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(This short story is from a collection of stories about two characters--Sanjay and Cider--who have lived many lives. In this iteration, Sanjay is an obsessive/compulsive fellow with some heightened sensitivities, who overthinks the world around him. The story is written to represent exactly one day in his life. It is written to have exactly enough paragraphs to represent the entire English alphabet, and no more. Each paragraph starts with a sequential letter of the alphabet, and is written to have exactly one hundred words, with hyphenated words counting as two. The form reflects the main character, and is part of the story.)
At exactly six o'clock each morning, Sanjay awoke to a narrow band, fixed frequency signal with an abrupt onset and intermittent sustained decibel levels. Most people thought of this simply as "an annoying alarm clock noise", but ever since Sanjay read Daniel P.W. Ellis' 2001 study on "Detecting Alarm Sounds", he couldn't help visualizing the spectrogram of the shrill, grating tone that meant it was time to get up and face the day. He wondered why the alarm clock manufacturers, knowing that their products would primarily be employed in tranquil bedrooms, designed based on principles meant for high noise environments.
Breakfast took precisely twelve minutes to prepare. Sanjay enjoyed rolled oats, which were slow to cook, but had an agreeable texture. The water took five minutes to boil, which is enough time to brush your teeth thoroughly and properly. The oats, tamped and flat in their measuring cup, were poured into the scalding liquid, stirred three times, and reduced to simmer for five minutes. While he waited, Sanjay would read. Then, the heat was turned off, and the pot was covered for two additional minutes. Time enough to arrange the bowl, spoon, and toppings: honey, molasses, dried cherries, and butter.
Commuting by carpool never completely suited him, but Sanjay had calculated the efficiency of the arrangement and determined that it would be irrational to discontinue. There were four people in his carpool, who split the cost of fuel, insurance, and vehicle maintenance. Two of these enjoyed chatting during the commute, while Sanjay and the remaining party enjoyed silent contemplation, reading, or other preparation for the work day. Only occasionally would the first two parties attempt to engage the latter in discussion, and only when they were certain that the topic would be of interest. They were all a good match.
Downtown was both pleasing and disturbing to Sanjay. The tidy grid was soothing on paper, but the clamor and commotion of the actual streets was unnerving. Sanjay was dropped off first, at the corner of 23rd and Madison. He would walk three blocks to his office--he could have shortened his route through simple optimizations, but he opted instead to avoid the stress of more crowded intersections. The final approach to his building entrance was an exception, teeming with people, but unavoidable. He would sometimes wait several minutes for a clearing, so he could approach the revolving doors without obstruction.
Entering the office building was stressful. The revolving doors provided a bottleneck, metering the flow of pedestrians from one side to the other. Sanjay imagined it like the narrow glass neck of an hourglass. In the morning it was turned one way, with the people flowing in, and in the afternoon it was turned upside-down, with the people flowing out. The two sides--inside and outside—--were nothing more than the two reservoirs of the glass, places for the grains to reside as they waited to continue their endless inversion from home to work. Was he a grain of sand?
Fighting his way through the lobby to the elevators left only a brief moment for philosophizing. He found that by staying close behind one person and matching their speed, he could usually make it through the horde without brushing against too many people. He kept his head down, and swung his briefcase wide to carve out his place. If he somehow lost his front cover, he would stop and look at his watch or phone until he found a new target. It was important that he not be at the front of the line when he reached the elevator doors.
Getting on the elevator also presented a challenge. The person at the front had to press the button (which was most certainly riddled with germs), and manage the space necessary to allow the current occupants to debark before the next crew loaded in. It was a major responsibility, and Sanjay avoided it fastidiously. Any slot in the middle of the line was acceptable. Being toward the front meant he had a greater chance of finding one of the coveted three corners away from the button matrix (another catastrophe), where he could safely sequester himself for the duration of the ascent.
Happy to debark at his 28th floor office, Sanjay would breath a sigh of relief as he wiggled his way off the elevator. The lobby was quiet and cool, and rarely hosted more than a handful of people. It was a place to pass through for most, but for Sanjay it was a destination of regeneration, a rare lull in the City That Never Sleeps. The receptionist sat behind a high counter, and by scooting to a far recess of the room, he could sit quietly and fiddle with his briefcase for several minutes without attracting any attention at all.
If he could stop the day right there, he would, but time waits for no man--especially not Sanjay. There were calls to make, clients to please, figures to crunch, and paperwork to be filled out. Always paperwork. Years ago, he had gotten obsessed with origami. Ever since, he couldn't help pondering on the massive zoo of folded animals he could create if he gave every report, every form, every letter over to that ancient art. The resultant paper wildlife park would boggle the imagination. He would sometimes reflect briefly on the idea as he sat down at his desk.
Just as soon as he sat down, the work would begin. Sanjay often wondered at how quickly the emails, phone calls, and coworkers would flow into his mental and physical space, as if some giant work spigot were activated by the pressure of his butt on the seat. But this was it, the ladder-climbing, nose-grinding J-O-B. This was what he had studied for in college. This is what he had searched and interviewed for. And what wasn't to like? His tasks were clear enough, and he had the capacity to complete them. What more could he ask for?
Knowing all this didn't make it better. The job was hard. His days were hard. Even leaving home was hard. He looked forward to his mid-morning break. At precisely 10:30am he would mute his phone, turn off his screen, and pull a book out of his briefcase. Setting it down carefully in the middle of his desk, he would stand and stretch while he examined the cover and imagined the contents. Four minutes of neck, arm, and back stretches left him exactly eleven minutes of reading time. Others might spend the time in the break room, but not Sanjay.
Lunch wasn't for another hour and fifteen minutes. It would be tedious to describe his profession, so I'll describe a certain feeling Sanjay got every day just before lunch hour. In almost all cases, Sanjay was a solitary creature, ruled by a firm injunction that other humans were to be avoided. This he applied with religious exactness--except with Cider, a red-headed coworker from HR. She was kind, quiet, sincere--and yet personable and warm. He calculated his chances of running in to her on any given day at 48%; high enough for her to be a pleasant preoccupation.
Maybe it was because he liked to eat on the 32nd floor patio. It was a small patio, with a few plants, and several places to sit. Nothing fancy, but if it were any fancier it would attract attention and more visitors--and so it was perfect. They both seemed to like it, and would bump into one another. Maybe they both thought about the odds. It was certain that they both enjoyed meeting one another, whether by chance or design, or something in-between. This particular day was one of those chance days, when fate twisted their paths together.
Never did an hour pass as fast as it did with Cider! Everything about her was perfect, but more than anything else Sanjay appreciated how she made him feel as if the world really was good. When she was around, all of the anxiety seemed to fade into the background. They would chat about everything and nothing, and no matter how it went, it always went right. She would smile and laugh, and he would smile and laugh with her. She would cry and complain, and he would be indignant for her sake--but without feeling frustrated or disquieted himself.
On this particular day, a lunch hour just wasn't enough. Sanjay went back to his work on time, of course, but his head wasn't in the game. He couldn't focus. When the phone rang, he let it ring two or three times, rather than answering as soon as the first ring ended. When an email came in, he sat and stared at the subject line, instead of opening it up and getting right to work. He was, in a word, distrait. This troubled him, and he racked his brain for an explanation. Sanjay liked for everything to have an explanation.
Perhaps some aspect of the conversation was left unresolved? No, all of the topics had been suitably covered. Maybe there was something that they missed, some tangent that should have been explored? Impossible; he had analyzed each subject and outlined them in his head, carefully covering those areas that she overlooked. Could it be something he consciously missed? He replayed their conversation and found nothing lacking. Try as he might, there was no logical explanation. All the ignoring of phone calls and emails in the world couldn't make it make sense, but it was still true: one hour wasn't enough.
Questions still crowded his mind as work ended, and his focus on them reduced his focus on the crowds in the elevator, the grains of sand in the lobby, and even the crowds on the street as he walked to his carpool rendezvous spot. He didn't count how many strange people he brushed against. He didn't cross over to the other side of the road to avoid the bustle of humanity. As he rode home, he stared out the window absent-mindedly. All the while, a notion was fixing itself in his mind: just one hour is just not enough.
Realization became resolve. There was no law stating that they could only see one another on lunch breaks! Sanjay fought back his anxiety, and found the courage to call her cell. She had given him the number once--in case he had any HR problems, she said--and so why not? Was this an HR problem? He wasn't sure, but she had given him her number. He hadn't really seen her or spoken with her outside their lunch meetings, so he didn't know what to expect. He was elated that she was as wonderful on the phone as in person.
Sanjay asked Cider on a date. Cider asked where and when. Sanjay, in his excitement, said they could meet that very evening at a restaurant of her choosing. Cider, to his surprise, accepted, and chose a restaurant that was quiet, and usually uncrowded. He could hardly believe it had worked! One hour didn't have to be enough, they could have more! More of that peace, that calm, that joy. More of that conversation that was worth calculating the percentage of having. More of something he didn't have any of when she wasn't around. Life could be more than it was.
The restaurant was too far to walk to, so Sanjay used a ride service. He didn't like ride services, because he never quite knew what to expect from the car or the driver, but he really didn't have any other choice. The vehicle that pulled up had dark tinted windows, and a sort of eerie green glow from aftermarket lights installed under the fenders. The driver was too friendly, and too talkative, and too fast, and smelled faintly of Patchouli. Sanjay drew in short breaths through his mouth and tried to look out the blackened window at the city lights.
Uncomfortable as he was, it was worth it. As they pulled up, he saw Cider waiting for him by the entrance, her cinnamon curls dancing in the neon light of the restaurant sign. She smiled lavishly as he paid the driver and got out of the car, then gave Sanjay a knowing nose-curl as she caught a whiff of the cars interior. He nodded and pinched his nose as the car drove off. Cider nodded toward the the restaurant entrance, and without a word the pair made their way inside; the street was no place for civilized people to talk.
Variety was not Sanjay's strong point, so he was relieved when he saw some very familiar options on the menu. They ordered and ate and conversed. There was enough background noise to ease tension, but not enough to irritate. The light was cool and relaxed. Plants, and even an aquarium added to the general calm. Was it better than the 32nd floor patio? It was at least just as pleasant, and more so because there was no work to rush back to, no time limit, nothing else to think about. He couldn't recall when he had last felt this relaxed.
What made it even better was the apparent pleasure Cider took in their conversation. She was so genuine. When she laughed, it was jubilant. When she questioned, it was earnest. When she was shocked, it was sincere. How many people had he met in his life that couldn't manage this one thing: to be the person that they were, to face the world and present themselves, without hiding behind convention? Who didn't wear the mask of social niceties, sport the facade of learned behaviors which would make them acceptable? How much better this was, how much truer, how much simpler!
Xerox copies, that's what most people were. But not Cider. The two enjoyed what can only be described as a perfect evening together, both being themselves, both loved and accepted and appreciated. Though generally practical, Sanjay somehow knew this evening had been magical, enchanted. He got along so little with most people! But with her, everything was different. Somehow, he had to make this last forever. He didn't know how, exactly, but he knew he had to find a way. When they parted, neither wanted to leave. Their feelings on the subject were a perfect reflection, an image of unity.
Yesterday, Sanjay would have considered himself unlucky. Unlucky to exist in a world that he didn't understand, and that didn't understand him. Unlucky to struggle with imperfection. Somehow his perspective had now shifted. He knew what he wanted to pursue. Jobs and success never held much sway in his heart--nothing did, really. That was no longer the case. Cider held sway there now. He thought of her all the way home. He didn't stop as he got ready for bed. He still thought of her as he shut off the lamp, set the alarm, and crawled into his bed.
Zoos full of origami animals of every description crowded his mind as he drifted off to sleep. The papery beasts danced and fluttered and swirled around his office desk, which floated just above the ground of the 32nd floor patio. The surroundings changed in an instant, transforming in to the cool, dimly lit restaurant. He watched the stream of animals march into the aquarium, where they each turned to trembling origami fish. Suddenly, through the crystal water, he saw Cider's face smiling at him on the other side. He fell deep into her eyes, and in his sleep, he smiled.