He drew out a small blue box and started fiddling with it. The air tastes extra sweet today, one part excitement two parts anticipation. Gently he opens it the in privacy of his cupped hands, sneaked a glance, and shut it quickly. He sinks back into the large leather chair, allowing his thoughts to drift away into the wooden fans spinning lazily on the ceiling.

“I’ll have an apple crush please” Frank motioned to the bored waitress hovering beside him.

“…and to eat, sir?”

“I’ll wait for my friend thanks.”

“Very well.”

It’s all coming back now. The smell of scrambled eggs and tea wafting in along with the morning breeze.

“Sa-“

“Jake, I have something I need to tell you.”

“So do I.”

“Really?”

“OK, together 3…2…1…”

“Sarahwillyoumarryme?!”

“JakeIwannabreakup.”

Eyes open. Silence.

“You’re…joking right?”

“No, Jake I really can’t do this anymore. Goodbye.”

“Sarah, wait! Please. Let’s talk.”

The smell of scrambled eggs and tea. Big plush leather armchairs tucked in a corner. Golden fans. Warm wood.  Idle chatter. Marble tables. Quaint lamps on the wall. Rustic, yet modern. Lounge music in the air. Waiters with black barets. Aprons like skirts. Mocha biscotti on the side. The cute description of sugar on the pack. Little details. The serviette under the cup. The wooden menu holder. The bittersweet taste of mocha, the refreshing nose. Airy.

How the hell does one remembers these things, he wondered.

The blue box. That held the ring. That held its three round brilliant cut diamonds on a platinum band. That cost a year’s pay. That had I love you forever Sarah engraved on it.

Oh, right.

“Fuck my life.”

MORNING RUSH HOUR. A BUNCH OF PEOPLE ENTER THE TRAIN AND SIT. ANGELA TAKES HER PLACE NEXT TO A WOMAN. AS THE DOORS CLOSE AND THE TRAIN STARTS TO MOVE, SHE PULLS OUT A STRING OF MEDITATION BEADS AND START CHANTING ALOUD. SHE IS YOUNG, CHINESE, ABOUT 20ISH AND SPORTS A PONYTAIL.

WOMAN: (loud rapidfire)om mani padme hum om mani padme hum om mani padme hum om mani padme hum…

PEOPLE AROUND HER ARE SURPRISED BUT SAY NOTHING. A MALAY WOMAN SITTING NEXT TO HER GETS UP AND WALKS TOWARDS THE OTHER END OF THE TRAIN.

ANGELA: (too softly, shy) Ahem. Erm…

WOMAN DIDN’T HEAR HER. CONTINUES. EVERYONE LOOKS TOTALLY OBLIVIOUS TO THIS ANNOYANCE IN FEAR OF BEING DISRESPECTFUL.

ANGELA: Excuse me. Could you…

EVERYONE TURNS TO HER AND THE WOMAN STOPS. SHE PACKS UP HER BEADS AND EXITS THE TRAIN.

I can’t believe what I’m reading. I can’t believe you never told me.

I hesitated from reading on, but I couldn’t help it. I spent the rest of the afternoon poring over all the archived pages I could find. I regret not knowing you better. You’re not the same person you were in your youth. Did I change you?

Whatever happened to the smiling girl in the pictures? My favourite was the one with you and dad sharing a Wendy burger. And then there are the blog posts. I must confess it was terribly intriguing to read about your pregnancy of me, day by day, but you really were someone else back then. Radiant, enthusiastic, lively. Happy. You indulged yourself in the simple pleasures of knitting and the whole experience of motherhood seemed a bliss.

I don’t remember much of our old house, and I’d rather not, it still haunts me. After what happened but one memory still remains with me.

I still have them you know, the red mittens.

I’m more confused than ever. Where did my abusive childhood come from? What did I do to you to deserve it?

We were looking for all the pictures of you in the Archives and stumbled upon your public diary circa 2004-2013.

It’s funny isn’t it how I’m recording this now in my diary as you did over 30 years ago in yours, tragically, both without the other.

Thank you for the mittens. Thank you so very much.

//

Question for the reader:

1. Did you understand what was happening?

2. If any, what is the significance of this piece?

“Please, take a sit.” says the middle aged man. A young man walks in, his shirt and jeans slightly crumpled. There was no seat, simply a cushion on the tatami mat. Unsure of what to do, he simply knelt down on it.

Pearl shoji screens line the walls, a large white paper lantern mark the center of the room, the quiet softly punctured by the flow of water from the tsukubai fountain in a corner.

“Alex Foster,” he starts, reading from his laptop. “26, three years with the company, hardworking, takes initiatives. Good.”

“Er…yes…thanks, Mr. Rowland sir.” Alex answers hesitantly, forcing a grin.

“Why are you here Mr. Foster?”

“You…mean HR? Here this office?”

“Yes, why?”

“I don’t know, actually”

“Well, unfortunately we have to ask you to leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Resign. Before I’m forced to give you a pink slip.”

Alex is momentarily stunned, eyes fixated to the ground. He sighs and mutters an OK. “You’ll have my letter tomorrow morning…”

“Actually, you have to leave now.” Rowland interrupts. “You will be compensated as per your contract. Lisa will take care of everything.”

“I…”

“That is all.”

Defeated, Alex shuffles to the door and let himself out. Lisa, Rowland’s secretary was already standing by with the paperwork. “Sign here and here.” she gestures to the contract on the clipboard. “Your personal effects are in that box over there. I wish you all the best in your future endeavours.”

An oddly chilling sensation washed over Alex as she offered her hand. Actually, it was more of a mix between disgust and awkwardness, like she was the very personification of the corporate world, full of false niceties and professional sounding jargon. What she’s really saying is - Bye! Thank goodness I’m not seeing you again.

“Thanks” was all he could muster. Alex removed his tag, picked up his box, and that was that. He was free.

“Here you go Mr. Rowland.” Lisa says as she hands him the documents.

“Thanks Lisa. Oh yes, Kelly will be replacing Alex effective immediately.”

“Kelly the new girl?”

“Yes. She’s been involved in most of his projects over the past few months. So it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why Alex?”

“His time has come.”

“How do you mean?”

“My…vines… stretches to the very edges of this company. I see and hear everything. Every keystroke, every email, every byte from every workstation.” boasts Mr. Rowland. “Foster. 11 October 2014. Communicated dissatisfaction and undermined the authority of his superiors. Foster. 16 January 2015. Replied to an unknown recipient regarding a freelancing gig. Beginning February left company early with increasing frequency. You might think they’re unrelated but these are signs are clear as day.”

“That he’s planning to move on?”

“No, that he’s increasingly a threat to the wellfare of the company. We couldn’t afford to let him hold on to much responsibility any longer, nor could be afford to renew his loyalty. They all think they’re the key, but in fact they’re just a cog in the machinery.”

“I see.”

“Sometimes I see timers above people’s heads. I know when their time is up. My data never lies.”

“And me?”

“Haha…You’re good Lisa. Don’t worry, you’re not in an M2 level position for nothing. Now could you get Margaret in? Margaret from Marketing. Thanks.”

The wind rushes against Dave’s face and hair. The initial sensation of falling has given way to the joy of floating. Sarah has obviously not gotten over this sensation and is clinging onto his hand for dear life. Beneath them the speedboat is beginning to pick up speed as the operator extends the rope.

Ahead, the setting sun glistens against the blue waters. Fishing trawlers dot the horizon in silhouettes large and small. Not a care in the world. Well, there is Sarah who looks as though she might throw up at any moment. But that’s beside the point.

Beep beep!

“For fuck’s sake Dave. What is that thing doing with you!?” Sarah shouts against the wind.

“What? I keep my phone on me wherever I go.” Dave shouts back.

“Hand it over. NOW!”

“Alright, fine!”

Sarah snatches it and hurls it into the water below and starts laughing uncontrollably.

“WHAT!” exclaims Dave. “WHAT THE HELL SARAH?”

He is fuming, but a grin creeps in and soon they’re laughing. The operator on the boat is saying something below, probably wondering if everything’s OK.

The wind rushes against Dave’s face and hair. The pleasure of floating evaporates into a panicked state of falling. Dave is laughing. There it is, the broken Blackberry in a million pieces on the pavement.