A Paper Day

No one could remember the last time Trenton smiled. Not even Trenton. Every morning, he walked through the office doors with a cardboard cup of coffee, freshly wetted down curls, and dark purple circles under his hazel eyes. He sat down at his off-white cubicle, and the atmosphere surrounding his person felt stale and unwelcoming, like a box of one’s least favorite crackers.

The customers calling into the insurance office couldn’t see how tense his shoulders were, how he slumped against his desk when the call ended, how his empty stare cut conversations in person short, almost immediately after the greeting.

That was all his coworkers could see.

“If he doesn’t get to a therapist soon, I’m going to start taking antidepressants for him,” a middle-aged woman who wore her graying hair in a tight bun whispered to a tall coworker during break. They watched him stand up like an unfolding robot and walk to the bathroom. What they didn’t see was how he crumpled inside the stall and put his aching head in his hands.

Trenton felt like he heard every whisper. Became small under every scrutinizing gaze. He was just trying to make a living. Didn’t they have work to do?

As someone else bustled into the bathroom, Trenton flushed and walked to the sink where he carefully washed in between each finger. His mother used to tell him to wash his hands all the time. Later, she told him to wash them less, and then eventually she begged him to stop washing them when the skin around his knuckles started to crack in thin, bloody lines. He had never been to a therapist and wasn’t planning on going soon, but he suspected he would get diagnosed with something like OCD or anxiety or worse because he could never shake the tightness in his chest or the urge to curl up in a dark corner.

It wasn’t serious though. Nothing here was. The monotony of his days drained the color from his home and the office until he was just a piece of paper, about to drift away in the wind, walking in the middle of a flimsy paper city with flimsy paper people. They had no substance, no depth that might reveal the soulful experience of a real human.

At least not that he could see.

He walked out of the bathroom. Something caught on his foot, and he tripped across the hall, almost falling into the wall.

“Oh! Oh my goodness!”

Trenton placed a hand on the smooth surface of the wall and turned. Cynthia was covering the bottom half of her face with a stack of folders, her brown eyes wide and horrified, staring at him over the edge of a file that said “FOR HUMAN RESOURCES” in bold across the top.

“I am so sorry!”

He straightened. “It’s fine.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

Her brows creased with concern as she lowered the folders to hug them to her chest. Cynthia was a new hire, an intern at the HR department. Her curls peeked out from beneath a navy-blue bandana.

A few weeks ago, he had helped jump her car, which had gotten her home where it finally broke down and she sent it to a mechanic. Now, she took the same bus route he did, so if he timed it right, he could sit on the same bus in the mornings and soak in the comfort of her calming, reliable presence.

Trenton turned to head back to his desk. The longer he stayed, the more awkward and stuffy he would make the air between them feel.

“Wait, before you leave.”

He half-turned again, but left his feet pointing in the direction he wanted to go. Away from her.

“When’s your birthday?”

Trenton blanked. “My what?”

“Birthday? The day you were born?” A smile started to creep onto her face.

“Oh. August 27.”

“Oh, that’s my brother’s birthday! How fun, that will be easy to remember.” She grinned. “Have a good day!”

He watched her walk away, taking long, relaxed steps. He had lied.

His birthday was today.

The only celebration he could remember from growing up was his ninth birthday. His mom had spent the day crying in her bedroom or over the cake batter, and his dad fell asleep on the couch with a bottle of whiskey rolling on the stained carpet. At the end of the quiet day, Trenton had held a slice of chocolate cake on his lap on the porch, staring down their gravel driveway to the forest across the road, almost falling asleep to the sound of crickets.

Completely alone and unseen.

An empty, paper day.

Today felt the same. Trenton returned to his desk and sat down. He answered a few calls. He ate a few salted almonds from the bag tucked into his briefcase. When lunch break came around, he went outside the office, walked down the street, and sat on a wooden bench next to a park fountain. Pidgeons gathered around him, giving him menacing side-glances through their beady eyes. Trenton tore off a corner of his PB&J and tossed it to them. They swarmed around the crust, pecking at it hungrily.

Trenton leaned against the back of the bench and watched some children play in the fountain. The water caught the sunlight like jewels, and their laughter and squeals rang in the air as they splashed water at each other. He was pretty sure they were going to catch something from the germs lurking in the water, but he didn’t have the energy to tell them.

One of the girls looked like a younger version of his sister, whom he hadn’t seen in years. The girl wore her shiny red hair in two braids that swung around her shoulders. She splashed water at two of the boys who were playing with a basketball around the fountain, and they called names at her while she ran away, laughing, to another group of children who were playing with a deck of cards on a picnic table.

Dorothy, his older sister by ten years, had barely looked at Trenton when he was younger. It was probably his fault. He was the one who didn’t like the way she touched his video game controllers without washing her hands or how she raised her voice when she was “just expressing an opinion.” He had driven a wedge between them by growing silent and obstinate around her, unable to speak more than a few words before she threw up her hands in frustration. She seemed to do that around a lot of people, though.

The day before his ninth birthday, she had packed her bags after a fight with their father, gotten into her beat-up red Toyota, and driven away, leaving a cloud of dust and grief stifled by the belief that she would come back soon.

“Excuse me, mister?”

He looked up, blinking away the fog of memory. The girl stood next to the bench. Freckles were scattered across her nose and cheeks.

Just like Dorothy.

“Yeah?”

“Could I give some of that bread to the birds?”

He glanced at his half-eaten sandwich, then back at her. He wasn’t hungry, anyway. “Sure. Go ahead.”

She smiled as he tore off the rest of the crust and placed it in her open hand. “Thanks a lot!” The girl spun and ran back to the kids, who were now showing each other magic tricks, and began tossing chunks of bread at the birds who fluttered nearby in the grass.

Trenton shoved the rest of the crustless sandwich into his mouth, swallowed down the peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth, and brushed off his pants. He rolled his shoulders before trudging back to work. The walls of the building seemed a bit more colorful, somehow. The brightness of the sun almost pained him.

The afternoon passed slowly. Once it was almost five, Cynthia showed up at his desk. “Your birthday is today, isn’t it?”

The abrupt question, without any warning or greeting, rolled up his back and made him stiffen. “Uhh…”

“I checked Facebook.”

He turned in his spinning chair. “Why?”

“I wanted to make a birthday board. For the office.”

Weird. “Okay.”

“Why did you lie?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter.”

Cynthia crossed her arms. Her white button-up was rolled up to her elbows, and she looked ready to battle. “You really hate attention, huh?”

“It’s not my favorite thing.”

Her face softened for a moment. “Do you want your birthday to be during Christmas break?”

Trenton considered. No awkward, paper birthday wishes. No awkwardly missing name on the board. No attention. “I’d like that.”

“Consider that my birthday present to you.”

He nodded. “I’ll accept that.” This was going well.

Cynthia smiled again. She had dimples in her cheeks. It was reasonably cute. “It’s almost time to go home. Want to walk to the bus together?”

Yes. “I’ll meet you outside.”

The workday dragged on until the end, when he could grab his fall jacket and walk outside to meet Cynthia. She wore a polka-dot scarf that matched her bandana well, and they started towards the bus stop, their steps in sync. Trenton glanced over at her. Why did she want to walk with him today? Pity? Was she scared of the city in the evening? He doubted that one.

They passed the same group of kids he had seen earlier. A birthday cake sat in the middle of the cloth-covered table, swirls of chocolate frosting ringed around the top and bottom. Thick slices of it had been cut and handed out, and chocolate was already streaked across children’s faces. The red-headed girl had a party hat balanced on the top of her head, and she was beaming as the others placed brightly wrapped gifts on the table. Their parents lingered nearby, drinking cups of coffee beneath trees, their long shadows stretching across the grass from warm, yellow streetlights.

Trenton made eye contact with the girl, who immediately brightened. She shouted something to her mother, grabbed a paper plate laden with cake, and dashed across the grass and over to the sidewalk. She stopped right in front of Trenton.

“It’s my birthday today. Chocolate cake is my favorite, so my mommy made it for me. I’m nine now.”

Trenton stared down at her. An unbidden lump was lodged in his throat. She held the cake and a plastic fork out to him. “Would you like some?”

He could only nod. She put it in his hands. It felt heavy.

“Thank you for the bread earlier. The birds thank you too.” She looked up and grinned. One of her front teeth was missing.

Trenton smiled back.

As she left, he felt Cynthia’s hand on his shoulder. “Happy birthday, Trenton. I think it’s about time you felt celebrated.”

Trenton’s hands were shaking, but he took a bite and let the flavor coat his tongue and soothe the ache in his throat. He held the fork out to Cynthia, who also took a bite. Her eyebrows shot up. “Now that is rich.”

He chucked and nodded. Cynthia inhaled suddenly.

“I’ve never heard you laugh before.”

“It’s been a long time since I heard it either.”

“What do you say we wash this down with a beer or two?”

Most nights Trenton would have said no. He would have claimed that he needed to be in bed by 9:30 sharp. But this was not most nights. This day was fuller than most, of color, flavor, and light.

“Let’s do that.”

They walked down the street, taking turns eating the cake. He didn’t usually indulge in this much sugar, but he would make an exception.

It was his birthday, after all.