The Whiteboard Less Bored
I should be grateful I’m not being carted away in handcuffs right now. But all I can think is: This can’t be happening. One
day of terrible actions can’t be ruining my life this deeply, this thoroughly. If I had just stayed home yesterday, I’d still
be working today, still have a solid housing plan, and not be at risk of having a record.
Diner Loudmouth/Sami follows the crowd toward the building ahead of me, but as we reach the landing he turns around to give
me one of those “after you” gestures.
He definitely fucking knows something.
I try not to let the flush of heat get to me as I nod and walk ahead of him. I follow in behind 1A Incel, who walks with his
arms pressed firmly at his sides, not moving, which seems like a red flag. He doesn’t hold the door for me.
But Sami is quick to reach around and grab it before it slams shut. The motion brings his bicep right in front of my face,
and the scent of coffee and something citrusy encircles me. “Thanks,” I mutter, head stuck forward.
He’s much taller than me, and as I pass under his arm through the door, I remember a snippet of dialogue from last night.
I’d asked him if he had multiple copies of the same diner hat, which is probably offensive. Still, it proves very little about
my character.
And what we’re dealing with here is his word against mine. Actually, it’s less than his word because he wasn’t with me in the lobby. He may think he knows I was the vandal, but what evidence does this Sami actually have? That I was at the diner and drunk before someone destroyed the lobby?
Circumstantial.
Once inside, the familiar old wood smell of the building greets my nostrils as my eyes adjust to the sunless lighting of the
lobby and the disaster I made of it.
The elevator dings and Divorced Dad, Uniform Family, and Fighting Couple load themselves in, disappearing without a second
glance at the wreckage.
Sami weaves forward and I dare a look at the side of his head as his eyes drag from the mess of flowers to the water splattered
on the beige textured wallpaper, to the knocked-over little library books and restaurant flyers scattered everywhere. When
his gaze reaches mine, he quickly diverts. He puffs his cheeks full of air before saying, “We should straighten things up
while Irene’s out, if anyone’s got time to help before I gotta be back at the diner?”
“I do!” I call brightly, willing Sami to look at me and indicate he doesn’t think I’m a total wretch worth turning in to the
cops. He just lowers his chin in a half nod, not even fully turning my way.
“I can’t,” 1A Incel croaks as he weaves around the group. “I have to log into work.” He marches past us, stiff as cardboard,
as he makes his way through the door that leads to the main-floor hallway.
“See you around, Norm!” Sami waves behind the guy.
I get the feeling that Norm may need days to recover from this ordeal.
As soon as he’s gone, Old White Perve—Carmen, I mentally update—just has to announce, “Funny that that guy is named Norm when there ain’t nothing norm about him.
” Nobody laughs, so, of course, he doubles down.
“I’m just saying he’s got a shitty way about him, that guy.
” Carmen shakes his head, his leathery skin crunching.
He’s looking pretty affronted for a man wearing gross brown leather flip-flops, and I don’t remember consenting to seeing his funky red toes while I’m this hungover.
“Don’t you think he must’ve done all this?
He’s so creepy.” I get the feeling Carmen doesn’t contain multitudes.
Although he has a point. Norm lives on the lowest floor, and even though he has a walk-out balcony, I’ve never seen a door
or window without their blinds completely sealed. In short, he could have some bodies in there, and maybe that helps my case,
if we’re getting into speculation.
“I don’t know about that,” Weird Girl Beside Me says. “There are a lot of fucking weirdos in this building.” She looks pointedly
at Carmen. “It could be someone dangerous. I watch a lot of true crime. For my anxiety. This is how it starts.”
While I get it, you don’t say that kind of thing out loud. Directly to a guy like that.
“I suppose you’re right, Jane,” Carmen says.
Does everyone here know each other?
All our eyes draw to the whiteboard as Carmen makes his way over to it. “Anyway, I doubt he’d have written that on the board.” He raps the wall next to it with his knuckles.
Scrolled across the whiteboard in dry-erase marker is a note from Irene:
Dear Residents,
A city technician is coming to do routine pipe draining Thursday, May 20. Water will be off for 2–5 hours. I suggest filling
your sinks for personal use. This is the charm of a more seasoned, private building.
Sami advises that Corner Coffee & Food will have plenty of drinking water available for residents.
Best Wishes,
Irene Laird
I always forget to check the whiteboard when I’m rushing out the door to work.
I’ve asked Irene several times if she could email important notices.
Once, I even offered to set up a Slack account for her to communicate on.
Still, this note is kind enough. If I had been my best self, I would’ve been annoyed at worst, but I also would’ve given very few fucks.
But after the day I’d had. It’s not an excuse of course, but after drinking, after not keeping myself in line, seeing that
notice was the last straw, and I became the lowest form of myself. The person I always feared lived inside me.
And my heathen self had to Cheeto-powder-up the marker Irene sometimes writes inspirational quotes with, and draw a big arrow
pointing from her notice to a new addition:
I have to dunk my vagina in the kitchen sink now!
My uncle once traced back the ancestry of our entire family on my Persian side. I found out I was the direct descendant of
a Zoroastrian poet. An ancient poet. It’s fascinating, what he may have mused on about the human condition. And now, this is the latest piece of writing
to come from his bloodline.
Carmen grabs the eraser from the track below the board, and while Jane’s cat rests on his shoulder, he starts wiping the slate
clean. I catch Sami looking at me again before he quickly kneels and grabs a recycling bin and gathers the wilted flowers
strewn near his feet.
I rush into action and make my way to the tumbled-over little library, only too eager to be rid of the rest of the mess I
made. I push the cabinet back against the wall and leave my coffee cup on top as I start gathering the books. I can’t imagine
why I would’ve even touched this thing. It’s an old glass record cabinet. I’m never drinking again.
I sort the books I’d strewn by size. Over the years, we’ve had such classic literature as: retro Canadian Tire flyers, a porno DVD (which I opened out of anthropological curiosity and the disk inside was actually a twenty-five year Oprah Winfrey Show celebration), and my personal favorite—Microwave Cooking for One.
I almost considered taking it for the artistry, but someone beat me to the chase.
Today, there are just a few worn-out Clive
Cussler–type books.
“Hey, I don’t know if I ever caught your name?” Jane taps my shoulder, holding out a pocket Farmer’s Almanac from 2018 for me to add to the collection. The scent of Aussie shampoo wafts from her. I’ve never met an Aussie user who
wasn’t a train wreck of a person.
“Oh, I’m Mona,” I say. “Like the painting.” This gets a few cheap chuckles from all, which is as expected.
“And you work downtown?” Jane asks casually, her bright pink nails tapping against her paper Corner Coffee cup.
Another uncomfortable feeling surrounds me. Why does she know that? Is she watching me? “Yeah . . . I work at a firm just
above the Core.” The words feel awkward on my lips already.
Jane’s eyes light up. “I figured you worked near there. I always see you at the place on Fifth with the good sandwiches, the
one with the barista who shows off his butt cheeks.”
“Oh, nice!” I force a smile. The Lululemon-clad barista is a notable landmark. But I’ve never noticed her there, in all her bright clothes. To be fair, when I’m in work mode, I really only have eyes for people who look like potential
clients. God, I want that life back. “So, you work near there too?”
Jane nods. “At an office on Third. So, are you sick today?” Her head tilts again, assessing my situation. “Hungover?”
I catch Sami’s head perking up at the corner of my peripherals. My mouth is cottony dry. “I’m . . . Yeah, I had some vacation
time that I needed to use up.” Technically true. I feel Sami’s all-knowing eyes boring through the back of my head. Did I
talk about my basically forced leave with a random diner guy?
“Hey, where’d the vase go?” Sami interrupts, his attention now locked on the corner of the lobby.
Shit. The vase is in my bedroom, of course.
Sami searches behind the old chair. “I’d left it on the table here.”
He brought the vase of flowers in here? I don’t want to be mean, I just . . . you have to wonder what kind of person puts
flowers in a lobby of some apartment that isn’t even theirs. It’s next to the cum chair, for crying out loud.
“That’s so weird.” Sami stands, his expression harder. “Did the vandal actually go and steal the vase my family gave Irene
her birthday flowers in?”
Oh, that makes more sense. And I’m a wretch and a loathsome fool.
Carmen shifts Jane’s cat from shoulder to shoulder. A barbed-wire tattoo from an unfortunate era of body ink peeks out from
his shirt. “Looks like we got ourselves a vandal and a thief.”
I’m so, so fucked.
A loud screech of a meow comes from Jane’s cat, drawing all our attention. The cat is hissing at the front stairwell landing,
where two buggy eyes have just appeared. A geriatric weiner dog waddles into the room. His legs are so short that his penis
grazes the floor in a way I sort of pity. Beside him, a leash is held by one of the remaining firefighters. Ernest is Irene’s
dog, which she sometimes lets wander through the common areas. He’s old enough that he usually just plops down somewhere and
watches people pass by. His beady eyes always seem to be boring into my soul, judging my innermost thoughts. Right now, he’s
shaking terribly.
The firefighter clears his throat. “This guy was really spooked by the alarms. We found him hiding under the stairs.” Ernest’s
shivers intensify as he looks up at us, proving the man’s point. “Your landlord had asked if anyone would be willing to take
care of him while she’s getting checked out.”
Irene treasures this dog like nothing else. Like nobody else, because honestly, I think she has hardly anyone in her life. If I treat him as well as Irene would want, maybe I can start to make up for my misdeeds. This ridiculous dog can be my moral savior. I call out, “I’ll take him!”
Sami steps forward, glancing at me with a warm smile. “Don’t worry, Mona. I’d be happy to take the little guy in.” I don’t
like the familiar way he says my name. The judgy look he’s giving me, like he thinks I shouldn’t be near Ernest. Does he think
I’m too deranged to take care of a dog?
“Sami,” I start, just as familiar. “Don’t be silly. You said it yourself, you need to get back to the diner. I’m happy to
take him.”
“No really, I’ve watched him for Irene before.” Sami makes his way over and puts out his hand for the leash. On instinct,
I run interference and accidentally grab him by the bicep before pulling back just as fast. Another flash of memory from last
night shudders through me. Sami helped me up after I stumbled getting into my stool. I said he had a really nice arm and I’d
like to dance with it sometime. I just know that I’m going to lose hours of sleep over this comment for years, no matter what
else I accomplish in my life.
I turn to the firefighter and say, “I’d best take the dog. I live on the same floor as Irene.” I direct my gaze to Sami. “I
think Ernest will probably want to stay close to his home.”
Sami inserts himself again. “Don’t worry, he knows the diner. I’ve watched him before.”
“Well, then it must be my turn to help,” I say, through the tightest smile.
If it weren’t for me, Irene wouldn’t have fallen. She could’ve died. Everything from the past twenty-four hours draws a weary
feeling into my bones. I wrote such a horrible thing. Wrecked her flowers. Meanwhile, this guy just came in to help clean
and imply that he “always helps.” He doesn’t need this. I need this.
I’m going to show this dog the best time ever.
I smile as I crouch down. “Come here, boy, it’s okay.
” I coax Ernest closer, and when he wobbles to my feet, it feels like a miracle.
Like this one creature can see that I’m not so bad.
I lift his warm floppy body into my arms and try to ignore the fact that his peehole is grazing my torso.
The firefighter either takes this as confirmation of Ernest’s consent, or he’s not interested in watching us duke it out any
further. He drops the leash and makes his way out.
Sami raises his brow. “Are you sure, Mona?” There’s a tenderness in his tone this time.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m actually on vacation for a few weeks, so I can take him, no problem, for as long as Irene’s gone.” It might
actually be nice to have another living thing in my apartment aside from Alice and her bullshit.
“Oh, right,” he says in a way that indicates I did say something to him about my job last night. He casts his eyes down onto Ernest, and reluctantly says, “Okay then. That’s
great.” His eyes shift back toward Carmen, who is handing Jane her cat, with a bit of struggle. “Well, I should get back to
the diner, but I’ll drop by after my workout. I have a couple of Ernest’s things from the last time I watched him.”
“Sounds good,” I say. I hold Ernest higher. His earthy smell is so pungent for such a tiny little tube. I might have to give
him a bath, lest he transfer his musk to my items. I make a show of patting him.
Sami turns to go, then abruptly stops, his forehead wrinkling. “Oh, you almost forgot.” He reaches out and plucks my undrunk
coffee from atop the library.
“Right. Thanks!” I accept it with my free hand and take a sip. Its warmth and subtle nutty taste are probably the only good
thing that will happen today. “Good coffee,” I mutter.
His eyebrow raises. One of his dimples has returned. It’s actually . . . not bad when he smiles. “By the way, on Fridays cheese
fries are half price.”
I cough up the coffee I inhaled into the wrong pipe.