Punching Holes by Scott Levy
Originally published in Phenomenal Literature, 2021
The latte did its job and helped Meg get through the first half hour. Now that it was finished, she was once again on her own.
After triple checking the reports, she dragged herself to Stacy’s office, the caffeine from her morning coping mechanism transitioning its effect from energy to jitter.
“They’re still not right,” she informed her new boss. “I’m used to the old system. I thought I had finally wrapped my head around the new one. I thought wrong.”
“Don’t sweat it. We told you there would be a learning curve,” Stacy said.
“It’s already been a week.”
Stacy laughed the laugh of happy hours and lunch breaks gone by. Meg was momentarily transported to the pre-promotion days, when learning curves were for the people down the hall.
“A week is nothing! I was still having anxiety dreams two months after my last bump up.”
“So, I have at least two more months of insomnia?”
“You’ll do fine, kiddo. And look at the bright side. You’re only a couple of card punches away from a free latte.”
Meg could still hear Stacy’s chuckle as she approached her desk and prepared for her fourth attempt at navigating the winding loop that challenged her job related comprehension.
That was when she saw the sticky note on her computer screen.
So glad to see they moved your desk close to mine. I’ve missed you. Maybe we can pick up where we left off.
Fondly,
Dean.
Dean?
Meg looked around the large, cubicle-crammed space. In spite of the promotion, she had landed in a far more populated area than she previously occupied, as if the escalation of responsibilities coupled with more pay somehow correlated with an increase in work space population. Most of the faces thus far lacked familiarity-those few that rung the memory bell were attached to other names.
If there was indeed a Dean nearby, it was a mystery to her regarding the all important ‘who.’
She returned to the reports, her learning curve now further twisted by the post-it note.
#
Two days later, Meg turned in the fully completed reports. Stacy confirmed that yes, they were indeed done correctly. Meg’s buoyant sense of accomplishment lasted a full minute before Stacy shattered the bliss by saying, “And now comes the hard part. The front office has upgraded that system again, which means you need to re-learn it. Not the entire thing of course-just somewhere in the eighty percent range.”
Unmoved by her friend and supervisor’s statement, “I know you can do it,” and craving the world’s biggest latte, Meg returned to the monster that was her desk.
She had forgotten about the first one, until she was greeted by the second sticky note.
I don’t hold it against you that you didn’t reach out to me after my last message. I guess I was hoping that there were still a few smoking embers in our now extinguished fire. If you feel any remaining heat, you know how to find me.
Very fondly indeed,
Dean.
She did not, in fact, know how to find him. And she wasn’t at all certain that she wanted to do so.
#
Meg calculated that she had mastered roughly fifty percent of the new learning curve that Stacy had presented a day and a half ago. With approximately thirty percent remaining, she decided to reward herself by paying a visit to the coffee stand on the first floor. At one in the afternoon, she guessed that the line would be minimal. It was a large building with a proportionally sized lobby, but she hoped that the lunch crowd was interested in forms of refreshment other than her steaming energy drug of choice, which was to be served free of charge, thanks to the card that had attained its required maximum of punched holes.
She had the sensation of eyes beaming in her direction. A quick gaze to her left confirmed that she was indeed the target of a stare.
He was of medium height and weight, dressed in the business-casual attire that was the norm on her floor. His unfamiliar face smiled at her.
Carrying her still hot coffee, she quickly walked away. Although proof eluded her, her gut spoke the name, ‘Dean.’
The remaining thirty percent now felt like a thousand.
#
After a mostly sleepless night, Meg was greeted by a larger than usual sized sticky note stuck to her screen. Once again, the sensation of unwanted focus prickled her skin. She scanned the room, and found, four desks over, the man she had seen the day before. He smiled and nodded. Ignoring the gurgle in her belly, she turned to the note that blocked the visual path to the work that required her attention.
Meg,
I’ll come clean. I owe you that much.
It is technically true that, other than the moment we shared yesterday in front of the coffee stand, we have not actually officially met.
But technical truth is one thing-emotional truth is quite another.
I believe in our connection. I believe it with all my heart.
For several months now, I have suffered through my time on this uncaring Earth as a single man. Causing me soul crushing pain, my now former love Martha chose to leave me. After weeks of unreturned calls, and post-knock unopened doors, I learned to accept my cruel fate.
Then I saw you take up residence at the desk space which I now revere as a sacred shrine.
And while I am certain that you and Martha have never crossed paths, I can assure you that you are linked by matters of the soul. In terms of bone structure, height, weight, eye and hair color, you are strikingly similar. But of course, your corresponding qualities run so much deeper. Your bearing, your vocal mannerisms, your very essence-all are part of the genuine kindred link you have with her.
Martha-Meg. Meg-Martha. Even in alliteration, you share a bond.
It is with great hope that I beseech you to find it within your heart to explore the direction
that fate has offered you.
You and I are meant to be. I urge you to trust this truth.
With fondness and hope,
Dean.
Meg took a deep breath and opened her top drawer. Packets of sticky notes of various sizes were contained within. Choosing the largest selection, she peeled off the plastic shrink wrap, tore a page off the pad, and walked in the direction of Dean’s desk.
#
As she stood before him, Dean’s eyes widened. He smiled. He looked as if he were about to speak. Meg’s action cut him off.
She held up the single sticky note and tore to pieces, showering the scraps upon him.
“I have work to do,” she said. “I have a difficult new job with many new responsibilities. Your little notes may not take much time to read, but they scare me and piss me off, and I don’t have the time for that.”
Dean’s widened eyes grew even more agape.
She followed her fury and continued.
“I am not Martha. I have absolutely zero interest in bone structures, hair, alliteration, or whatever it is your disturbed little mind deems my ‘essence.’ I am completely myself. I am not some former, present, or any damn other object of your twisted notion of love. Had you wished to have learned my reality, as opposed to some fantasy, you could have actually spoken to me, and then listened when I spoke back. But you chose instead to assault my brain with a one sided attempt at what you may think of as communication but was in fact harassment. And yes, emphasis on was. Because you’re never going to do it again. If I see you so much as peel off a sticky note, I will throw my stapler at you, run not walk to H.R., report you, and then slap your stapler-injured head on the way back to my desk where, I repeat, I have work to do.”
His widened eyes filled with tears.
“And it’s time I got back to it. Yours not at all fondly, Meg.”
#
That evening, Meg and Stacy reverted to an old habit and attended happy hour at their regular spot down the street from work.
As Meg continued to devour the lion’s share of their order of nachos, Stacy said, “I guess you’ve earned your gluttony, kiddo. Those reports were perfect. You’re killing the learning curve. Keep this up and you’ll make the rest of us look bad.”
Swallowing, Meg gave her friend and boss a smile before quickly lifting another cheese- goo’d chip to her lips.
“I guess those lattes are doing the trick,” Stacy added.
Meg managed to speak through a mouth crowded with her bar food reward. “I’m actually thinking of taking a break from those for a while. I believe I’ve found another source of energy.”