Michael 全文

Freshly made. I was moved. 

Please enjoy "Michael (A Short Story)". 

- Aoji

(1)     

It's a long and teethed knife. That particular knife is transparent with some hint of pink hue. It seems to be made of ceramic, a hard enough material to cut meat as long as the blade is sharp.

I didn’t know that was his knife until this afternoon when we were looking for a cutter to start a baby shower cake, which happens to be pink. That, I am not surprised. It’s a girl after all.

The knife worked really well on the cake, clean cut, not leaving too much residual on the blades, and yet it was gentle on the fine china plate.

I couldn’t taste a thing, even though the cake looks chocolaty. A thought was haunting around – he must be an eventful person. Should I use the word “guy” here, or a “person” is more appropriate?  

Michael, oh, that’s his name. I did not ever know that, although I am pretty sure he has been working in the neighbor segment of the building for quite a few years. Not as long as I do, but, certainty a countable number.

(2)

Similar time, when the year is only two weeks young, a couple of winters back, I saw his pictures for the first time.

As the cake sugar started to soak in my brain, my search of the picture contents became easier. 

Mustache.

Yes, that was a toy-store mustache, plastic, with all the beard coarsely stranded together. The mustache was so big that no one would be able to tell what his mouth and chin would look like in the picture. He, or someone else must have picked a wrong size. Above the mustache, his eye frames were two dimensionally big, both tall and wide. The eye balls were popping out, as if a strong inner gush pushed them out.

It looked scary for me at the first sight.

Those pictures were everywhere in the building, below clocks on restroom doors, and in front of bulletin boards. Light blue “Happy Birthday!” ribbons were around those pictures. Later that day, I found clouds of balloons in rainbow colors floating in every corner of the building. No place was left virgin.

(3)

My 3-year old enjoyed the pink balloon I took home. She was young enough to appreciate the flying ball, and yet old enough not to pop it momentarily after she got it. Watching her dragging the wire, controlling the height, and patting the floating latex was a lot of fun. I giggled with her, warning her not to go out the backdoor without attaching the string to her wrist.

The big “Happy Birthday” banner made his desk very easy to identify. I went there for the balloon. I did not see him there. I took one any way, thinking he would not mind.

On the way out, I remembered to pay special attention to his name board. There was none. The desk felt warm. Some voice said he was gone.

Gone, for the day? I got negative response to that question. He was gone, on leave, indefinite leave, for no clearly known reasons.

The very next day, no trace of any event record appeared in the office. At the birthday night, I secretly wished I may inherit the nice birthday banner since he was gone. I was not able to track that down. Granted, I did not look into every trash can in the region. 

(4)

I went back to his desk once not long after he was gone, not for the balloon this time. I was desperately looking for a cubicle space for my new hire. I was delighted to set her in the right spot - plenty of sunshine - hoping California sunshine will kill any home sick bacteria that might crawl into her mind.

I was wrong. She did not finish her 3 month trial period as a testing analyst. She went back home, where her mom lived. She joined her in Honolulu, retired, 2 months after obtaining her mechanical engineering degree. She ping-ed me often initially, telling me that she opened up her own business with Airbnb, worked as a tourist guide. I could touch her cheerful jolly voice through every electronic mail.  I did not notice when she stopped contacting me. She must be busy taking care of her new born baby, together with her mom. I did get a picture of that baby. It’s a boy.

As I was collecting her big monitor at that desk, I thought about him. I was wondering where he went, and when he was coming back. I wasn't super interested in knowing what made him leave. He was such a popular person, supported by the fact that his birthday celebration was the most grand of all in years. He must have his strong legitimate reason, the one he did not want to share with others. Of course, it would be nice to get informed about that reason, just to make the story complete. People like full blown stories, leaving no guessing room.

(5)

He stood quietly by the baby shower signature card, nibbling the banana chocolate cake. I leaned forward toward him, but decided to withdraw. That sudden turnaround almost threw me out of balance. I grabbed tightly to the trash can lid, tossed my used utensil away as I twisted my waist. I was confident that I covered my embarrassment.

“Are you ok?” Michael showed up right beside me, looking at me, in a concerned way, without The mustache.

“Yeah, I guess the banana was just too slippery.” I can’t believe I spitted that sentence out. Oh Goodness, the banana was sandwiched in the cake!

“Oh yeah?” he looked puzzled, and turned into laughter, saying, “Your daughter must be as cute!”

I thanked him for the compliment.

“Abu told me that you took a pink balloon for your daughter that day. ”

“Ah, Michael, you knew that?!” I continued, “I’ve saved a check to you for that balloon.” I was afraid I would lose the courage to ask in another setting, I went on: “You just departed that day, and gone for a while?”

(6)

He did not respond, as if I just made a comment, against which no counter was ever demanded.

He passed me a book, and said,“Please give it back to me when you are done reading.” I said thank you, and he added, “Take your time.” still not looking into my eyes, he conversed to himself: “Sometimes, you need just a little more time.”

I did not type any email that afternoon. The rest of the day felt unprecedentedly long. I asked Matt to return the book to Michael instead.

I spent some time in the company nursing room.

Pages and pages of growing-old mother holding newborn babies pictures came back again and again in front of me.

He must have forecasted my tears. He protected each page with plastic covers.

“To my dearest mother, Susan De-Maine. - Michael”

Michael’s mom passed away that day due to a sudden stroke. She was a delivery room nurse. She liked everything pink. Michael spent 7 months sorting through her albums, and published that memoir.  

That pink knife was her newest purchase for a baby shower. He received it in mail two days after that event.

The knife stayed with him ever since.