Chester in Accounting

Thanks to Rich W for the prompt, Chester in Accounting. It kind of took off as I typed. When I went back and read it, I realized the beginning needed to be edited. It still needs work but that will come after NaNoWriMo ends.

Chester in accounting was having a bad day. As much as he hated to say it, the sum of the parts was not what he wanted it to be. He was a numbers guy and the numbers weren’t working right now. He was also a statistics guy and the probability was not in his favor. He rarely, if ever, thought of his life in accounting or mathematical terms, but today was turning out to be an exception. 

The company was reorganizing which meant downsizing, which meant he was being reorganized and downsized out of a job. They could only keep a finite number of accountants and he didn’t make the cut. Otis (what kind of name is that!) in the next cubicle when they used to be in the office, made the cut. But not Chester. Otis had texted Chester at around 4 yesterday afternoon to say he’d heard a rumor and wish Chester well. 

Chester had a check-in meeting with his boss scheduled for yesterday afternoon. Nothing unusual about that. They checked in once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less. And then his boss cancelled the meeting and rescheduled it for first thing in the morning. NOthing unusual about that either. The only unusual thing was that text from Otis the idiot, which Chester hadn’t responded to.

Chester jumped on the call - they were still working remotely even though many businesses were back to in person as the pandemic got under control - at 8:57 am, three minutes early. The first thing he noticed was the witch from HR was on. His boss showed up right at 9, after three awkward minutes which involved a little small talk and a lot of stomach churning for Chester. “Damn, Otis was right! Who does that guy know?”

Willow the witch - yes the HR person really was named Willow even though there was nothing about her that reminded Chester of the weeping willow tree he had in his back yard as a kid. Man, he loved to climb that tree as high as he could go. The upper limbs would bend as the wind blew and Chester loved the feeling of swaying just him and the tree dancing in the wind. Willow greeted Chester’s boss and 

Chester’s boss said hello and suggested they get started. She talked about the reorg (Chester pretended he was surprised), shifting priorities, combining departments, the need to delete redundant and unnecessary positions. “Which was he”, Chester wondered, “redundant or unnecessary, or both?” Could this get any more painful? He was in accounting. He knew the drill. 

Willow talked about a month severance, health insurance going through the end of the month, it was only the fifth so that was good news. Chester’s half listened to Willow. He was thinking, maybe he had time to squeeze in the dentist and a couple of other appointments if they got a cancellation. He should try to get his meds refilled before the end of the month too. Would his doctor call in the prescriptions if he didn’t need them yet? It was worth a try. He needed his meds. He also needed to research a damn COBRA, apply for unemployment, and start thinking about what he wanted to do.

Willow moved on to discussing the paperwork. They could email him the severance forms this afternoon and mail him copies of the signed paperwork. What email address should they send everything to? “We’ll also email the links for unemployment and COBRA.”

When Willow finished, his boss sipped her coffee (a paper Starbucks cup so probably a drink he wouldn’t be able to afford, not that he ever drank that overpriced stuff) and spoke again. Exactly what he expected her to say. They’re sorry to lose him. He was a good employee. He was a valued member of the team. These things happen. You know corporate. Sometimes things are out of our hands. He wished she would just tell the truth. She had to let two people go and he was one of them. Sorry but not sorry. Good luck. And, of course,  she delivered the final kicker, she’d be happy to provide a strong reference letter. “No, I don’t want your letter, I want my job, here, even though you’re a lousy boss. I was going to retire within the next five years. Maybe less than five if the market does well.” He heard her say something about “accounting won’t be the same without you, Chester.” “Well, duh, he thought, that’s because I won’t be there so you’ll have to rely on Otis the idiot or whoever you have do my job. There’s no way he can figure some of this stuff out without cheat sheets. I have some, but they’re on my personal external drive because I’ve been working from home. And no I’m not going to mention my external drive because it’s mine. They can have their laptop back. That thing sucked anyway, which is why I needed the external drive. Boss lady and Otis and my co-workers who will miss me have no idea how slow and crappy that laptop is, but they’ll soon find out. Maybe. Everyone will be back in the office within two months.

Willow the HR witch took over again. “We need to arrange to for you to return your laptop. Maybe you can drop it off and pick up the signed paperwork tomorrow, Wednesday, morning?”

“Oh, yeah, right, it’s Tuesday morning, I guess I can read your email and e-sign everything tonight. Why can’t you just print it and I’ll sign it when I come in?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to take that much of your time. You can leave the laptop with security and they can walk you to your office if you need to get anything personal that you left there when we shut down for the pandemic. No need to stop by HR.”

“Wow,” Chester thought, “the proverbial foot kicking you out the door. They don’t want me anywhere near them. Maybe they think that besides being redundant and unnecessary, I’m contagious.”

“I really don’t mind coming in to sign the forms. That way, if I have a question, well, you know.”

Willow cleared her throat. His boss cleared her throat. Chester though they were trying to look at each other and decide who should speak.

His boss decided to put on her manager hat and speak up. “Well, actually Chester, as much as we’d like to see you, today is our last day and we won’t be here tomorrow. Middle management and HR took a hit too.”

And with that, Chester from Accounting finally smiled. “Sorry to hear that.” And thought to himself, “best balance sheet ever.” He loved it when things added up just right. No need for notes. Just a clean balance sheet where the final numbers matched. That was Chester’s happy place. He truly loved it when the numbers told the story and he didn’t need to explain a thing. It might be his last day but it was also his best day. As he said, “Ok, bye then, I’ll watch for that email,” he thought, “Chester in Accounting wishing you well (not) and signing off. Maybe this day isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

Walter the Wallaby

 Short story #2 for NaNoWriMo. I’m not sure if this one is done or if I’ll add to it.

Walter the Wallaby was getting grumpy. Okay, maybe he wasn’t getting grumpy. He’d been grumpy for a while. He didn’t like his kangaroo neighbors. He didn’t like jumping and running in the same place every day. He kept thinking there must be something more to life. He kept feeling like there should be more to his life. Like there should be more wallabies for him to meet. But there weren’t. It was him, Mac, Becky, and Addie. And those snobby kangaroos, some humans who worked at the zoo and thought they understood Walter and his moods, and those totally annoying humans who came to visit during the day. He could hear them running, jumping, screaming, laughing, crying, banging on the fence, and generally be loud and, well, annoying. Why couldn’t they visit quietly? Why did they have to visit at all? Why couldn’t they just let him live in peace?

He heard the humans who brought the food talking, they might be getting two more wallabies. Neither Becky nor Addie was pregnant so they weren’t going have a joey. Where were these wallabies coming from? Would they still need him? Maybe they could set him free or send him to a zoo that had a bigger area to jump in. Or more wallabies. Or less annoying visitors. Maybe even better weather. He thought he would like some place a little warmer, Sometimes it got so cold the building he slept in was warmed by a machine. It was noisy. The hot air would blow down on him and make his long snout itch.

But Walter knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He was too old. And too grumpy. The zoo was probably getting a couple of joeys. Walter knew what that meant. If the zoo got joeys now, when he got really old the joeys would be old enough to provide entertainment the way he used to. Before he started getting old and cynical. Before he started getting bored and disappointed. Before he started having dreams of a life before the zoo and realized the dreams weren’t totally made up, parts of them were real. He really did have a life before this zoo. A mother and father. Maybe even a sister or brother. Mac, Becky, and Addie were nice enough, but he knew they were friends not relatives. He couldn’t remember if he had lived in another zoo or out in the open. Free. All he remembered was more space, more wallabies, and a feeling of home. Family, not friends. Most importantly, he remembered being called a name that wasn’t Walter. He couldn’t remember the name exactly but it didn’t sound like Walter. It’s might have been sun which seemed like a funny name for a wallaby. Or maybe sometimes he was called sun and sometimes he was called something else. What he really wanted to be called was Boomer or Jack. He remembered hearing those names. And he thought his mom was Jill. He still heard those names used, but this zoo didn’t have a wallaby named Jack or Jill or Boomer, so maybe he was imagining it. As he thought about it, he felt something in his heart or maybe it was in his snout. Thinking about it made him feel tired. And the more he thought about it the grumpier he got. 

Walter the Wallaby was grumpy and old. And jumpy. No matter how grumpy he got, he still chomped down on leafy plants and hopped around the pen. And tried to ignore the voices inside his head as well as the ones outside the pen. And always he listened for the chirp he remembered and would shout out his chirp in the hope it would be returned.

 

 

 

Misty the Narwhal

 Day 1 of NaNoWriMo. I’m trying to write 20-30 short stories this month. Extra bonus if I write in prose instead of verse. To get started I went on FB and asked my friends for prompts - character names or 

Today’s prompt was Misty the Narwhal (thanks to Denise M).

Misty the Narwhal didn’t consider herself a rebel. But she wanted a tusk, She really, really wanted a tusk. It didn’t seem fair that the boys got them. and that some boys even grew two. 

 

Misty had just changed from being brownish-gray to being blue-black. Even that bothered her. Why had it taken so long. Narwhals younger than her changed color faster. And she was smaller than some girls who were younger. Nick, a Narwhal in her pod started calling her Misty the Mini. Then the other kids started calling her that too. Even the babies.

All MIsty wanted to do was grow faster. She wanted to be bigger and darker so when she got older the change from dark to white would be noticeable. Like some of the senior narwhals with their distinguished white skin. 

She knew she should be content to just play under the ice with her friends. She knew the rules. If you need to get air, find a buddy to go up with you. Because she didn’t have a tusk a hunter wouldn’t try to kidnap her. But sometimes the hunters would use a net and capture any narwhal that came up for air. They also shot them with darts which made it hard for the narwhals to try to escape. That sounded scary. She knew that was what happened to her father and one of her uncles.

Misty knew that tusks weren’t a weapon. But if she had a tusk she could pretend it was. And use it to protect others. Like the calf her mother was going to have. Her mother said it would be a while before her brother or sister was born. 

So Misty did what she was told. She played with the other narwhals. She was careful about going above water. She avoided strange objects in the water. Her mother said the objects weren’t alive but she should avoid them because they were the enemy. Misty didn’t understand that but she trusted her mother so she stayed clear of things in the water that didn’t look like a fish.

And everyday, Misty asked her mother why she didn’t have a tusk. And everyday her mother would tell her to go play and stop asking foolish questions.

Misty would watch the boys and ask them if they felt their tusks growing. They’d laugh at her and say no. And if they did feel anything, they certainly wouldn’t let it bother them. Then they would laugh again and say the only thing bothering them was her and all of her questions. If she was that jealous maybe she should ask her mother why she didn’t have a boy instead of an annoying girl like Misty. She would try to splash them as she turned and swam away, crying warm tears into the cold water.

“Sticks and stones can break my bones but names can never hurt me.” That’s what her aunt told her to say. Misty thought it was a ridiculous thing to say. Names did hurt. They hurt more than bumps and scrapes. They hurt inside. She didn’t care about hurting her body. It would heal. She saw the scars and bumps on the older narwhals. Some of the white seniors boasted about how they got them. Stories about men, boat propellers, and things she needed to know about, but they hoped she would never see.

So Misty began to spend more time alone. She stayed close to the pod and watched the other kids play and talk. But she didn’t join their games as often. It hurt to see them having so much fun and not asking her to join them. At first they did ask her and she gave excuses about not being in the mood to play. After a while they stopped asking. Some of the seniors noticed. They told her she needed to play to stay healthy for the months under ice. So she exercised on her own and felt herself getting stronger.

She practiced echolocation. She worked on learning to identify the voice of each narwhal in her pod. When they met up with other pods she would hang out with narwhals who looked around her age. Sometimes they were younger but since they didn’t know how old she was, they didn’t make fun of her. She made up names and games for non-living things she saw in the water. She used her tail fins to push them away. Sometimes she’d try to throw them out of the water. When the other narwhals saw that they would laugh. But she noticed their laugh sounded different. It wasn’t at her. It sounded joyful, like they enjoyed seeing what she could do.

Day after day Misty worked on her narwhal skills and wished for a tusk. And watched the other narwhals, especially Nick, whose tusk was the longest. How fierce he was beginning to look. Some of the younger boys were becoming afraid of him. Nick’s tusk was growing so fast he seemed awkward. Not as smooth a swimmer as he had been. Not as sure of his aim when he needed to pop through the hole in the ice for air.

Soon Nick was spending less time with his friends and more time alone. Misty would notice him swim away from the others. He seemed to be practicing his echolocation too. She could tell because of the way he stayed still, closed his eyes, and then swam towards an object. She did that too. She also kept her eyes closed, listened, swam, then opened her eyes to see if her hearing was accurate. It usually was. She noticed that Nick was getting better too.

Even though Nick had always been mean to her, she felt like she needed to talk to him. Maybe she could help him. Maybe he could help her.  Nick had been the main boy narwhal but she heard the seniors talk about him. “That boy is trouble.” “That tusk of his is growing to big too fast.” The seniors told her to be careful around him. Her mother told her to “watch out for that boy.” And MIsty realized that Nick was probably as lonely as she was. 

She enjoyed being alone. She enjoyed challenging herself and feeling a sense of accomplishment when met the challenge. But sometimes she missed being a member of the pod. She knew she was part of the pod, but she didn’t feel like she belonged. As she watched Nick, she thought, “Neither does he.”

Misty the Narwhal didn’t consider herself a rebel. She thought she just wanted a tusk, And to be a little bigger, the right shade of gray, a little more like the other narwhals. As she observed the narwhals in her pod she realized she didn’t want to look exactly like any of them. She didn’t want to be the exact same color or size. She didn’t want to speak exactly like them. She wanted to be different. She wanted to keep being herself. She liked being herself. And being herself meant she would help someone who looked like they were sad the way she was when the kid narwhals picked on her and told her she was different. So one day she swam over to Nick. His eyes were closed but she knew he heard her coming. She splashed her fin, he opened his eyes, and they played together. And MIsty didn’t care what anyone thought or said. She didn’t have a tusk, but maybe, just maybe, she realized, she really was rebel after all. In a good way. A tusk would be fun but being a rebel was better.

 

Ailments and Calls

 Just another attempt at communication.

The phone rang once and clicked when I picked up.

A minute later a chirping to announce a video call

I hit audio only.

More ailments,

More reasons why

We can’t get together yet

But we will

Not sure when

Or where

Or what we’ll be able to do.

Let’s talk again.

Need to get

Answers to questions,

Ask new questions,

Research new plans.

Same old people,

Wondering why it takes so long

To connect,

Wondering how to react,

And will the need ever be satisfied.

Calls, texts, emails, and messenger

Relay updates about

Appointments, diagnoses, treatment.

There’s less, more, the same.

Every time the conversation resumes.

More time to wait,

Before committing

Maybe a song in progress

 It feels like a song rather than a poem. Needs a lot more work to transition from written to sung.

Wants to turn this house into a home

Doesn't matter that she lives alone

She’s gonna change it from cold to warm.

Put some photos on the counter

Framed prints hanging on the wall

Family rugs on the cold floor

Living in a city that would rather be a town

Too many outsiders running it down

Locals are always complaining

Just like every place she’s ever been.

It’s one more stop along the way

She knows she’s not going to stay

Planning to enjoy it while she can.

Came here for reasons hard to explain

Nothing bad, not to outrun pain

Just looking for something new, again.

Living in a city that would rather be a town

Too many outsiders running it down

Locals are always complaining

Just like every place she’s ever been.

Too many run down buildings and roads, 

too much judgement, too much crime,

Too much or too little doesn’t matter to her

It’s a temporary stop, it’s short term.

She’s got her memories, got her things,

A list of places she needs to see,

A growing list of where she’s been.

Living in a house that’s becoming a home

Living in a city that wants to be a town

An outsider everywhere she goes,

Just like every place she’s ever been.

Looking for open skies and stars

Looking for coffee shops, not bars

Looking for occasional company

Looking for happiness and peace.

Picture of my mother

Another poem about my mom. I think her presence in my life is more grounding now than when I was younger.

My brother sent a picture to my other brothers and I

from his visit to see Mom.

It looks just like the picture I took several months ago.

A gravestone, grass, and hints of a clear day.

I wonder what they talked about.

I can’t believe their conversation was anything like

the conversation I had with her.

Maybe the part about missing her.

But other than that,

Not much in common.

Son, Daughter,

Different touch points,

Different interests,

Different perspectives on

family, religion, life in general,

Life as promised,

Life as lived.

Same gravestone,

Same setting.

Different plot points,

And different resolutions.

We all miss her.

Pictures help.

Sometimes I hear her voice in my head,

So real, like she is physically near me

It reminds me

who she was,

And explains the core of who I am.

Thursday Musing

 Odd Thursday off, but not a four day weekend. Good opportunity to visit the coffee shop and see what happens.

We’ll see what happens. 

Should I write in verse

Should I write in prose

Should I write truth

Should I write dreams

Should I write my life story

Should I write the stories I see?

So many questions when I sit down

To let the thoughts out of my head.

Decluttering is the new thing

Declutter your space

Declutter your life

Declutter your brain.

Keep what gives you joy

Get rid of what doesn’t.

Limit yourself to what is necessary

Limit yourself

Set limits.

And live with them.

No.

I don’t like limits.

Limits are barriers

To potential

To growth

To happiness.

No limits.

More joy.

Cold fall night

 Night

A book and chair

A bed and blanket,

Inside.

Black sky,

Brightened by stars,

Outside.

Restful and restless,

On a cold fall night,

Following a day of rain,

The clouds have moved on,

Tomorrow the sun should be back. 

For now, it’s raining again,

Even though stars can be seen.

How is that possible?

A light rhythm plays on the roof.

Time to sleep.

Rain and Solitude

 Rain and solitude

Drive through town and turn down the dirt road

Watch out for ruts after rain

The driveway is gravel

And the cabin door is unlocked.

There’s a key but most people don’t use it.

We hope you enjoy your stay.

After a rainy day in the car

The cabin is a welcome sight

But cold.

The rain let’s up

And starts again after dinner

No chance of seeing stars tonight.

The heater warms part of the room

Pillows block the cold air that seems to stream through the closed window.

Mini refrigerator, microwave, bathroom

Enough modern conveniences

To not be roughing it.

Trail maps on the table

Stains on the carpet

A brown towel with a note,

“Towel for wet muddy shoes!”

Time to plan tomorrow’s adventure,

And move on from the adventure of getting here.

There are always new adventures 

Replacing the old ones.

Deep Thoughts at the Coffee Shop

Deep Thoughts at the Coffee Shop haha

Why do flies exist? 

What useful purpose do they serve? 

And mosquitoes, what about them?

It seems like their role in nature is to annoy mammals

and infect them with germs,

Does that mean they’re predators?

Work in Progress 9.26.2021

 Work in progress. It feels good to sit in a coffee shop (except for the people hovering close to my table while they wait for their food).

Where did September go?

It was summer when I went to bed

I woke up to fall.

The calendar reminds me 

It’s the anniversary of my birth,

Add another year to the count.

Feels kind of like the day before.

Except for the cards,

And personal birthday goals,

Just another day in the paradise 

I call my life.

Living my dreams

Following can I’s with I cans

Climb slow and steady, enjoying the burn.

Feel the rush of going down,

Marvel at how high I can go.

Savorr the flats,

Soak in the scenery, 

the abundance of life around me,

Light shifting the shadows..

Stretching, recovering, replenishing, repositioning.

Marking the miles,

Making memories

to count later.

When memories are all I can handle.