Consequent Ideas

“‘My greatest strengths are adaptability, communication, and technical comprehension. I can offer expertise specific to this field and look forward to helping find solutions as problems arise. I’m perfect for this position because I have the skills, experience, and drive to deliver results from day one.’ Whoot!”

She pumps her fists, jumping up and down from her power pose. “This is gonna be great. This is gonna go great! They’re gonna love me and hire me on the spot. We’re gonna jive so well someone’ll mistake us for BFFs. Yeah!” Tossing out one final power pose, she snags her blazer and tosses it about her shoulders, striding out the door.

Leaving her hotel, she joins the crowd on the sidewalk proper. Navigating down the block, her eager expression starts to fade as she weaves through the thick throngs of people. “Excuse me, pardon me, sorry about that…” After several minutes of fighting the reverse direction of the tide of fish, she ducks under the awning of a skyscraper, sighing herself into a smile as she looks up at the sign.

Corporate, Inc.

Nodding to herself, she steps toward the door, reaching out her hand and opening it to walk through. Sliding her hands down her blazer, she grins broadly as she slowly turns her gaze from left to right, taking in the scene. She breathes deeply as she notes the people-barren, flavor-bereft scene before her. She nods, thinking quietly aloud, “They probably save all the decor for their offices. They don’t want to put anyone off too quickly; that’d be bad for business. That’s it.” Again nodding reassurances to herself, she breathes deeply and marches on.

Reaching the security station, she waves a friendly greeting. “Hello, sir. How are you today?”

“Name,” he says without looking up from the camera feeds.

“Oh, haha, right. Why, I’m Jane Smith, here for my interview for the corporate department of Corporate, Inc.” She laughs quietly, leaning on the security station wall.

“Jane Smith.”

She smiles broadly. “That’s right. And you are?”

He flips through papers attached to a clipboard. On the third-to-top page, he strikes out her name. Her eyebrows jolt, jaw dropping. “Take the elevator to the eighty-seventh floor; take a right; sit in the chairs; wait to be called.”

Swallowing hard, she nods her receipt of the instructions. “Oh. Yes. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Uh…” She steps back from the security station, again waving, big smile plastered on her face. “Have a great day, sir.”

Quickly strolling through the lobby to the elevators, she holds her hands together at her waist. Upon reaching the elevators, she pushes a button, then rolls back on her heels to wait patiently. Eyes darting about, she sees nobody; nervously, she starts to rock back and forth, puckering her lips, then inverting them, and humming.

But she can’t place the tune she’s humming; it’s just there. After several minutes of repeating the same few measures of music, she slows her hum awkwardly, picking it apart to analyze it piece by piece. Swallowing the music entirely, she bites her lips together.

The elevator dings.

“Oh,” she reclaims a grin, climbing on board as the doors open, spinning around to face the front and pressing the button for the eighty-seventh floor.

Someone else joins her in the elevator car, pressing another floor’s button.

“Oh, hello.”

The new occupant turns to her, looks her up and down, then exits the car.

She visibly deflates as the elevator doors close.

Riding up in silence but for the quiet dinging of the floor announcements, she swallows hard, yanking herself back into her interview mentality. You got this. They’re gonna love you. Chin up, buckaroo; they’re lucky you’re here!

The elevator stops at floor fifty-three, doors opening. She peers out. Nobody. The entire floor looks empty. Not a good feeling. The doors close, and the ride continues. After what felt like forever of torturous silence, the elevator finally slows to a stop on the eighty-seventh floor.

With a determined huff, she steps out onto the floor, takes a right, and sits in an empty chair. Pulling on a friendly smile, she turns to the candidate next to her. “Hello.”

The candidate looks at her, then turns away.

“Okay then.” She sits, hands on her knees, back straight. After several minutes, she starts to rock back and forth slowly. Hi, I’m Jane Smith. It is so nice to meet you! … Have I told you what I admire about Corporate, Incorporated yet? … My greatest strengths are adaptability…

They wait. Then she waits. Then her name is called, she pulls on her most winningest smile, and she goes in.

After about half an hour, she comes out, plodding to the elevator.

Face flat, she even finds blinking difficult and uneasy. She slowly punches the elevator button, then waits for the car silently. She doesn’t even pay attention to how long it takes to arrive. Stepping in, she finds herself elbow-to-elbow with several people, their only commonality being the direction which they are riding the elevator in. She taps the button for the main lobby, then shifts back toward the back of the car.

Then, it hits her.

She turns back toward the front, slowly pushing herself to stand in front of the buttons. Just as the elevator doors start to close, a big grin plasters itself on her face, and she flails, hitting numerous elevator buttons. As the other passengers in the car gasp and reach toward her, she giggles mercilessly, yet joyfully.

I walk the quietest walk down the vacant hallway, always thinking we should’ve better matched up our schedules as I make my way to Fiends of Flight. As the sole class we couldn’t agree on, perhaps our schedules never would have matched as long as I insisted on learning about pixies and faeries, sylphs and sprites and he “refuses to waste time on such beasts.” But they’re not beasts; they’re often as intelligent as we are, albeit with a little less willpower to control their impulses and abilities.

“Hey faerie-lover!”

My foot falters; I bump into the wall, catching myself with my fingertips to prop myself up, continuing forward rather than facing my pursuers. I’m not interested in whatever new taunts or tricks they’ve come up with this week; I just want to get where I’m going. Head down, I clutch my books tighter, plunging forward. It’s only another hundred meters to class; I can make it.

One of them appears in front of me, smirking wickedly.

I yank back, stutter-stepping to keep my balance. My hood falls back from my head as I twist in place, identifying how many of the gang are here and attempting to find an escape. Two, four, six… eight. This week, eight have come to see how much it will take me to explode, and only two of them dare stand within the blast radius.

When I try to mind my own business, trouble chases me down.

“Off to class, faerie-lover? Running a little… late,” he steps toward me, crossing his arms, “aren’t you? I heard Professer Pixiedust doesn’t appreciate tardiness.” He clicks his tongue at me. “Tsk, tsk. Perhaps you’ll be put on notice again? What a shame that would be.”

“That isn’t her name,” I growl.

“Look at you,” they start to circle around, even the distant six closing in. “Do I detect a hint of protectiveness in your voice? About a professor? Oooh, sounds like someone has a crush.” I grind my teeth. “Maybe you should ask her on a date. I wonder where pixies like to go to eat… Do they even eat?” He turns to his companions, chortling and sneering then turning back. “Probably not. You might have to stick with drinking pond scum.”

My eyes flicker up as I fight my breathing to stay steady.

“All those faerie-types like that kind of thing, right?” He nods, a vicious upturn to the corner of his lips. “That’s good. Well, good for you and all of your faerie-loving friends. That’s pretty much what you are, pond scum. Not even your dreadful old pal – what’s his name?” He turns to one of his friends who shrugs and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He turns back to me. “Not even that guy wants to hang around your kind.”

I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing.

“Nothing to say? Probably a good thing. You wouldn’t have anything intelligent to say, anyway, so why waste the energy? Better conserve it for when we start rationing again; your kind will be the last priority, you know. You might not even get rations after that incident last time with one of your little buddies trying to magick the whole lot of it off to a private stash. Thieves, the lot of you!”

My eyes bolt open, the flesh behind my ears flaming white.

A hand settles on my shoulder from behind. Instead of jumping to bite, I yank about quizzically. As the hand drops, I find, a hand-length away from me, a brunette with soft brown eyes spiked with jade. She grins gently at me. “Are you headed to class?” It takes hearing her voice for me to recognize her. Perhaps I’ve never looked at her before.

“Yes,” I nod, “Fiends of Flight. Class.”

“Of course, the transfer student here to save the day,” he jeers. “What a waste of time and space, the both of you. You and your fiendish friends should all just-“

“What did you say your name was again?”

I blink hard, facing her, seeing her. She grins, emanating hospitality, but my mind is still on the taunts of my pursuers. As I watch her, her eyes quickly pinch near-closed for a moment, then re-open as she twists her head. She knows. “Gabe. My,” I swallow hard, tugging my books closer to my chest, “my name’s Gabe.”

Her grin grows warmly. “Nice to meet you, Gabe,” she extends her right hand, “I’m Dezzy.”

As I focus on her hand, she holds it there kindly, and my pursuers seem to loose their luster. Cautiously, I reach for her hand; as my hand gets closer to hers, a member of the outer circle fades to non-existence. As I take her hand, another quickly disappears. As I shake her hand, yet another vanishes. “Nice to meet you, too.” Another evaporates.

“Head demons?”

I try to take my hand back, but she holds it firmly. I look at her hand gripping mine which is twice the size. Again, I tug, but she doesn’t falter, doesn’t even seem to notice that I yank. Unlike normal situations where I might become frustrated and even angry, I simply marvel at the audacity of such a small hand holding captive one such as mine. It takes guts to do something like that to someone like me.

“I used to get them,” she confesses. “There are more effective ways than running.”

I nod, moreso because I don’t want to disagree with someone with this much courage than that I actually know what she’s talking about. I don’t have head demons, I reason to myself, I have pursuers. Then I look up: there are only two left, and both of them look pretty paltry. My gaze meanders back to hers. “Right.”

She grins. “They’ll disappear altogether soon. For now, let’s get to class.”

“Right,” I nod, swinging back in the proper direction. She keeps hold of my hand, stepping with me and swinging it loopily as she goes. As we make our way to class, I look over and wonder who she is to dare to touch me at all, let alone without my permission. Dezzy. Her name is Dezzy. A grin starts to form on my face, funny though it probably looks on me.

As we near the classroom, she turns to me. “See you on the other side!”

She slips away from my hand, gliding to a back corner of the room with a single open desk. As I make my way toward the front of the classroom, to the only seats still vacant, I watch her dissipate.