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“You want me to pack up and come over to your place?”
“Not yet.”
I purposefully dropped my pretty things on the floor beside my chair, satisfied by the sight of the delicate embroidered flowers of my silk scarf discarded on the industrial floor. I wanted to crush it under my heel. Who was I to have nice things?
Junie stood up, picked up my things and hung them up for me. I sighed. I should have known she’d pick them up. That was selfish of me, but I couldn’t find it within myself to care. Typical. She came back and stood in front of me, her chin tipped way up to peer into my face.
“You deserve support.”
“Nothing helps. You know that. I just have to hang on and wait it out.”
“You deserve to be free.”
I nodded. Anything to avoid this conversation. On this point we would never agree.
Minty placed a hot chocolate on my desk. With cool whip and chocolate syrup. I offered her a weak smile.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t smile back, just squeezed my hand and carried on.
I sat in my chair and looked up at Junie, smiling tiredly.
“Go away, Junie, I can’t handle your emotions about this on top of my own.”
She shook herself. “Right, right, you’re right.”
I felt bad, fuck, I’m a terrible bitch. “No, I’m joking,” I said. Junie cocked her head to the side and smirked at me. “Half-joking,” I amended.
“You’re allowed boundaries, Willa. I did buy you something. I’ll get it for you and then leave you be.”
I stared into space, wanting nothing more than to disappear into my work. I had two major projects going and the faster I immersed myself in them, the faster I would attain a modicum of relief.
Junie placed a gift bag on my desk.
“They’re brand new but I opened them and charged them, so they’re ready for you to use right away.”
I slipped my hand into the bag and pulled out a pair of noise-canceling headphones. I felt Junie standing anxiously beside my chair.
I loved music. It was my therapy, my inspiration, my celebration. To my great and everlasting chagrin, I could not hold a note or play an instrument, but I loved music. Music infiltrated the numbness. Music allowed me to feel.
“They plug into your phone,” she added, not moving.
Emotion clogged my throat. I nodded and reached out a hand for hers, without raising my eyes, and squeezed.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly, “I wish I could do more.”
I released her and with a final squeeze she went to her own desk. I plugged the headphones into my phone, adjusted the band over my head, pressed play, and turned up the volume. The change was almost instantaneous. Blessed distraction, blessed relief.
Every May the tension ratcheted up bit by bit and day by day. Like the proverbial boiling frog, I adjusted to the daily increase and coped. May snaked along that same ingrained path every year. It was a well-rehearsed morbid dance. I knew what to expect and I knew how to handle it, until that May, when my safe, controlled, peaceful world imploded.
The day after Junie gave me the headphones I was in my office at the shelter, the little velvet bag, worn thin from years of handling, nestled between my fingers. I had closed my office door, plugged in my new headphones from Junie, and cranked up the volume. I didn’t see or hear Barrett come in.
Usually, I sat facing the door because I did not like to be surprised, but I was turned toward my filing cabinet when he entered. He stepped into my peripheral vision as I was turning back towards my desk.
Panic exploded in my chest and erupted from my lips with a scream as I rolled my chair frantically away from him. I scrambled to stand up, dropping the little bag as I reached the end of the cord attaching the headphones to my cell thereby yanking it off the desk.
Barrett’s eyes were wide in his startled face. He bent swiftly to scoop my flying cell phone out of the air and nabbed the little bag from the floor before handing them to me.
