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getting on toward the end of the day
and I had been finding the ends of work days to be the most
stressful times of day. Work itself was constant and regimented. It
provided comfort where the rest of my life caused discontinuity and
discontent. As work came to an end and I knew I would have to face
the rest of my responsibilities, I would become increasingly
irritable. I knew this about myself, even then, but that didn’t
help me to control it. Ralph, walking past, stumbled over a lip in
the carpet and knocked against the cubicle. I had a picture of my
brothers and their families in a small frame leaning up against the
cubicle wall and it was knocked aside and fell to the carpet. It
didn’t break. It was no big deal. Ralph even grunted an apology.
But I snapped at him anyway. I can’t even write the words I said
because I don’t remember them (which is uncharacteristic for me),
but I do remember the look on his face. It was this morphing
expression that was born as shock, first from the insult itself and
then from the source. Finally, it turned to anger, to which I
responded with anger. We exchanged words, drawing the attention of
some of the other people around. Eventually, though, he simply
dismissed me and walked away, grumbling about how I choose to use
my words. It was ultimately humiliating and I could feel my cheeks
redden and my blood boiling. I sat like a statue until the last of
my colleagues had looked away and then I bent down to pick up the
picture.
    It was no big deal. I was already more calm
by the time I had straightened up and replaced the picture. The
office had become eerily quiet and I stretched up to peer over the
sides of my cubicle. The place was deserted.
    In a panic, I sat down heavily and looked at
the clock. It was 7:21 pm. I’d lost three hours. Three hours of my
life was gone.
    “Mathew?”
    I turned quickly to see my boss standing
beside me, a file folder in her hand, a look of confusion on her
face.
    “I thought you’d gone,” she said.
    “I…no…” How could she not see the utter
confusion mirrored on my face? How could she not know?
    “Well, we all thought you’d taken off after
your argument with Ralph.”
    No, I was just blacked out under my desk
for three hours. “No. It was my fault anyway. I should
apologize to him.”
    She didn’t seem to care. She was the type of
woman who had worked her way up the corporate ladder with spit and
venom. She treated her superiors the same exact way as she treated
her underlings. It wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but it wasn’t exactly
friendly either. She was on a first name basis with everyone and if
you did your job the way you were supposed to do your job she left
you alone. If you didn’t, she swept you out of the way. I think I
was just the type of employee she loved. I did my job and asked for
nothing. I don’t know whether or not it impressed her that I was at
work two hours after I was supposed to have left, but she said
nothing and walked away.
    I hastily gathered my things and left in the
twilight of a May evening. I was already an hour late for my
hospital appointment so I decided to skip it. I called to tell them
what had happened and they seemed unconcerned. I didn’t speak to
any doctors, or even any technicians. The fact that I was missing
the appointment because of the very thing that caused me to have
the appointments in the first place didn’t interest them. And that
was the end of my hospital visits. Just like that.
    Grabbing a quick dinner, I hurried it over to
my mother’s apartment. She was glad that I had come early and we
spent a couple of hours talking and watching television after I
finished up the paperwork. If you’ve never had to take care of a
sick parent, count your blessings. There were times when I felt
myself resenting her, even wishing she would just die already. But
those were selfish moments for which I paid the dear price of self
recrimination. In truth, she was an extremely important part of