Unfinished Symphony

Ash - Prologue

I went back to work on a Tuesday.

They'd given me the weekend to sort things out, but I needed the extra day. No sense me going in if I was just going to be a pile of blubbering, useless shit. So I went for a drive on Monday. Got out at Masse Park, took a walk. The fall colours brought me to tears, sobbing on a bench as pretty young women passed by with their designer dogs. I got looks of pity, nothing more. Couldn't say I blamed 'em for not asking how I was doing; I looked like a drug addict.

My partner and I used to talk for hours in the trees at Masse Park, where nobody could overhear us.

By the time I'd pulled myself together it was getting dark. I got dinner at the Sideline Cafe. Shany asked me where my partner was and I was in tears all over again. She asked me if I wanted to talk about it. No, I said, I couldn't. Work stuff; you know how it is. She bought me my dinner. I left the sum of the bill plus ten as tip...I don't think she has any clue how much I make, but I know she's scraping by.

I went back home. The night was spent clearing out the apartment of anything that reminded me of him. By one in the morning I had my linen closet stuffed with crap that didn't belong there: books, records, a framed photograph, some films, a hat...I knew I would have to move it all later but I was too tired to care. I drank three fingers of whiskey and passed out on the couch.

My alarm clock was more faithful than any lover I'd ever had. I enjoyed a brief, beautiful moment where the sun was coming in through the balcony window and I forgot that my partner was gone. The past two weeks' events unfolded again in my mind and my moment was swallowed by moans and sorrow.

I cleaned myself up. Shaved, showered. I had a joyless, bland breakfast of cereal and shitty coffee, got dressed for work, and left my apartment with my briefcase in tow.

Under Tuesday's chilly overcast sky I walked from my apartment to the subway, eyes downcast, for once not caring how badly I was jostled around on the congested sidewalk. The subway was no better, but somehow the physical closeness with so many people, albeit forced and cramped, was a welcome relief from my week of desolate solitude.

I bought a paper at the stand in Victory Plaza and had a smoke while I read the front page: IMPERIAL BLOCKADE WON'T BUDGE; MBIKWE URGES PRESIDENT TO TAKE ACTION.

"Playing chicken again, eh boys?" I muttered. Folding the paper under my arm, I crossed the plaza to the crescent moon-shaped building and entered through the revolving door.

The metal detector didn't go off as I stepped through it.

"Where's your piece, Ash?" Zhou asked from behind the security glass.

I shrugged. "Forgot it at home, I guess."

"Gunderson'll tear a strip off you for that."

"I'll add it to the list of strip-tearings I'm about to receive," I replied. Zhou laughed that that, but I didn't. As I walked away, he called out after me:

"Hey, Ash...you okay? Because I'm here if you..."

"You know I can't talk about it," I said, taking the door out of the checkpoint.

The office was in chaos that morning. Phones ringing nonstop, analysts reading off printer reports and cursing, and above it all a haze of cigarette smoke, slowly helping the ceiling turn yellow. There was a comfortable familiarity to the scene that put me at ease.