I settle into the Zone and work without a break or speaking a word. Dorian’s instructions don’t say to avoid my coworkers, but the more I’m achieving my routine the better. Michelle announces from her cubicle that there’s pending legislation to change Policeman to Police Officer, and Steve rapid-replies that the world is going to hell in a handbasket. So no ideal gate here, and worst of all, Elderly is gone.
This morning his car had a ticket because it’s Thursday, he never moved it, which he never forgets. In all the years I have lived here, Elderly has always been here. He’s as much a neighborhood fixture as the trees, the deaf person singing on her way to work, those who walk their dogs daily down the block. He once told me that vehicles appearing to be worth less than five thousand dollars should be exempt from ticketing. I miss him. But if he lived in Iran, and then lived in a car, then maybe he can take care of himself. Maybe he will reappear like nothing ever happened.
Where does a guy like Elderly go? I could file a police report, but it only reminds me of Dad.
I block what I can from my coworkers, adjust the headset, and work diligently with speed. Every minute is a step closer to my ideal gate. Every minute forward is me entering my life. How exciting to be both in control and out of control. On the ride and off the ride. No matter what happens, I have my retirement package waiting for me at the end.