Author’s Note: I took on a casual tone for this prompt because my works lately have mostly been lyrical reflections and I wanted to indulge on a topic that has been weighing my mind lately. I’m not completely satisfied with this piece so I’ll be making edits later.
To my weird, but nice coworker:
It is with a heavy heart that I bid you farewell, my fellow musical lover, my occasional Tai Chi partner, and my cubicle mate, a cubicle known for its silence punctured only by our “good mornings” and “good byes” because two introverted people forced to sit together are like galaxies that never collide. I suspect there’s a black hole between us that spagettified any conversation that lasted more than five minutes.
Ever since you introduced yourself to me (a young, anxiety driven, and jet lagged teacher) as “Hi, I’m really useless,” I was put at ease.
“Oh no. I sit next to the weird one,” I thought.
It wasn’t exactly a “You had me at hello,” moment, but I suppose our atoms were near one another when the universe big banged itself into existence because I was instantly drawn to you. This gravitational pull doesn’t tug at me often. The last time was light years ago, during freshmen year of college, where within five minutes of meeting my fellow suite mate, we professed our love for one another and fell into one another’s orbits.
I know. Despite sitting next to one another for a year, I did not profess my love for you nor did we even become close friends. Hell, I didn’t even talk to you on most days as I fell into other gravitational pulls (namely the other single women in our department) and consciously avoided falling into yours. I didn’t need another cosmos of contradictions entering my orbit no matter how intriguing it is to astronomically map the inner workings of a prospective and knowledgable Catholic priest holding a Masters in sexual perversion.
You had kind, quiet eyes, but a loud and reckless mouth. I liked that collision of contradictions the most.
But we had our moments. They were not of impacts but of passings where we were shooting stars across each other’s horizons. The ball of clay you gave me on my first day of work is still being used to hold onto all my rubber bands. The post it notes I wrote to you complementing your singing or thanking you for the random sweets you gave me are in the treasure chest on your desk. We pushed and pulled one another in Tai Chi classes. We even wandered the Night Festival together and I remember my amusement at its ironic name because we were not celebrating the night, but rather the lights that were able to shine, blaze and burn against the dark backdrop.
In those moments where our atoms simply settled near one another, neither touching nor treading, I was a less lonely galaxy floating through this life.
So thanks, weird but nice coworker.
Oh. By the by, I’m sorry if I was awkwardly cold and silent around you like the vacuum of space it was because I had a dumb crush on you and I didn’t want you to find out although in hindsight you have the awareness of a cruising meteor so there was nothing to fear in the first place.
Your nice but weird coworker.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Yin to My Yang.”