Entry 43.1.22 – 10/18/2013

 

 

You are crying again. Damn it. Damn her. Carol.

Today you were called into Carol’s office right after lunch. You hate being in there, looking at her fake smile on her fake, makeup coated face. An amateurish painting of her lost youth. Carol, reeking of her fake smelling crap perfume. Carol, sitting on her fake leather chair behind her fake cherry wood desk. That smile, framed by her fake, chemically curled, chemically bleached hair. That face sporting her very real smugness about the fake power she wields over an office she pretends to understand. Carol.

“Do you know why I called you in here today?”, she asked with that smile.

You didn’t know for sure but you knew it was probably for something that wasn’t your fault. You’d get blamed. You’d get another office reprimand. You’d be put on notice.

“Your performance has not been meeting the expectations of your position or the standards of this office”, she said with that smile, as if she even knew what the standards were.

See? All your fault of course. You tried to reason with her. It was like talking with a toddler. Talking with a Neanderthal. The hunting has been bad so the tribe must be cursed. A sacrifice to the fake gods was needed. Guess who was being sacrificed.

“You’re being put on notice. Your work will be under review for the next three months. We need to make sure you start doing your job”, she said with that smile.

“Who will be in charge of the review?”, You asked like an idiot.

“I will, of course. This is my division”, she said again with that smile. That smile.

God damn it, you don’t know shit about how my job works, or the jobs of any one else. You don’t know your own god damn job you swollen sow. You empty, soulless, waste of air. You think you can stuff yourself into a fucking pantsuit and call yourself boss? This isn’t dress up you child. This isn’t play time. This is work. This is a business. But you get enough play time in don’t you. You and Tom. You are the one who needs to do your job. Do your fucking job god damn it. But you can’t can you? You can’t because you don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t because you are too stupid. I’m constantly surprised that you don’t walk around drooling and shitting yourself.

 

You are sorry for that rant, Gerald. You won’t let that happen again. Not again. It had to be written, yes. It was necessary because they were your feelings. You know this. We must be truthful. You’ll be punishing yourself once this is done. Twenty should be enough. Yes, twenty, no more. You only said all of those things in your head, not out loud. You said all of those things behind your eyes and with your pen.

This is you, remember. It’s only Gerald. Mild mannered Gerald. Too scared to say it. Always scared. Too moral to say it, yes, but also scared. What you actually said, looking at that smile, was, “Okay.”

You stood and walked back to your desk and kept working. Working with whatever data Lazy Tom or the other insects at the office had decided to grace you with. As usual you buried it all. All the rage, all the frustration, everything.

So here you sit feeling low, crying like a sniveling child. You can feel what you’ve buried fighting to get out. You must beat it into submission. Take the guilt you feel for those evil words you thought and cleanse your spirit. Yes, keep clean Gerald.

As for the rest of your rage, it must stay put. It must be buried and not let out tonight. Not even this week. You are the master. You are in control. It gets out only when your limit is reached. And you will let it out. Momma always said it’s not good to ignore your feelings for too long.

I wont ignore them Momma. I won’t keep them buried forever. When the time is right Momma. When I can’t hold any more.

* * *

The boys were flying through the notebook. Page after page of writing. Most entries were short and boring but then something like this would come up and their hearts would race.

“We need to stop”, said Darren. His voice cracking more easily thanks to the fear growing within him. “This guy is messed up. If Mr. Heinz find us and tells whoever this Gerald guy is… I just think we need to stop. Can we stop?”

“Fine baby. Leave if you can’t handle it. I’m staying. This is the best thing I’ve ever read. This isn’t some comic book. This guy is real”, said Kenny. He turned away from Darren angry and silent. He knew what he was doing. He was giving Darren time to feel bad about wanting to leave. Once he did, he knew Darren would stay and keep reading with him.

It was only noon but the sky was dark and the rain was coming down as if someone was on the roof with a hose. Darren stared at the window. He could see his house over the top of the fence. He could see his bedroom window. It would be safe there. He wouldn’t get into any trouble there but if he left and something happened to Kenny it’d be his fault.

He took a deep breath and gave in. “Fine. Let’s keep going.”