His First Day

He rounded the corner to his destination when the sky began pelting down rain. "Just my luck," he thought. Fifteen blocks without so much as a sprinkle, then that. First impressions were important to him, and showing up soaking wet on the first day of his new job was not the one he wanted to make.

The man arrived at Roosevelt Ave & 52nd Street at 7:54 A.M. and rushed under its awning to outrun the rain. He looked at his watch— just enough time to dust a few raindrops off his shoulders and remove the handkerchief from his pocket to dry his face. Perhaps the most crucial part of a first impression was being on time, and though he had four minutes to spare after freshening up, he decided to walk through the revolving door and into the lobby.

Following the short spin, he placed his feet on a soft, plush rug. Eyes followed the rug straight ahead to the front desk where the lobby officer stood. He made his way to the desk all while covertly taking in the beauty of the room. From wall to wall was sparkling black and white harlequin marble tile. Sprawling seating areas were on either side of him, each peppered with upper-class men and women drinking coffee while quietly chatting or reading the newspaper. With a swift upward glance, he noticed the breathtaking light fixtures that hung in staggered rows. March's surroundings excited and amazed him, but he had simultaneously never felt so out of place. He looked ahead and made eye contact with the man at the desk before giving a cordial smile. He was only a few steps away when he felt a hand firmly grip his left shoulder.

"Mr. March?"

The touch startled him, but he made sure not to let it show. "Yes, that's me. And are you Harry Sharpe? The man I spoke with on the phone?" He recognized the man's gruff manner of reciting his name.

"The only one in the building. I know, I've checked," Harry said nonchalantly, like it was the only answer he ever gave the question. "Well, if you'll follow me, we can head upstairs," Harry prompted, then he turned his direction to the row of elevators left of them. He was quite a tall man with an intimidating air about him, the kind of man you would not dare make repeat himself. The young man nodded and trailed behind.

They arrived at the first set of elevator doors just as they opened and off stepped several people. Harry led them on and immediately pressed the "close door" button. A woman walked up, and the doors closed mere inches from her face, so close the shock could be seen on her face from Harry's abrupt discourtesy. He removed a ring of keys from his pocket and fitted a small silver one into a locked panel beneath the rows of numbered buttons. Behind this panel was one simple button marked, "PH". They rode in silence for 28 floors until they reached their stop.

The doors opened silently and revealed an unexpected scene. There was no hall of doors to apartments as expected. The room outside the elevator doors was a grand entryway into a private residence. The floors mirrored those of the lobby, and the walls were adorned with beautiful board and batten moulding painted in a dark hunter green. There was a large oil painting on the wall March could not recognize but knew was very expensive. In the center of the foyer, was a round table with an exquisite vase in the center. Harry walked to the table and retrieved a black folder with matching fountain pen sat atop.

"Read this thoroughly and sign when you're done. If you would like a lawyer present, we can arrange for one to arrive tomorrow, but you will have to leave for the day. You may not enter any further into the residence without having signed. If you do not agree and refuse to sign, I will escort you back to the lobby and send you on your way. Do you understand these conditions as I have explained them to you?" Harry said with a banal monotone voice indicating just how many times he had to recite the speech from memory.

"Yes, I understand," answered the man, feeling justifiably intimidated by all the cloak-and-dagger. Harry nodded and stepped out of the room while the young man opened his folder to read. There, atop the page in large bold letters read, "Non-Disclosure Agreement." It was all starting to make sense now. He knew the description given by the private security agency employing him seemed more bare and unclear than other jobs he worked before. It made complete sense that these measures were being taken. He read over the document carefully. Seeing, "confidentiality," "lawsuit," and, "large fine," written more than once caused him to feel a lump form in his throat. However, he dismissed any apprehension by reminding himself he was very good at keeping secrets; and with that, he signed.

Harry returned a few moments later. "Everything kosher?" he asked, his voiced echoing through the room.

"Yes, I've reviewed everything. It's signed."

"Excellent. Now you may follow me." Harry led him from the foyer into a large living area. The room was filled with magnificent furniture, and the wall across from them was full of windows before an adjoining balcony and breathtaking view. He could only take the allure of the room in passing as it was immediately clear they were not stopping. They continued to the right hand side of the room and turned down a long hallway with a large door at the very end. When they reached the barrier, he noticed it was made of metal and required a keypad code for entry. Harry stood directly in front of the pad, purposefully obscuring his view, and entered an eight digit code that beeped with each number. The light above the door turned green and they were granted access to walk through.

The new room was different from the lobby and the rooms preceding. It was not adorned with priceless antiques and floor to ceiling finishes. No, that room was more straightforward. Nothing was excessive or more elaborate than it needed to be. From the walls to the floor to the furnishings, it was evident that everything in that room was only there to serve a purpose. There were a few chairs lining the wall, tables on either end, and an empty desk in the middle of the room against a wall. And at the far side of the room was another door identical to the one they entered.

Harry sat at the desk and instructed March to take the chair across from him. "Now, you've signed the NDA, so you understand that any information you learn from this moment on is to be kept to yourself and should never be discussed beyond the walls of this building."

March nodded.

"We can't be too careful about that here. It's in the personal interest of our mutual employer that you fully comprehend the degree of privacy that is expected of you. I know you've worked security before, but I guarantee you've never been a keeper of such privileged intelligence," he insisted.

March's curiosity was at an all time high, and he felt at any second he might lose his cool, bang his fists on the table, and demand an answer for all the secrecy. But he shook off the thought and continued to listen eagerly.

"As for the reason you're here—" Harry began—­ "you have been hired to stand watch over an individual. The patient recently suffered a psychotic break and must be monitored day and night for the foreseeable future for their safety. Let's review ground rules:

"One, under no circumstances are you to speak with the resident. For reasons unclear, the most commonplace words or phrases have been known to cause an extreme reaction.

"Two, you will not make eye contact. Letting your guard down is the first step to engagement, which again, can result in an outburst.

"And three, you will not touch them. For reasons why, please refer to rules one and two." His bewilderment and concern must have shown on his face because before he could ask a question, Harry chimed in with, "These rules have evolved over time to protect our liability and to assure your safety." The reiteration of his wellbeing perturbed and raised the brewing question of his role and its severity. "As for your purpose, you are to keep a watch on the resident and ensure no harm comes to them, accidental or otherwise. That's it. I'm aware this position is less invigorating than you may have expected, but if you perform well on this assignment, there may be a more rewarding position available upon its conclusion. If you're interested."

Admittedly, March was not enthused about the mundane task awaiting him, but the possibility of a more exciting endeavor in the future grabbed his attention. Following a job working security, the only appealing aspect at present was the mystery behind the subject of his assignment.

"I'm always interested in working my way up. But I have to ask, how does a guy make a good impression when the assignment is so cryptic? I mean, who is this person?" he added.

"Specifics about them aren't necessary for you to do your job well. You have been told all of the essentials." Harry opened a side drawer of the desk and pulled out a small case. While opening it he said, "This is your personal alarm. If there is an emergency of any kind, press the button, it will alert me and the rest of the staff, and we will rush in. I don't expect you will need it, but it is required nevertheless. Do you agree to wearing the alarm for the safety of yourself and the resident?"

"Sure. Although I'll feel a little like my grandmother when she takes a bath," he joked, hoping to mask his nerves. Harry handed March the alarm, and he raised it over his head where it grazed blond hair before sliding around the neck and landing on his black quarter-zip pullover. As March adjusted the button, and without further ado, Harry guided him to their final door, input another code on its keypad, and entered the room.

For the fourth time today, March was surprised by the area in which he found himself. It was not a room at all, but a loft-style apartment. The space was intensely bright and open with a staircase to the right and a living area on the left. The impression was spartan yet elegant.

Aside from their footsteps, the room was dead silent. He barely had time to notice it before Harry bellowed, "Knock knock!"

His words hung in the air a moment before a soft call echoed from their left, "Who's there? Just kidding. I know exactly who it is, who it always is." The unmistakable femininity in the voice surprised him. He had not expected the infamous resident to be a woman.

"Front and center, private!" Harry boomed in a simultaneously stern and playful tone.

And with that, a young woman appeared from the living room. She had unruly long auburn hair that fell and bounced in waves. She scurried to stand in front of Harry and lifted her right hand in a salute. It was then March and Harry noticed she had green paint on her fingertips that now smeared across her brow. Their eyes followed her path to where an easel stood. Painted on the canvas was a lush forest, the quality of which was quite impressive for having been painted by a finger.

She laughed at her performance and waited for Harry's smile. It was only after its appearance she even noticed March. "Wait, who's this?" she inquired.

Harry let out a sigh, knowing the explanation for March's presence could potentially upset her. "Now, I know you're not seven anymore, but after this recent episode, we've had to bring in someone who can keep an eye you while you're getting better."

"You got me a babysitter? I don't need that. But I would love some company," she said with a smile.

"Well, here's the thing about this kid, he's pretty shy. So I don't think he's one for conversation. He's just gonna be around in case of emergencies." Harry glanced at March in a knowing way to let him know that the young woman was unaware of the reason why he was instructed to keep silent. "He's just gonna be over here twiddling his thumbs while you go about your day, okay?"

"All right, all right. But I'm still gonna talk to him, even if he's too scared to talk to me."

"I hope you're up for a challenge, I could barely get a word out of the guy on the way up, it was like pulling teeth," Harry lied. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the paint from her forehead. "All right, I've got lots to do today. You just focus on taking it easy, all right?"

"I'll try." She reached her arms high above her to give Harry a hug, but he stopped her before paint-covered fingers could touch his suit jacket.

"Whoa, there! Not on me. Why don't you take yourself back over there and paint the kid a picture, okay?"

She laughed, not realizing what she almost did. They said their goodbyes and Harry exited the loft. March took his post at the foot of the stairs and joined his hands behind his back. The girl returned to her painting and stared a moment before she resumed creating a tree. She painted in silence for a few minutes until her voice rang out through the silent room. "Oh gosh, I didn't tell you good morning!" she gasped. "I was trying to think of a great way to introduce myself, but I came up flat." She made her way across the room and stopped a few yards from him.

It was obvious she hoped for him to respond, but March kept his eyes forward and remembered his task. Her words echoed in his ears and he waited for them to gradually fade into silence. They just left him when she spoke again.

"I know you're shy, it's just that I've been here for a very long time with no one to talk to but myself. And I don't think I have to tell you, but that kind of treatment can drive a person crazy," she said while swirling her pointer finger in tiny circles at her temple. "Ooh, I know! We'll play a game to get to know each other better. I'll ask you some questions. You can answer first, then I'll answer second. Sound good?"

He looked down at his shoes, hoping to convey how unfazed he was by her attempt to make conversation. However, she took his silence as a yes.

"Okay great! Let me think of a really good first question. The first question sets the tone for the whole game and I can't blow it. Hmm... I've got it! What was the name of your first pet?"

He remained stoic and silent, knowing his instructions.

"Come on," she pleaded. "No one will know you told me."

March, again, did nothing. No recognition, no eye contact, and of course, no answer.

She groaned at him. "Ugh, well I guess I'll have to answer since you won't. My first pet was a gray and white kitten named 'Cinderella.' She had a pink nose and only three toes on her back paw." She smiled contentedly. "See? Now that wasn't hard at all. I bet you could do it if you really tried", she added, waiting for him to take the bait of the challenge she set up.

He let out a small exasperated sigh through his nostrils. March began to realize it was going to be a very long and annoying day.

After waiting a generous amount time for him to answer, she sounded defeated when she looked down and expressed, "I really hope you aren't like the other ones. They never said a word to me. Do you know how lonely I am here? There's no one to talk to about the weather, or ask how their weekend was, or even if they hit traffic on their way to work. Most people hate those kinds of conversations and I'd give anything for one..." She looked up and continued with fresh enthusiasm, "But I think you'll be different than them. I can feel it, you're special."

March heard those words and could not help but feel a little bad for her. He could not imagine living that life every single day. It did seem enough to drive a person crazy, but he pushed the thought from his mind and remained steadfast.

After a moment, the young woman spoke again, "I think I asked the wrong question. That one wasn't very fun. I just have to find the perfect question that you won't be able to refuse answering. I'll have to think for about it for a minute, but until it comes to me, what's your favorite color?" She took a seat at the dining table in front of him and squinted her eyes to show a lighthearted earnestness.

He answered in his head: green. He regretted it immediately. He had been trying not to give any sign they were communicating and he lost that internal battle.

She sat anxiously waiting for his answer, thinking surely he would answer. It was the most basic question on Earth, and everyone had an answer. But he stood like a statue with his gaze fixed on the wall behind her.

She stared at him in anticipation, and he did not budge.

"I guess I should stop trying to force you to talk to me. If you don't want to, I can't make you," her voice trailed off defeated and solemn. She left their shared space and went back to her easel on the other side of the room.

A few minutes of comfortable silence went by. To March, the air in the room felt almost peaceful. He wondered if maybe she fell asleep on the sofa and decided to risk a glance from the corner of his eye. She was sitting on a stool, adding foliage to her forest. March took a seat at the dining table and gazed out the window. He did so almost twenty minutes when he heard her speak again.

"Well, I guess I can tell you my favorite color now," she blurted out, breaking the silence. "I love red. But not just any red, a deep dark red. I love thinking about it. It reminds me of heat and fire. I love fire." She paused before continuing, "Did you ever go camping in the woods when you were little? Like in the deep woods where you could hear the crickets chirp and the barn owls hooting? I used to stare up at the trees and see them sitting on the branches, the fire reflected in their eyes as they stared down at me. Anyway, we used to camp when I was little, and we'd light these big fires, the ones where you make a circle out of stones and light the fire inside of it?"

She stopped suddenly. The tone in her voice changed and was lower, more despondent before she began again. "My favorite part was when it got really dark outside and the fire was so tall. Gosh, I'd just stare into it forever. I loved the way the fire stood out against the blackness surrounding it on all sides and how wild and hot it was, but contained within the stones." Her voice turned even lower, like a whisper. "And I liked thinking that all it took was moving one little rock, and there would be a disaster." She trailed off, looking at the floor with a vacant expression on her face.

March was surprised and disturbed by her sudden change in attitude. She was so optimistic about the day only minutes ago. What changed? He thought about it another moment, then convinced himself to focus on something else, anything else. He tried to make himself ignore her mood and stared more intently out the window, counting the floors on the building across from him. He focused so earnestly, March forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

"Okay, I have just one more question for you." He instinctively looked in her direction, foolishly forgetting his orders. She was standing on the mantle above the fireplace, holding both her arms straight out like a scarecrow. He had no time to react before she calmly asked, "Do you think I can make this?"

March ran to her, screaming, "Get down!"

With one swift motion, she stepped from the mantle in the direction of the couch. But she did not jump far enough. Her head hit the corner of the coffee table. March rounded the couch to find her on the floor, blood pouring from her head. Frantically, he pressed the button of his alarm. He tried applying pressure to her head, tried to slow the bleeding. It was pointless to keep quiet now, and he blurted out, "Why did you do that?! Huh?! What's the matter with you?!" His voice wavered from concern and dread.

"I didn't mean... I didn't mean to do..." She stopped mid-sentence and her eyes began to close. March shook her limp body to rouse her and she slowly opened her eyes.

The young woman was calm. She showed no emotion, good or bad. In a soft almost gasp, she asked, "What's your name?"

March, still holding her head and noticing a pool of blood gather on the floor beside them, fumbled his words before finally letting out, "Benjamin. My name is Benjamin."

Benjamin could hear the panic-stricken keypad beeping in the distance and prayed that help would hurry.

She smiled at him as if they had known each other for years, and the sight of it broke his heart. She glanced at the pool of blood and said with excitement and surprise, puffing between her words, "Look Benjamin... it's my... favorite color."