Alone

He looked up at the clock attached to the front of his small cubicle; only 15 minutes until 5 o'clock. He could hear the constant ringing of phones and the hum of countless personal computers, someone laughed from far off. Not much was attached to the grey cloth of his cubicle: the black and white clock which read a quarter until 5 and a couple of old inter-office memos, one from his former supervisor who had left this wing two years ago. On the desk was his personal computer, a picture of his cat, Edmond, and a phone, the receiver dusty.

He always checks the inter-office E-mail at 4:45; this time there was a message from a coworker, two cubicles down; another joke about the newer supervisor's weight. He deleted the message and turned off his personal computer. He got up, collected his coat, and walked to the near by elevator. He was the first one on and was quickly herded to the back as more and more coworkers piled into the cramped space. He stared at the backs of their heads as they rode the car down from the highest floor.

He walked to his clean 4-door sedan in the garage and used his employee pass card to force the mechanical arm up without having to bother the attendant. He took his normal route home, traveling on a small two-lane road to avoid traffic and the highways. Tall oaks grew on both sides of the road as he drove. They seemed to lean out over the car as. Sometimes their branches blacked out the sky all together. He had often thought about the fact that the road would be invisible if someone were looking from a low-flying airplane.

He rode up his driveway and pulled into the garage after activating the automatic door opener. His cat, Edmond, waited for him by the side door as he walked in, locked the door behind him, and slipped off his shoes. He placed his keys on the clean, white kitchen counter. On the counter were his keys, a small picture of a tropical island, surrounded by water and dotted with a single palm tree, and a phone, the receiver dusty.

Edmond walked over to the window by the main entranceway. He had set up a small stool and cushion for the cat to sit on, a small indent had formed on the previously new cushion. Sometimes Edmond watched the dogs while sitting by the front door; sometimes he watched other cats; sometimes he stared into its own eyes in the glass. The cat was always at the window, staring at something. Next to the stool and cushion were several cat toys, each of them dusty.

He turned on the TV, a frozen dinner in the microwave. His leather easy chair had conformed to his body over the years. He watched and ate his pot pie, not bothering with salt and pepper. He sat in his leather easy chair, looking up at the clock attached to the wall; only 15 minutes until 9 o'clock. He got up, turned off the TV, and washed the dish. He passed Edmond in the main entranceway while walking toward his bedroom. He changed, brushed his teeth, and sat on his bed. He was not particularly tired as he turned off the light and lay on his pillows. As he fell asleep, the queen-sized mattress felt unusual because he had flipped it so the worn in side was now laying next to him.

He awoke with a start, several hours before the alarm. Edmond was sitting next to him in the bed. He said nothing as he placed the cat on the floor, turned off the lights, and laid back down against the unfamiliar mattress.

The alarm was the next thing he heard. He made the bed, took a shower, and changed into his work clothes, an off-white button down shirt and khaki-colored dress pants. He walked past the main-entranceway and the indented cushion. He stopped in the kitchen and sat on the floor, across from the unmoving, unblinking cat. He sat and stared at Edmond for a long time.

He left his keys on the counter and pulled out a small piece of paper from a drawer underneath the phone and keys. Finding a pen in the same drawer, he wrote a small note and placed it in his off-white button down shirt pocket. He walked back near the TV and sat in his leather easy chair. He sat and listened. Mostly he could hear the buzz of complete silence; sometimes, far off, he could make out a laugh or cry, a shout or a whisper. He sat and stared into his backyard, sometimes he looked at the flowers; sometimes he watched the fly stuck in between the glass and screen; sometimes he looked into his own eyes in the glass. His eyes were always focused on something. He sat and stared.

He sat until he no longer had the option of getting up. He heard nothing anymore, even the familiar buzz of silence seemed to fade away. He sat while the world continued to move. As the last light started leaving his eyes, he watched a speck of dust fall lightly onto the phone on the clean, white kitchen counter.

They found him later, the smell finally too overpowering to ignore. They pulled out the crinkled note from his shirt pocket and threw it away, unread.