wore part of it in a clip at the side of her head. The gold barette caught the light and played with it, owning it completely. It was her only adornment. Cliff fell in love with her hair and though it broke his heart to take his eyes from it, he must greet her.

She beat him to a hello and continued, “Are you ready? You look ready. But sometimes, I find that even though I think all things are in order, they aren’t. Do you ever feel like that, Cliff?”

The words tumbled over him so fast that he had to replay the sound in his head in order to decipher them. “I’m ready to go. Everything is in order,” he stammered.

She gestured towards the perfect stack of paper at the corner of the desk. “I see. You made short work of that catastrophe.” She approached the stack cautiously. Cliff made an audible, sharp gasp. Bethany carefully lifted the top sheet and turned it forty-five degrees to the left. Instead of dust, his office filled with her smell, vanilla with flowers. Bethany turned back to him and asked him, as she tilted her chin, if he preferred Italian or Greek.

“Italian,” he replied.

“Fabulous, because I have quite the yen for ravioli. Oh, ravioli!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands.

Cliff shrugged into his dark coat and switched off the light. Bethany led him out the door and down the hall. His long strides seemed too quick for her, so he shortened his steps and she lengthened hers. They walked together easily after a few clumsy steps, weaving a path through the dark hallways quickly emptying of people. They emerged on the street, together with their hands shoved deep in coat pockets.

“I thought we’d have dinner, and then perhaps a walk. We could talk, if you like, Cliff. Or not. I think that would be lovely. The night seems to require it,” she said her normal instructive and lively tone.

For the first time in months, Cliff’s face broke into a huge grin. Bethany was startled. Cliff’s face completely changed. He wasn’t the dour man she’d seen skulking about the halls, but instead a matinee idol. A butterfly took flight in her throat.

Cliff returned to his desk and sat down. Papers covered in perfect longhand script peeked out from under him. The echo of Bethany’s voice hovered in the office’s shattered quiet. She would be by in an hour. Cliff spent 15 of those minutes staring down at the blotter on his desk. The complimentary blotter from his company, also a calendar, was free of any ink or pencil markings, but peppered with soft indentations. He tried to make sense of the little scratches, but he failed to form letters from the traces.

He spent five minutes methodically plucking lint from his worn brown sweater. Cliff piled up the tiny balls together. When the fuzzy mass reached the size of a quarter, he picked it up and dropped it into his wastebasket. It spun counterclockwise to the bottom, next to a crumpled napkin and empty bottle of white-out.

Twenty minutes dragged by as Cliff shuffled around gathering up the mess, sheet by sheet. He bent and reached with his left arm and kept the growing sheaf tucked in his left. The papers formed sharp corners. One corner poked him rather painfully in the stomach. When he reached down, the pain got sharper. After Cliff collected the entire mess, he piled it carefully on the desk. The tower measured at least four inches high and so precise as to literally make Cliff hold his breath lest it be disturbed. His body eventually kicked him back into respiration.

Until the last twenty minutes of the hour, he’d not thought about what had happened or what would occur that night. However, in the last third of the hour, Cliff came as close as he ever came to being nervous. He wondered if Bethany would be early or late. What was she doing in this last hour of the day? Cliff doubted she was standing still looking at the clock, but he imagined her doing just that. He imagined her at her desk, maybe looking out a window at a tree. Cliff thought Bethany might be staring at the fluttering leaves until the motion became one blur. The hem of her dress might sway slightly as it felt the shockwaves of her breath and beating heart.

At 4: 59, he rose and faced the door to his office. A slow tingle built from his knees to his throat where it buzzed mightily as the seconds fell by. Cliff heard footsteps approach his door, but they walked by and faded. Were they hers, he wondered. If he opened the door, would he see Bethany swishing away? The note in his pocket blazed. But he heard shoes again, and he was sure they were hers. He was not accustomed to sound, but even to him, this particular clacking sounded delicate and hopeful.

Ok, so you remember how I told you I was going to the track yesterday? well, I went. And I ate potato salad. And now I’m totally puking. Word. But I’m still going to continue the story, dogg.

Cliff took the papers from her and tossed them futilely onto the desk. The papers seemed intent to defy him, slipping again to the ground. She snorted as tried to suppress a giggle. He looked at her reproachfully, but she seemed so thoroughly delighted that his face softened immediately.

She smoothed her dress and extended her hand. “I’m sorry to meet you like this, but at least it’s memorable.” Her hand was cupped gently and looked so smooth. Cliff stared at her hand and wondered if his cold, rough one would shred her hand if he took it. The odds seemed against it. He extended his own and she took it. There was not much movement in the handshake, but she took his hand in both of hers. Suddenly, his other hand felt like ice. It occurred to him that perhaps he had forgotten that such heat existed, but actually, he had never known it.

“Cliff,” he muttered.

Her eyes twinkled as if they were laughing. “I know. I’ve seen you here and there for some months. I’m Bethany, from down the hall.” She released his hand. Instead of searching for words, he savored the sensation of heat leaving his hand and into the air. Physics in a handshake; entropy in a greeting.

“Is there something – ? Can I – ?” he muttered to her shoes. Cliff didn’t feel nervous so much as curious.

She waved away his question. “No, actually, I think I found something of yours. Well, no – that’s inaccurate. I have indeed found something of yours.” Bethany reached into her pocket and produced his folded piece of paper. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Cliff took the paper from her and stuffed it deep into his pocket.

“Oh.” Though his eyes hadn’t met hers as she spoke, he removed his gaze from even her shoes. A strange sea of emotion swirled around him. The swirling itself was odd, but he was unprepared for all of these complex feelings.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?” Bethany asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He had never shared a table with a woman, never thought to invite one out, had never been asked. But every part of him immediately wanted to look at her while she chewed, to see how she held a fork, a napkin in her lap.

He shook his head up and down. She smiled broadly and clasped her hands together. The speed of her movement sent a faint waft of perfume his way. “All right, Cliff. How about in an hour, then? I can’t bear to stay past five. Would that work for you?”

His spine stood a little straighter in the wake of her ease and he cleared his throat to speak. “Certainly,” he said clearly. He wanted to bow but did not.

“Fabulous,” said Bethany. And then she was gone.