Chapter 1
As a single woman, I never worried about finding my soulmate. Sure, I considered what he might look like physically. He would be medium height, most likely athletic, but not overly muscled, and I wouldn’t care what color his hair was, but probably brown. His name would be something unique and manly, like Zane or Thor. I assumed he would show up someday during a tornado or tsunami because everything about him would be unusual. Just like me, unusual. I was a squiggle in a world full of squares.
Throughout my life it was common for people to try and change me, but I was confident in my squiggleness and had no desire to be transformed into something boring and squarish. I learned early the world was created for square people. We tell everyone to strive to be an individual, think outside the box, embrace your differences, but we don’t mean it. By we, I mean society. Society demands you stay inside the all-important lines used to determine what is normal or acceptable. It rewards those who fit the cookie-cutter mold and ostracizes the few who dare to be true to their real shape. I longed to be accepted for who I was and determined to reach out and grab my Thor when he blew past me. Until then, life was good the way it was.
Something changed one summer day. There was nothing special or unusual about it; in fact, it was ordinary in every way. I drove to work in my Volkswagen Beetle, choosing that style of car because it wasn’t square shaped, and I could get one in bright orange. I loved the color orange. I don’t think there is nearly enough orange in the world.
I pulled into my parking space and looked up at the large square building in front of me. I didn’t have a clue how buildings were designed or what architecture meant. But with the word ‘arch’ in the title… couldn’t the buildings at least have one of those? The windows were square, and even the door was rectangle, which is really just a stretched-out square. I am certain not one good idea ever came from a square office building.
I got my purse and bent down to put on my shoes before walking like a drone toward the building. I noticed I had two differently colored shoes, one black and one navy. Oh well, I had on a grey skirt, so I was good with either color.
I’ve worked here for almost a year and I still have no idea what the company does. I just attach prewritten answers to e-mail questions while sitting in my cubicle. Yes, a cubicle, a small square inside a bigger square. My job isn’t a career or a stepping stone to anything important. It just pays my bills, so I can live with my friend, Claire. She works here too, but she is so pretty she doesn’t need to worry about a career. I’m sure some rich man will come along and sweep her off her feet, eventually. I wish he would hurry because her Neanderthal boyfriend, Amos, gets on my last nerve. He works here too, but down in the basement warehouse where cretins should work.
As I entered the lobby, a woman I didn’t know said with a smile, “Your shoes don’t match.” I rolled my eyes and refused to comment. Both black and navy go with grey, so she was just plain wrong.
When I reached my cubicle, I placed my chin on the five-foot wall covered with industrial grade carpet to stare at the horrid little space. My desk was a mess and papers were stuck with thumbtacks all over the walls. Most of the papers were horoscopes for the month. I was a big believer in other people’s psychic abilities, but I liked to pick and choose who to believe on a particular day.
“Hi, Tobi,” someone said, causing my head to turn at the sound of my name. It wasn’t actually my name, but it was so much better than Erica Ann Wilson. I realized in second grade my initials spelled ‘ew’, so I began calling myself Tobi. I got the name from a Japanese Anime, but it doesn’t have any special significance to me. I mean, I didn’t relate to the masked character or feel any emotional connection to the analogy of mankind wearing masks to fit into the norms of society. It was easy to spell, and I was seven.
“Hi, Kev,” I responded to my friend Kevin. He was a small guy, not in height, but he had narrow hips and shoulders. His clothes were always stylish, and he knew how to perfectly accessorize. For some reason Kevin was the only person to completely understand my squiggle nature and I valued his friendship greatly.
Finally, I forced myself to enter the cubicle and sat in my standard-issue chair before dropping my purse under the desk. I sighed and glanced at the picture inside a bone-shaped frame. “Good morning, Sammy,” I said aloud to my dog. I didn’t really have a dog, but I found a picture online of a Bichon Frise with a red, diamond-studded collar and thought it was cute. My attention wandered to the picture of my sisters in a silver, oval frame. I didn’t really have sisters either, but if I did I would want them to look just like these two girls. When anyone asked why they were blonde and I was a brunette, I would explain I was adopted but my family loved me all the same. I’m sure my parents wished I was adopted; they wouldn’t have to blame each other for having a squiggle daughter instead of a normal square.
Before I could turn on my computer, Mr. Stovall stood at the end of the line of cubicles and called for everyone’s attention. He was our boss, not yet thirty, and already finding joy in bossing people around. He spoke in a thick southern accent that sounded sweet, but he stared with accusing eyes like he was choosing who to cannibalize. I thought he was freaky, but a girl three cubes down thought he was a god. I don’t know any gods who walk so straight they look like they have a stick up their backsides, or keep their hands clasped firmly behind their backs. Maybe, he was a famous Army general in another life and the stance carried over.
I only caught the tail-end of his announcement, something about a party as a reward. I groaned and shook my head. Square people didn’t know how to party, they would make lists and no great party ever came from a list. Woodstock was never on anyone’s to do list. An inevitable sign-up sheet would be passed around asking us to bring cookies or chips. I would sign up for both and bring neither… maybe lemon slices and anchovies?
“Did he say when the party would take place?” the stranger across from me asked. He never spoke to me in the two weeks he had been working diligently close to my cube. I knew I didn’t like him, not from any slight or malfeasance toward me, but he was too organized. I was sure he was a serial killer.
I glanced around my messy office and then looked up at him again. He was cute, for a serial killer. He had perfect dark hair, stylish clothes, and mysterious grey eyes, yeah, he screamed serial killer.
“Just a sec,” I said, as I raised my finger and finished reading the day’s horoscope. Nope, none of the psychics saw him coming. I looked back at him and said, “I wasn’t listening.” I admitted this because I never listened.
He chuckled and nodded before explaining, “I need to set up a private appointment and I thought I would do it during the party.”
This was way too much information for a serial killer to be giving his prey. Maybe he needed to set up a doctor’s appointment because he was dying of a brain tumor. Being so organized had to be a sign of some sort of brain abnormality. He had only one paper, one of absolute importance stuck to his wall. Obviously, he didn’t believe in psychics.
I scooted my chair closer to the opening of my cubicle and whispered, “If you need to see a doctor you don’t have to do it during the party.”
He leaned closer too and whispered back. “I don’t need to see a doctor.”
I nodded, understanding his dilemma now, and asked, “You have an interview for a better job?”
He laughed loudly, so I sat up and pushed back toward my desk. He was laughing at me when I was concerned for his tumor; this serial killer was quite the jerk. The unusual sound of someone enjoying themselves caught Mr. Stovall’s attention and he came to our cubes to see what was happening. My hands sprang to the still dark computer and I pretended to type furiously.
“Julius, are you bothering Ms. Wilson?” he asked.
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br /> Julius, oh yuk, what a horrible name, who would name a kid Julius when there are so many other more appropriate names for a gorgeous serial killer? Maybe he was named after his great grandfather, or a king. What nickname did people call him…Julie…Us…? No, I didn’t like the name.
“I was just telling her what a loser you are, Travis,” the serial killer replied.
My eyes bugged out, like Travis’ usually did, and looked at the two men in shock. I expected to see some sort of confrontation because not only did he call Mr. Stovall by his first name; he called him a loser, too. But they were both looking at me like I was the one with all the power. Oh man, it would be so cool to have all the power. I would have everything torn down and rebuilt without anything square shaped. Orange would be the national color and it would be illegal to make a list when planning a party.
“Did you hear me?” Mr. Stovall asked.
“Oh, sorry, what did you say?” I replied, forcing myself to pay attention this time.
“I asked if you knew Jennifer Staple?” he repeated.
Now it was my turn to laugh. I knew Jennifer alright; she came from my hometown and was my nemesis growing up. To call Jennifer easy would be like calling the ocean wet. She was wearing a bra in third grade, making out with high school boys in sixth, and our junior year she came to the school talent contest with a 24-ounce Pepsi bottle and showed everyone how she could put the entire thing in her mouth.
“Yes, I know Jennifer “too easy” Staple, although I can only recognize her if she’s lying on her back with her feet in the air,” I admitted. Both men stared with shock and I quickly covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh no, one of you is dating her, or both, you are both dating her, and I just said something awful about your girlfriend?”
The air around us became silent and heavy. It was as if some impending doom was about to fall so the world paused for a second before crashing down upon me.
“Wife,” Julius said sheepishly. CRASH.
My eyes darted back and forth between the two men searching for any sign they were teasing me. Nobody in their right mind would marry Jennifer ‘always open for business’ Staple. A brain tumor, it had to be, he was dying and thought Jennifer’s diseases would somehow cure him. You know, like gaining immunity from a small amount of infection. I looked directly at him as he picked a loose string on the top of my cubicle.
“We’re getting divorced,” he added even softer.
I don’t know why he would say it softly; it should be something he happily screamed from a street corner as he danced with a sign in his hands. “You married Jennifer?” I asked, thinking my ears were clogged or I missed a crucial piece of information. “Did you lose a bet or something?”
“She was… less than honest,” he said stupidly.
“Yeah, whores lie,” I explained to his lacking intellect.
At that point, Sara walked into my cube to worship Mr. Stovall at close range. She giggled and asked me something, but I wasn’t listening. I think I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t listen when Sara speaks. She has a very coquettish voice that made clients imagine she was sitting at her desk with fishnet stockings and sucking on a lollipop. My voice conjured up images of a fishing shack, so I was assigned to only answering e-mails.
Julius went back to work as Sara and Mr. Stovall were having a deep conversation at my desk. I reached inconspicuously and turned on my computer just as my phone rang. I stared at it like I wasn’t sure what the contraption was. Nobody ever called me, and if it was a client I would have no idea what to tell them. I reached for the phone and realized I didn’t even know the name of the company. I was drawing a complete blank right in front of my freaky staring, military marching supervisor. I glanced at my sisters hoping they would throw me some much-needed inspiration and placed the receiver to my mouth. “Tobi Wilson, how may I help you?” It was awesome, perfect in fact, so I blew an air kiss to my sisters.
“Can you hear me?” someone whispered quietly. I froze as I tried to decide how to handle an obscene phone call, although nothing obscene had been said so far. I decided I needed to purchase a whistle, so I could be ready next time. I would blow out his perverted eardrum and see how much fun he had. “Tobi?” the voice asked, to interrupt my whistle shopping.
“Who is this?” I whispered back.
“Julius, in the cubicle across from you.”
I wasn’t comfortable in a square, so cube etiquette was not one of my specialties. I turned to look at him when I should have remained staring forward. He got right to the point of his call. “My buddy Travis has a thing for Sara, is she available?”
My eyes moved to Mr. Stovall and noticed how he stole entire body glances of Sara as she spoke. I was highly offended, since he didn’t steal any of me. I cupped the receiver with my hand to keep from being overheard and said, “He should write her a note and ask her to check yes or no.” What was he, twelve? If he liked Sara he should ask her out, it wasn’t like he hadn’t already stripped her down with his freaky eyes.
“Travis is very…. proper. I’m afraid he’ll take so long he will lose his chance with her,” Julius said to defend his chicken friend.
“Man, I have to do everything,” I complained, and let the phone drop to my shoulder. “Hey Sara, do you have plans for lunch?” I asked her.
Her face blushed and she peeked at Travis before shaking her head in the negative. I smiled and looked at the man myself as I said, “Great. Mr. Stovall, will you take Sara to lunch for me today? I’m busy.” He looked stunned, but he nodded in agreement, so I added, “Perfect, now can you go to Sara’s cube to work it out?” I watched them walk away and then put the phone back to my mouth as I stared across the walkway. “Done,” I said proudly.
I was setting things in motion that would affect my entire life, but at the moment I just wanted Sara out of my cube and Mr. Stovall out of earshot while I flirted with the serial killer across the way. I think there should be a bell that sounds when something big happens in your life, like in the movie where an angel gets its wings. We have alarm clocks to wake us up for work, but where is the alarm to wake us up for life?
“Wow, you should be my divorce lawyer,” Julius laughed.
“I would have you put to death for marrying Staple, there is no coming back from that level of stupidity,” I told him honestly. Obviously, his parents didn’t teach him anything, so it was up to me to be completely frank with him; because I’m sure Jen was with both him and Frank. I was speaking right to his face, but still holding the phone to my mouth. He was more adjusted to life in a cube, so he hung up his receiver.
“Like I said, she wasn’t honest,” he offered, still trying to find a way to defend his decision. “How do you know her?”
My lips pulled into a snarl and my eyes narrowed. I had plenty of stories I could share about Jennifer ‘her royal whoreness’ Staple, but the main reason I hated her was because she slept with my boyfriend, after I was the one to introduce them. The jerk I was dating didn’t understand why I would be upset, since she slept with most of his friends that night too, but I’m an only child and I don’t like other people touching my stuff. “She took my boyfriend’s virginity,” I said with venom.
Poor, dying Julius looked a bit confused. He appeared to think it was okay for his soon to be ex to sleep with my virginal guy. He finally said, “Maybe the guy was a player?”
“Well, she played with all his friends that night, too. I guess you could say it was a coming of age story for the entire class.” I watched Julius’s face turn pale and I wondered if he felt the sudden need to get an antibiotic shot. Although, I doubt there is enough antibiotics in the world to kill Jen’s diseases.
It was odd to have a conversation about someone from my small town. I never thought in a million years I would run into anyone naïve enough to marry Jen, but here we were, face-to-face, speaking about the most painful subject for both of us. He opened his mouth to say something and I noticed what a nice mouth he had. His lips weren
’t too full or too thin and his jaw was manly, making me wonder what he would look like as he chewed something, like steak. I made my way up his face to find his eyes waiting for some sort of response.
“Oh, did you say something?” I blurted out.
“I said I met her at church and she….”
“Church?” I yelled in shock, catching the attention of everyone in our row. Surely, there had to be some sort of spiritual forcefield to protect places of worship, I mean, just any old whore could wander inside and contaminate the place. If Jen was in church, she must have been there for an exorcism and unfortunately Julius was in the path of the demon when it bolted.
“She pretended to be sweet,” he said, and looked down in embarrassment.
“Sure, just like prunes are sweet, but if you eat them you’ll end up in deep crap.”
He laughed loudly again, and it made me smile. Now I understood how serial killers got women to go with them, they probably worked very hard on their laughs and smiles. We both saw Travis coming our way and turned our attention back to the computers. I attached responses to questions and let my mind wander back in time.
As a teen, I was crazy about my boyfriend Jack. He was funny, not too bright, and had a remarkable body for a high school boy. He moved to Cartwright our sophomore year and physically things progressed slowly, mainly because my father was the principle of the school. It was okay to end up in my dad’s office for ditching, or smarting off to a teacher, but showing up for feeling-up his daughter in the hallway would mean detention for sure.
To make my life more difficult, my mother was the mayor of our small town. In a big city being a mayor was important, but in my tiny corner of the world, a coastal town in Northern California, it meant she had a great smile and people liked her. My parents still called me Erica, but I didn’t mind, because I usually ignored them anyway.
Jack was naturally athletic and a lot of fun to hang around. We were surfing one day when we ran into Jennifer and her posse of sluts. Jack was wearing a wet suit that clung tightly to his body. I had on board shorts and a tank top, with not much in my tank. I foolishly introduced them and watched as Jen smashed her large bosom against his own chest. He had a surf board in his hand and I had no idea why he didn’t use it to knock her out. Turns out guys like women with large breasts smashing against them.
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