by Martha Clarkson
I’m sitting in a swivel seated task chair with no wheels, waiting to discuss my transfer (and promotion) to Category 5 Light Investigations. I believe the chair is circa 1960. It is September, and the leaves outside are oranging. It is my season of conflict – the beauty of the colors, the inevitable gloomy harbinger of winter.
“What did you do all summer?” my boss asks. He runs his life by the school system, behaving like a fall teacher, even though I’ve been working all summer. He never starts a conversation with the meeting’s reason.
“Umm, well, I drove with the windows down,” I say, straightening my posture, “to lash out at the hermetically sealed world we live in.” I sidelong glance the inoperable windows of our office.
“Well, surely you must’ve done something more than that,” he says, slightly accusatory in tone. “I mean, where did you go in the car with those windows down, you know, on vacation, or to a swimming hole?” Continue reading