I notice he does not say, “I hope you are cured.” I do not know if he is being tactful and polite or thinks it will not go well. I do not ask. His pocket tagger bleeps, and he backs out into the hall. He does not shut my door. It is wrong to listen to other people’s conversation, but it is not polite to shut the door on someone in authority. I cannot help hearing what he says, though I cannot hear what the other person says. “Yes, sir, I’ll be there.”
His footsteps move away. I relax, taking a deep breath. I take down my favorite spin spirals and take the whirligigs off their stands. The room looks bare, but my desk looks cluttered. I cannot tell if it will all fit in Linda’s box. Maybe I can find another box. Soon begun, soonest done. When I get into the hall, Chuy is at the door, struggling to hold it open and carry in several boxes. I hold the door wide for him.
“I brought one for everybody,” he says. “It will save time.”
“Linda brought a box I am using,” I say.
“Maybe someone will need two,” he says. He drops the boxes in the hall. “You can have one if you need one.”
“I need one,” I say. “Thanks.”
I pick up a box that is bigger than the one Linda brought and go back to my office. I put the manuals in the bottom because they are heavy. The colored pens fit between the manuals and the side of the box. I put the whirligigs and spin spirals on top and then remember the fan. I take them out and put the fan on top of the manuals. Now there will not be room for everything else. I look at the box. I do not need the Employees’ Manual, and no one will be angry with me for having a copy in my office. I take it out and leave it on the desk. I put the fan in, and then the spin spirals and whirligigs. They just fit. I think of the wind outside. They are lightweight and might blow out.
In the last drawer, I find the towel I use to dry off my head when it is raining and I have walked in from the car in the rain. That will fit on top of the spin spirals and whirligigs and keep them from blowing away. I fold the towel on top of the things in the box and pick up the box. Now I am doing what Mr. Crenshaw was doing, carrying a box of my things out of an office. Maybe I would look like Mr. Crenshaw to someone watching, except that no security guards stand beside me. We are not alike. This is my choice; I do not think his leaving was his choice. When I get near the door, Dale is coming out of his office; he opens the door for me.
Outside, the clouds are thicker and the day seems darker, colder, fuzzy around the edges. It may rain in a little while. I like the cold. The wind is behind me, and I can feel it pushing on my back. I put the box down on the front of my car, and the towel starts to blow off. I put my hand on it. It will be hard to unlock the door while holding the towel down. I move the box to the passenger side of the car and rest my foot on the edge. Now I can unlock the door.
A first drop of icy rain flicks my cheek. I put the box on the passenger seat, then close the door and lock it. I think about going back inside, but I am sure I got everything. I do not want to put current project work in a stack for special storage. I do not want to see that project again.
I do want to see Dale and Bailey and Chuy and Eric and Linda again, though. Another flick of rain. The cold wind feels good. I shake my head and go back to the door, insert my card, and enter my thumb-print. All the others are in the hall, some with full boxes and some just standing.
“Want to get something to eat?” Dale says. The others look around.
“It is only ten-twelve,” says Chuy. “It is not time for lunch. I am still working.” He does not have a box. Linda does not have a box. It seems odd that the people who are not leaving brought boxes. Did they want the rest of us to leave?
“We could go for pizza later,” says Dale. We look at each other. I do not know what they are thinking, but I am thinking it will not be the same and also too much the same. It is pretending.
“We could go somewhere else later,” Chuy says.
“Pizza,” says Linda.
We leave it at that. I think I will not come.
It feels very odd to be driving around in the daylight on a weekday. I drive home and park in the space nearest the door. I carry the box upstairs. The apartment building is very quiet. I put the box in my closet, behind my shoes.
The apartment is quiet and neat. I washed the breakfast dishes before I left; I always do. I take the container of coins out of my pocket and put it on top of the clothes baskets.
They told us to bring three changes of clothes. I can pack those now. I do not know what the weather will be or if we will need outside clothes as well as inside clothes. I take my suitcase from the closet and take the first three knit shirts on top of the stack in my second drawer. Three sets of underwear. Three pairs of socks. Two pairs of tan slacks and a pair of blue slacks. My blue sweatshirt, in case it is cold.
I have an extra toothbrush, comb, and brush that I keep for emergencies. I have never had an emergency. This is not an emergency, but if I pack them now I will not have to think about it again. I put the toothbrush, a new tube of toothpaste, the comb, brush, razor, shaving cream, and a nail clipper in the little zipper bag that fits into my suitcase and put it in. I look again at the list they gave us. That is everything. I tighten the straps in the suitcase, then zip it shut and put it away.
Mr. Aldrin said to contact the bank, the apartment manager, and any friends who might be worried. He gave us a statement to give to the bank and apartment manager, explaining that we would be gone on a temporary assignment for the company, our paychecks would continue to be paid into the bank, and the bank should continue to make all automatic payments. I bounce the statement to my branch manager.
Downstairs, the apartment manager’s door is shut, but I can hear a vacuum cleaner moaning inside. When I was little, I was afraid of the vacuum cleaner because it sounded like it was crying, “Ohhhh… noooooo… oohhhh… nooooo,” when my mother pulled it back and forth. It roared and whined and moaned. Now it is just annoying. I push the button. The moaning stops. I do not hear footsteps, but the door opens.
“Mr. Arrendale!” Ms. Tomasz, the manager, sounds surprised. She would not expect to see me in midmorning on a weekday. “Are you sick? Do you need something?”
“I am going on a project for the company I work for,” I say. I have rehearsed saying this smoothly. I hand her the statement Mr. Aldrin gave us. “I have told the bank to make the payments for my rent. You can contact the company if it does not.”
“Oh!” She glances down at the paper, and before she has time to read all of it, she looks up at me. “But… how long will you be gone?”
“I am not sure,” I say. “But I will come back.” I do not know that for sure, but I do not want her to worry.
“You aren’t leaving because that man cut your tires in our parking lot? Tried to hurt you?”
“No,” I say. I do not know why she would think that. “It is a special assignment.”
“I worried about you; I really did,” Ms. Tomasz says. “I almost came up and spoke to you, to express — to say I was sorry — but you know you do keep to yourself, pretty much.” ‹
“I am all right,” I say.
“We’ll miss you,” she says. I do not understand how that can be true if she does not even see me most of the time. “Take care of yourself,” she says. I do not tell her that I cannot do that, because my brain will be changing.
When I get back upstairs, the bank’s automatic reply has come through, saying that the message has been received and the manager will make a specific reply very soon and thank you for your patronage. Underneath it says: “Safety Tip #21: Never leave the key of your safe-deposit box in your home when you leave for a vacation.” I do not have a safe-deposit box so I do not have to worry about it.