It was awful. The shred of paper sitting sullenly before him; It was truly, god awful.
But since he was used to such torture each and every work day, it was nothing new.
New; new would be crème moccasins she wore. New would be her sunny smile and flower girl scent. New was the fact that he fancied yet another intern. New? New, because this one wasn’t a shadow of the wife that died on him.
He sighed. He went beyond sighing and laying prostate; Typher rubbed his eyes furiously and prayed for a singing career to fall through because this frustration was eating him whole.
He was twenty six, beautiful, widowed and smitten by a flaming redhead.
He was also part owner of the office he used to saunter around as though he owned the place; only because he did.
Typher lost that annoying nature. The one that was a neon sign above his pale blond head screaming that life was beautiful.
His life was beautiful, but then he met her. In that typical cliché, bumping into her and looking at her flawless physical form, he had just hated her.
He knew her, her ailment, the names of her bench mate at school and the koala bear she sponsored through WWF.
He also knew that despite having the hots for her since school, he could never discount her relation to the truly antagonistic brother who had declared bloody carnage on Typher’s three-roomed official empire.
After events worthy of a movie script, he saw himself married to the Raven haired, cancerous Jalin. Perennially angelic, with a truly bloody minded temper; she was all the swears he hadn’t thought of. They were a couple ‘of nit twits’ was her brother’s disposition. And like all happy marriages, theirs ended in seven months.
He missed her presence for the few days when he couldn’t find his socks. Later, he just stumbled upon an epiphany, ‘drunk pissed’ according to his brother-in-law.
He wouldn’t ever find her again; another like her or anything close.
So Typher sobered up and left the issue to resolve itself with time.
It didn’t of course, but it brought him to a preposterous Wednesday, with a shitty report lying at his desk between the coffee mug and a photograph of her.
He looked up again through the clear glass partition. The redhead was typing away, the cute entry level data processor.
In all honesty, he couldn’t handle it right now. He doubted he even liked the woman.
Typher just wanted out.
It had been too long since he felt powerful emotions. While his brother-in-law questioned his manhood in the crass humourless way native to his in-laws, Typher just felt vacant.
Killing himself wasn’t an option because he planned on living sometime after awaking from this stupor. He wondered if the freezing thing was still an option. Or if a coma for a few months would suffice.
He could hear himself admonish soundly, as if his emotionless state permitted him to be cruelly objective of such touchy matters.
But even when Jalin was ill, he couldn’t manufacture sensitivity. He could only communicate by touch to tell her his life would truly suck if she wasn’t a part of it.
She had smiled weakly. She snickered a bit and then coughed.
He held his head in his hands. Right then, the co-owner J. Smithson put his head through the door.
‘Think you’ll manage to get anything done?’
‘Take some time off; with an iternary or something.’ He said walking in. ‘It’ll give you a sense of purpose.’
Typher looked terribly morose. He looked up and nodded.
Smithson watched Typher push away from the desk and glance at Jalin’s picture. Typher stilled and stared for some time. Smithson was about to clear his throat when Typher suddenly picked up the frame in his right hand, and gently traced her through the glass with his thumb.
‘Come on Ty.’
Typher offered a non-committal ‘hmm’ and replaced the photo. He followed J. Smithson out his door and never returned.
‘I didn’t know all the stuff he kept bottled up. I swear.’
‘Remarkable.’ Ty’s father responded dryly to his deceased daughter-in-law’s brother.
‘He’ll be fine sir.’ Smithson added softly.
‘It’s been too long Jake. I…’ His voice cracked.
Jake Smithson glanced at Asher. Asher shrugged and sipped his beer.
Jake rolled his eyes.
‘Sir.’ Typher’s father’s shoulders shook as he sobbed. ‘Mr. Lane. Look at me.’
Jake spoke with conviction he never had. ‘He’ll come back. He’ll be fine.’