by Hall Jameson
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\nA foamy swath surrounded Libby\u2014her own personal rain puff.\u00a0 It was a typical Tuesday\u2014the day of limbo\u2014where the week threatened neither to begin nor end, but merely sat quietly.\u00a0 Nothing horrible ever happened on a Tuesday.<\/p>\n
She had many pet names for her protector:\u00a0 the persistent mist, the love bubble, the shimmering nimbus, or \u2013 her favorite \u2013 soap suds, shortened to just \u201cSuds.\u201d\u00a0 Whatever she chose to call it on a particular day, it rarely left her.<\/p>\n
Today, Suds was purplish-blue like a bruise.\u00a0 Some days it was dark green; other days it was ochre, or red.\u00a0 She looked through its skin and the world was tolerable, subdued.<\/p>\n
Libby plucked a piece of crumpled paper from the trash and smoothed out the flyer that she had tossed earlier.\u00a0 The pleasant face of the man on the flyer looked back at her patiently as she tacked it to the refrigerator.\u00a0 The tagline beneath his photograph proclaimed: Achieve Ultimate Fitness!\u00a0 Let me be your Personal Trainer!<\/em><\/p>\n She stared at the photograph\u2014his face wasn\u2019t quite right.\u00a0 Even so, it made her feel better to have it on him the fridge until she found The One.\u00a0 Suds shimmered and sighed, draping over her head like a veil.<\/p>\n As she hopped on the trolley there was barely room for the two of them, and Suds swirled around her, agitated.\u00a0 None of the other passengers seemed to notice, even though it tickled their bare necks and mussed their hair.\u00a0 They probably blamed the wind.<\/p>\n <\/br> Suds detested her stapler!\u00a0 It could not mute that red no matter how hard it tried!\u00a0 She did not like the discord between the two of them.\u00a0 She could switch staplers with someone else, but all the other workers had red ones too.\u00a0 Besides, she tried not to talk to the others.\u00a0 They were always whispering about her, eyes flicking in her direction then darting quickly away when she looked up.<\/p>\n She thought they were strange.\u00a0 Suds rubbed her shoulders in agreement.<\/p>\n <\/br> She felt Suds release, and the room became brighter.\u00a0 She squinted at the harsh lights and vivid colors: the avocado fridge, a poster with a florescent sunrise and the caption Every Day is a New Beginning<\/em>, the aqua bottle of dish washing detergent on the corner of the sink.\u00a0 All of these things hurt her eyes.<\/p>\n She knew that she should have been alarmed when one of the women began to gurgle strangely, eyes bulging, but she was not.\u00a0 The woman started to hack as she tried to dislodge the food caught in her throat.\u00a0 The other woman jumped up and pounded her on the back, looking at Libby with terrified eyes, but she couldn\u2019t move.\u00a0 Suds engulfed them.\u00a0 It was a fiery orange, like the sunrise poster.<\/p>\n \u201cStop it!\u201d Libby yelled.\u00a0 Both women looked at her, confused.\u00a0 Finally, one horrible retch later, a chunk of pickle freed itself from the woman\u2019s throat and landed in a slimy puddle in the middle of the table.\u00a0 The orange cloud evaporated, and the light of the room became diffuse, as Suds settled back around her.\u00a0 The woman looked at the pickle chunk in stunned fascination.\u00a0 The other woman glared at Libby.<\/p>\n She turned and went back to her beige cubicle.\u00a0 She would skip lunch today.\u00a0 The pickle incident had made her lose her appetite.<\/p>\n She settled back into her beige chair and stared at the computer monitor.\u00a0 She should be angry with Suds for its escapade in the kitchen, but she was not.\u00a0 It got bored here at her work; she could not fault it for that.\u00a0 She sighed and looked at her stapler.\u00a0 It winked at her again as if they shared a secret.<\/p>\n Her phone rang and she jumped.\u00a0 She picked up the receiver and heard the excited voice of a man.\u00a0 It was the Private Investigator and he had news.\u00a0 She abruptly hung up the phone.\u00a0 She did not want to hear his news today.\u00a0 She hadn\u2019t expected him to work so quickly.<\/p>\n <\/br> She removed the personal trainer\u2019s flyer from the fridge and replaced it with a real estate brochure that she had picked up at the bus stop.\u00a0 Let me help you find your Home Sweet Home!<\/em> was the caption below the picture of a smiling man in a smart suit.<\/p>\n Libby smiled back and sipped her amber tea.<\/p>\n <\/br> Today the coworkers were whispering more than ever.\u00a0 Psh! Psh! Psh!<\/p>\n Suds tried to block out the murmuring, but only succeeded in amplifying it.\u00a0 PSH! PSH! PSH!\u00a0 The sound swept back and forth across her skull.\u00a0 Her head was starting to ache.\u00a0 Suds tried to massage her temples, but she brushed it away angrily.\u00a0 She got up and pretended that she was going to the restroom; it never followed her in there.<\/p>\n On her way, she snatched a long sheet of bubble wrap from the shelf next to the copy machine.\u00a0 Once inside the bathroom stall, she undid her shirt and wrapped the bubble wrap around her torso. \u00a0It felt right against her skin. \u00a0She felt safe.<\/p>\n Libby washed her hands and smiled in the bathroom mirror, but her reflection returned a grimace rather than a smile.<\/p>\n Back in her cubicle, there was a single, quiet pop!<\/em> as she settled into her chair, but thankfully, Suds didn\u2019t appear to notice.<\/p>\n <\/br> Suds respectfully lingered in the waiting room as she went back for her exam.\u00a0 Libby put on a light blue Johnny and boosted herself up onto the examination table.\u00a0 The doctor checked her throat and listened to her heart.\u00a0 He tapped her arms and legs with a small rubber hammer.\u00a0 As the doctor checked her ears, Libby plucked the badge from his clinic coat.\u00a0 It had a great picture and he was about the right age.\u00a0 The doctor flicked the plastic cone-shaped speculum from the end of the otoscope into the trash.\u00a0 He smiled and told Libby that she was fine, but suggested she try yoga or tai chi to reduce her stress.\u00a0 Libby frowned when she remembered that she had thrown away a yoga flyer just last week; the man on the front hadn\u2019t been quite right.\u00a0 As the doctor filled out a prescription for her headache, she wanted to tell him Of course, I\u2019m fine; Suds didn\u2019t come in here with me<\/em>.<\/em><\/p>\n Libby left the exam room feeling neither better nor worse.\u00a0 She pulled Suds over her head, threading her arms through it like a sweater, and headed back to her apartment.\u00a0 She took the real estate flyer off the fridge and replaced it with the doctor\u2019s badge, clipping it to the bottom of her calendar.\u00a0 The doctor looked back at her seriously.\u00a0 His eyes followed her as she moved about the room.\u00a0 Libby looked back and smiled.<\/p>\n <\/br> Have been trying to reach you.\u00a0 This is the man you\u2019ve been looking for<\/em>, it read.<\/p>\n Libby examined the man\u2019s picture.\u00a0 He had a square chin and dark eyes that she recognized as her own.\u00a0 He was perfect.<\/p>\n <\/br> \u201cYou are my son?\u201d she blurted.\u00a0 She hadn\u2019t meant for it to come out as a question. \u00a0\u201cI lost you long ago\u2026\u201d her voice trailed off.\u00a0 She saw several members of the audience turn towards her in surprise, their faces\u2014pie plates with dark \u201cOhs\u201d stamped in the center. \u00a0She could feel Suds wrapping its fingers around her throat, squeezing, attempting to silence her.<\/p>\n The psychologist stared at her in an expression nondescript.\u00a0 Suds had tightened around Libby\u2019s windpipe, so she couldn\u2019t speak, and her vision was starting to quaver.\u00a0 She started to sink into Suds, yielding to its insistent tugging.\u00a0 She wanted to disappear into its center void where it was warm and comfortable.\u00a0 Why had she come here?<\/p>\n The psychologist now stood in front of her.\u00a0 He took Libby\u2019s hands in his own and smiled.\u00a0 He made as if to brush Libby\u2019s hair out of her eyes, but instead gave Suds a gentle swipe.\u00a0 He unraveled it from Libby\u2019s head and from around her neck.\u00a0 His eyes locked with hers.<\/p>\n \u201cYou and I should grab a cup of coffee.\u00a0 I think we have a lot to talk about.\u201d\u00a0 His voice was kind, not the condescending tone that she so often confronted.<\/p>\n Libby heard a horrific shriek.\u00a0 She didn\u2019t know if the sound issued from her own throat or was merely in her head, but she felt Suds loosen.\u00a0 She watched as it slid down onto the floor and slithered into the heat vent.\u00a0 She wanted to run after it and pull it back, so she could wrap herself in it.<\/p>\n The psychologist gave her hand a squeeze, and Libby smiled back shyly.<\/p>\n They walked towards the exit together, and she chanced a look back over her shoulder, but there was no sign of Suds.\u00a0 A man in the back row was putting on his overcoat.\u00a0 He reached down for his brief case, and Libby saw a smoky scarf wind loosely around his neck.\u00a0 It was periwinkle blue\u2014a happy color.\u00a0 One end of it floated up and waved at Libby.\u00a0 She gave it a nod and put on her jacket.\u00a0 She heard a quiet pop!<\/em> when she zipped it up and smiled.\u00a0 She walked out into the light of day. by Hall Jameson A foamy swath surrounded Libby\u2014her own personal rain puff.\u00a0 It was a typical Tuesday\u2014the day of limbo\u2014where the week threatened neither to begin nor end, but merely sat quietly.\u00a0 Nothing horrible ever happened on a Tuesday. She … Continue reading
\nThe trolley dropped Libby off in front of the building where she worked.\u00a0 Suds tightened around her body as she entered the sterile concrete structure.\u00a0 It did not like it here, and became compact and tense.\u00a0 Libby didn\u2019t mind it though, she felt safe in her cubicle with its beige walls, beige phone, and beige desk.\u00a0 The only thing that wasn\u2019t beige was her stapler\u2014it was red:\u00a0 the exclamation point of her workspace.<\/p>\n
\nLibby was hungry after four hours of tabbing through data entry screens and stabbing buttons on the ten-key.\u00a0 She looked at her stapler and it winked at her.\u00a0 She frowned and wandered into the break room for lunch, hoping that no one was there, but two women sat quietly eating pale sandwiches and pickles.\u00a0 Their conversation halted as soon as she entered the room.\u00a0 She hated that!<\/p>\n
\nWhen Libby got home the number on her answering machine proudly displayed a \u201c4.\u201d\u00a0 She knew all four calls were from him.\u00a0 She stabbed the erase button and exhaled as the number changed to \u201c0,\u201d a safe number with no sharp edges.\u00a0 Much better.<\/p>\n
\nWhen she reached her desk the next morning her stapler was gone and there was an awkward bare spot on her beige desk.\u00a0 She wondered if the pickle-woman had taken it.<\/p>\n
\nLibby woke feeling sick; listless.\u00a0 Her head was pounding.\u00a0 The little red light on her phone was blinking.\u00a0 She knew it was him.\u00a0 The office was quiet and some of the cubicles were dark.\u00a0 She didn\u2019t know how long she\u2019d been asleep.\u00a0 She hated it when she lost snatches of time!\u00a0 Suds covered her like a quilt, snug up to her chin.\u00a0 She decided to go to the walk-in clinic down the block before she caught the trolley home.<\/p>\n
\nWhen Libby got to work the next day, her stapler was back in its usual spot.\u00a0 She stood in the entrance to her cubicle for a moment and stared at it distrustfully.\u00a0 There was something underneath it.\u00a0 It was a flyer, printed on blue paper, with a photograph of a handsome man on the front.\u00a0 He looked back at Libby with calm eyes and a warm smile.\u00a0 The flyer was for a lecture on forgiveness.\u00a0 The man in the photograph was a psychologist. There was a handwritten note scratched below the photograph.\u00a0 It was from him.<\/p>\n
\nLibby sat in the auditorium feeling small under the veil of her protector.\u00a0 She felt numb.\u00a0 It was hard for her to be so close to the man.\u00a0 When he asked for questions at the end of the seminar, she surprised herself by standing.\u00a0 She opened her mouth and heard her voice.<\/p>\n
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\nHALL JAMESON<\/strong> is a writer and fine art photographer. She was born in Damariscotta, Maine, and lived in New England for thirty years before moving west in 1997. She currently lives in Helena, Montana. When she’s not writing, Hall enjoys hiking, photographing grain elevators, and cat wrangling.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"