Thinking of her

The wind rattles the auburn leaves on the trees lining the pavement of my apartment complex as I watch the cigarette smoke twist its way from my hand up the gray autumn sky patched with thin white clouds. The air smells of the roasted coffee and pastries they serve in the Starbucks coffee shop down the street.

I flick the butt of my cigarette, and make an inch-long worth of tobacco ashes fall into the empty void of the twelve-storey building, down my glass-framed balcony. Since last spring, I have been living alone at apartment No. 613—exactly in the middle and front side of the building. As I raise my eyes, far above, I notice two lone birds joyfully diving in and out between the clouds. Now that I am unemployed, I have recently caught myself revisiting memories of my time at the law firm in downtown Toronto.

For most of the day, I try to while the days away as best as I can. I clean many times around the apartment: many things in fact, the sinks, tables, windows or even the cupboards. I exercise as well; when I remember to, although rarely ever since the weather got colder. When I am not checking for job adverts online on my laptop, tea cup in hand, on my couch, I am editing and proofreading various documents for clients who pay me by the page, or sometimes, talking with old friends from college on social media.

I am rarely interested in what I find behind the small screen of my smartphone; the texts that get rarer with time, the internet funnies, shared posters of local events, and a few times, news of the twists and turns of life from family and friends.

Whenever I can, I indulge some of them as long as they don’t require that I get out of home. I only go out when I need to. Otherwise, I get some work done; or in the evenings, lay cuddled in my sheets to catch up with the latest binge-worthy TV shows; or I read a book until late in the night, then, when my head feels heavy enough, I gently fall asleep.

A gust of wind blows at my stone-cold face and sends shivers all the way down my spine. I take another puff.

More and more, mornings like these remind me of the first time I met Julia, three years ago, during my internship at the firm as the head of HR’s assistant. I had just turned twenty four—freshly graduated from Algonquin College with a bachelors in English and Communications—when I landed it, and it eventually turned into the position of the department secretary a year later.

I remember our encounter; when I first laid eyes on her in the vast lobby of the building on Eastwood Avenue: her dark brown hair jolted against her frail shoulders as she ran towards the elevators, a pile of files stacked in her arms, before she bumped into me as I was turning away from the reception desk. Luckily enough, they didn’t fall to the ground, and burst open, sending their contents to fly into the room. It would have indeed been her own fault had she stumbled and fell.

She marked a sudden pause in her steps.

She turned her head towards me, to search for the cause of her scare. She held her long forehead stilted in a incredulous frown when her gaze met mine. I immediately noticed the pale ocean blue color of her eyes; and in a way to express her surprise, she opened her pink rose-colored mouth but, for a moment, no sound was let out. I sensed it lasted an hour.

“Please, excuse me,” she muttered quickly before running off again.

The sound of her voice was soft with a husky undertone. Her words lapped against her lips like water streaming fast against a small stony stream. The dark red blazer she wore accentuated the almost pristine paleness of her skin and the delicate features of her face. She looked—I thought—like the type of girls I only saw on college brochures, softly grinning and posing smartly as a promise of the blissful experience that would shape the future with incredible memories to last a lifetime.

Then, I caught her scent: patchouli with a jot of jasmine; a smell that transported me back in the gardens of the countryside summers of my childhood.

A thumbing noise suddenly pulled me out of my trance.

Boxes slammed against the reception desk and I glimpsed over my shoulder. She had vanished. Unperturbed, she hurriedly ran to one of the elevators; her petite figure disappearing behind the steel doors. She was fast. I hadn’t said anything and I didn’t know her name.

“Excuse me. Do you work here miss?”

The voice was impatient and rolled in a slow, grating raspy sound into my ears like thunder. It was the receptionist. She was back behind the desk and I hadn’t noticed it.

“Hi. I’m Emma Johnson and—“

“How may I help you?”

The old woman took a sit back behind the desk and looked at me with irritated eyes behind purple-framed glasses atop a long wrinkled nose.

“— I am the new intern. I have an appointment with—”

She quickly gazed at me from head to toe and, seeming unimpressed, harshly cut me off to say: “Seventh floor. Office 4B. You’ll find Mr. Stevens there.”

Her pen pointed to the elevators as she stared longly at me with judgment. I checked my wrist watch and its arms showed eight o’clock fifty seven minutes. I was late on my first day.

I had made an effort to appear out of character for my first serious position and had worn an all black two-piece suit and stilettos; I had even pulled my black hair in a perfect bun and carried an office bag I got for a cheap price online. I felt as though I was rolled in the middle of a sushi and was finding it hard to move around with ease.

“Thank you,” I replied before rushing towards the elevators; hurrying without a glance back.

The lobby had almost instantly filled up with fast-paced workers and I could hear the various sounds of the daily occupations as though coming from the whole building: shoe heels were clapping against the floor, keyboard touches clicking on their desks, and paper sheets rumbling in the air.

My heart felt heavy with anticipation as I ran the few meters towards the doors of the elevators.

A dozen other people entered the steel cage and I behind them; and it lifted us up.

Once I got out of the elevator on the seventh floor, the air unstiffened quickly but I was running more late by the minute. I figured my first impression was not going to be the best for a first day. I paced straight into the long office corridor, swinging my neck left and right, in an desperate attempt to find the office door marked ‘4B’.

“Hey!”

A voice shouted from behind me. I turned and, to my surprise, it was her again; standing across a doorway, files in her hands, a smile on her face. She was beautiful.

I took a few steps back towards her until inches separated us.

“Are you Emma Johnson?” she asked?

“Yes,” I replied. Blood splashed through my cheeks.

“I thought it should be you. You’re late,” she said softly; “Mr. Stevens is my boss. He had a last minute change in schedule and asked me to take you around for your first day. I’m Julia Connor.”

At the last words, she extended her right arm and I grabbed her hand. Her skin was soft. I smiled back. I finally knew her name.

With a swift movement of the hand she invited me into the office. It was full of busy workers behind shoulder-high office booths. She led me to one of them and, with her finger, she pointed to another a few meters away.

“This will be your desk and, that’s Mr. Stevens’. He said to tell you to expect him in the afternoon.”

I nodded.

“Since you don’t seem to talk much,” she continued sarcastically, “I’ll hand you your first duty of the day.” She put the files on the desk.

“Can I first arrange my things before I begin?” I said timidly.

She batted her eyes for a moment and went on:

“Of course. Right after I’m done explaining Mr. Stevens’ orders to you. You are to arrange these editorial papers in files according to the labels attached on each one. Will you be fine with that?”

“I think so.”

“Great! Now, if you ever have any questions, you’ll find me at desk on the other side of the room. There—“

She pointed once more to another booth in the office with a small Pikachu stuffed toy hanging on the entrance frame.

“Thank you,” I mustered finally.

She bowed her head awkwardly on one side with her hands joined down at the thighs. “You’re welcome.”

Her heels turned to exit the booth and she abruptly stopped, for a few seconds, before facing me again. I was still standing motionless; my eyes wide with stupor.

“How about we have lunch together today so I can let you in on some of the tricks of the trade?”

She said this with a gleam on her smiling face and four raised fingers twitching in the air as if quoting the last words.

“I would love that,” I replied smiling back at her.

“I’ll come pick you up at twelve then.”

“Sure.”

She nodded amicably, turned and disappeared into the office hall. I felt a weight come of my chest as if the stiff air of the elevator was still carried inside my lungs all this while.

I began arranging my desk and immediately after, started the task of the day. By twelve, she came back to desk and I was finished and was sitting, waiting. She led me to the floor’s cafeteria and order a meal for each of us. She decided on pasta and I, seeing a lighter meal would be a better choice, on a salad,

We sat opposite each other at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria. As we began to eat, she pulled a thermal container from inside her handbag and two paper cups neatly arranged in a small plastic bag. She opened it, poured a drink in the two cups and served the both of us. I peered into my cup and, to my surprise, found the content of the cup was red wine.

“Do you usually drink at work?” I asked shyly.

“It’s just one glass of Merlot for lunch.” It’s not really drinking,” she replied gazing cunningly from above the cup she had raised to her mouth. “Especially if no one knows.”

We both giggled uncontrollably and I clinged my drink to hers before taking a sip. We both pouted :“Cheers!”

We ate our meal in a joyous atmosphere while she proceeded to tell me all the gossips of the workplace and even warned me against Mr. Stevens’s slight predatory behavior against new interns. We told each other part of our life stories and laughed throughout most of the break before we went back to the office our bellies full and warm from the wine. We had one of our best moments together on that day. We grew incredibly close from then on until the end of my time at the firm. During the next two years, we had come to accept and love each other for who we really were. We would remember many times the day we met, sharing wine over lunch, and eventually, we called it our ‘first date’.

I notice my cigarette is burned out and nonchalantly toss it off the balcony. I decide that today, I would have wine over lunch and head back inside the apartment.