Blown Red

Signy Joins the Line

Signy Shepherd called up the thesaurus on her laptop and keyed in the word bored. Propping her chin in the palm of her hand, she perused the list of synonyms that appeared on the screen. Monotonous – yep. Humdrum – check.

She brushed a pencil shaving off her desk with the tip of her long, blond braid. Her eyes flicked to the clock for the hundredth time, another four hours before she could go home alone and binge-watch the last season of Bones on TV. Ennui – definitely.

Hemmed in by the padded walls of her cubicle she wondered if maybe she should have accepted the invitation to lunch with her colleagues. Nope. Dying of boredom in her cell beat out listening to them complain about hot flashes or their loathsome teenaged kids. Tedious – God yes.

Grabbing a freshly sharpened pencil, she pressed the pointy end into the ball of her thumb, etching a frowny face into the skin. The shrieks of kids heading back to class after their lunch break, drifted in through an open window. She sighed. Her work parents would be back soon. Time to look busy.

“Busy?”

Signy jerked backward. The pencil she’d been using to tattoo her thumb spiralled over her head, and her cell phone clattered to the floor. She whirled to face the interloper, taking in the paisley skirt, the linen blouse splayed over ample hips, and the wild nest of curls that made the kids at the woman’s shelter call her Marge Simpson.

Signy’s face flushed scarlet. Grace Holder, executive director of the Women’s Centre.

What was her boss doing here? Discombobulated, she lunged to pick up her phone, just as Grace did the same. Their heads clinked together like two bowling balls meeting on the return rack.

“Ow,” Grace exclaimed, rubbing the sore spot with long fingers.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Holder. Are you okay?”

“No harm done. I have a thick skull. So I’ve been told.”

Wiping a sweaty palm on her yellow sundress, Signy stifled a nervous giggle.

“Anything pressing on your schedule this afternoon?”        

“Um,” said Signy, pretending to peruse her calendar, “I don’t think so. Nothing I can’t postpone, anyway.”

“Excellent. I need your help.”

Signy looked over her shoulder. “Me?”

“Walk with me,” Grace said.

Springing to her feet, Signy rushed after the older woman, unaware that she’d knocked over the container of freshly sharpened pencils, or that they were rolling off her desk and onto the tiled floor, with an ominous tick, tick, tick.

Winding her way through the maze of cubicles, Grace called over her shoulder, “I understand there was a bit of trouble at your last job.”

Signy sucked in her breath, tucking her tattooed thumb inside her palm.

“You were terminated, if I recall?” Grace continued.

The sudden roar of the air conditioning unit, masked Signy’s mumbled reply.

“Sorry?” Grace said.

“I said yes,” Signy repeated, too loudly, “It’s true, they fired me.”

“That man spent almost a week in the hospital, I believe.”

“Yes, well. I said I was sorry about that.”

“Really?” Grace said, coming to an abrupt halt. “I wouldn’t be.”

Signy’s mouth dropped open.