David Feuerstein

“Why are you like that?” Anna asked from the other side of the particleboard table in the break room. It was a pretty table (as pretty as something more functional than flattering could be), but it had spots where the top layer and some siding had chipped off, exposing the inside. Wood had been ground into millions of unique particles before being drowned in resin and smooshed together under intense heat and pressure. The many had become the one and the layman would never be the wiser.

Function over flattery.

“Like what?” Christopher Caterpillar asked. What did being “like that” mean? Could something be like something else without knowing it? Was it a way of being? Perhaps what Anna meant had to do more so with that very moment. But, then again, what was Christopher doing at that moment except for sitting at the break table in the break room on his break? Surely nobody would see a problem with him taking his allotted time. From what he understood, most people made sure to take their daily breaks and then some.

“Like that. It’s almost like you’re not you. Like you’re Tim or Frank instead of Chris.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that. Tim and Frank are good people. Everyone likes them too. Didn’t you hear Mike talking about how they collected on the most accounts last month? I think if everyone were more like Time and Frank, then we would get a lot more done around here.”

And it was true! Tim and Frank were constantly on their boss’s lips. Prepayment collected here, overdue payment collected there, and a payment plan established any chance they could get, which just so happened to be each time. The duo were on an unstoppable rise within the company. Sooner or later, they would be in leadership positions, and Christopher and Anna would have to dawn the Tim and Frank masks or be left in the dust.

Well… Maybe not both of them.

Christopher certainly found inspiration from others to get his job done day-today, but Anna was more than capable of forging her own way. Since she started, Anna had bended rules and protocols as she saw fit and generally diverted from the “proper” societal norms. She spoke casually with coworkers and customers alike, barely showed up to meetings, and would be your friend one moment and Judas the next. Despite these blatant acts against the established norms their office worked within, she was adored by all and defended no matter the charges.

The same leniency was never extended to Christopher. He had learned long ago that the color of his soul did not mix with those around him. He decided to present a clear color to them that was no more jarring than looking through a freshly washed window.

“Tim and Mike are great and all,” Anna continued, “but what about you? The real you. I mean who even are you? I don’t think a single person here knows anything about you. And you’ve been here the longest!”

Christopher shuddered and opened his mandible to respond. However, the clock on the wall behind Anna caught his eye. It read 12”30pm. His break was over, and it was time for him to return to his cubicle like a regular person would.

He had been sitting upright in his chair on the tail end of his abdomen. It always hurt a lot to bend like that, but that is how others sat and so would he.

With some effort, he rolled sideways off the chair, disappearing from Anna’s sight, and landed on his stubby prolegs with the sound of something squishy hitting tile. SCHLAP. At the same time he said, “I think people like me this way. I’d rather people like me like this.”

Christopher inched out of the break room and back to his cubicle, but Anner never even saw him leave.

***

Christopher climbed into his office chair, logged into his computer, and put his headset on Every company PC had its desktop picture set by Mike. He thought this would be a great opportunity to boost morale, so Mike had taken to posting a new motivational picture to the desktops every Monday. He called this Motivational Monday. This week’s picture had a yellow emoji looking at itself in the mirror as it combed back a few strands of hair into a slick back. The quote above it read, “Be the best version of you! – Unknown.”

Christopher clicked on a program to the left of the first letter of the quote and up popped a spreadsheet with several hundreds of rows of information. Each row had a date, name, address, phone number, banking institution, routing number, account number, and account balance. Christopher sorted the spreadsheet by account balance so that the rows flowed from highest balance to lowest balance. If he could collect on some of the big accounts, then Mike would be happy with him.

Everyone would congratulate him.

He set to work.

Dial, ring, voicemail.

Dial, number no longer in service.

Dial, ring, wrong person (or so they claimed).

Dial, ring, Christopher is a stupid fuck that should have his legs ripped off.

And so on and so forth for a few hours.

Christopher punched in a new set of numbers.

“Hello?” A voice came through the other end.

“Hello! This is Christopher with Everyday Funding! Is this Mr. Jefferson?” Christopher recited perfectly.

“This is him,” Mr. Jefferson responded.

“Wonderful! Well, Mr. Jefferson, I’m calling regarding a past due amount on a loan you took out with us four months ago. The total amount due right now is $450. That includes interest and late fees. If this isn’t handled today, then we might have to pursue other avenues to satisfy payment. How would you like to take care of this today? I can do card and ACH transfers.”

Excellent! 

Christopher did it exactly how Tim and Frank would do it. Don’t give the client a single moment to get a word in. Tell them that the total amount is due then and there. Hint at possible retaliation if they don’t pay. Don’t say, “Would you like to take care of that today,” but rather say, “How would you like to take care of that today?” According to Tim and Frank, it made the client feel like there was no choice but to pay at that very moment.

It was a done deal. All Christopher had to do now was collect. He could hear the sounds of people laughing with him about the good work he had done!

Except, someone really was laughing.

In fact, it seemed as though they weren’t laughing with him, but rather at him.

“Mr. Jefferson?” Christopher asked.

He was met with more laughter.

“Do they give you all the same script?” Mr Jefferson asked between chuckles.

“I’m s-sorry? A script?” Christopher asked, clammy.

“You know… I spoke to someone a few days ago named Tim. Maybe you know him?”

“Yes, I know-”

“Well Tim said almost the same thing to me when he called. I’m talking fake cheeriness, the cadence, everything! It was the same gosh dang thing. So, I’m just wondering: Is there a script?”

“Well, no sir. We just have to-”

“Imma stop you right there. Cause I don’t think there is a script. I think you overheard him and are trying to copy it. But you want me to tell you what he did differently from you?”

Christopher didn’t say anything. He was considering ending the call, but he knew it would take longer for him to climb onto his desk and punch the button to do so.

“He had more tact than you. He didn’t say anything different, but I could tell he was about it. You’re just a guy trying to be someone he’s not. Hell, you probably aren’t even a guy.”

There was a pause, but Christopher remained silent.

“I want to talk to your manager,” Mr. Jefferson’s voice cut in.

Silently, Christopher transferred him to Mike’s office phone.

Christopher took his headset off and inched to the men’s bathroom. He went into the corner stall and curled on top of the toilet’s water tank.

He liked how cool the porcelain felt on his skin.

***

As Christopher made his way back to his cubicle, he saw Mike standing at the entrance, waiting for him. Mike locked eyes on him.

“Christopher!” Mike said loudly. “My office. Now.”

The eyes of the office fell on Christopher.

Mike turned and walked towards his office. Christopher followed with his head lower to the ground than before. He had hoped to stay out of sight during his march. Normally, people didn’t seem to care one way or another about Christopher but now eyes watched him like birds ready for a meal.

The door to Mike’s office closed and blocked prying eyes, though that did little to assuage the emotions running rampant in Christopher’s mind.

Mike sat on the other side of a polished mahogany desk. His suit jacket lay draped across the back of his padded chair. Elbows sat firmly on cushions his rolled up sleeves provided. His hands were clasped together. 

With eyebrows raised and lips pressed tightly together, Mike said, “Well?”

“Well, I uh…” Christopher couldn’t quite find the words.

“You’re going to try to impersonate Time because you think it would make it easier for you to collect on accounts?”

What? Impersonate Tim?

Christopher had never tried to sell himself as another person. He knew he couldn’t be Tim, and that he was Christopher. All he had tried to do was take some pointers from a guy who always seemed to be at the top of his game.

Was trying to be like someone else really that bad?

“No sir, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I tried to just be a little more like Tim to help with collecting. I just used a few things I see him do every day. I didn’t try to pass myself off as him.”

“So then why did I just talk with a client who says that you talked exactly the same way Tim did when he called earlier? He said he could barely tell the difference. Matter of fact, why DID you call him again? You know it’s one and done around here. And better yet, WHY did you transfer him to me?”

Well, Christopher didn’t have an answer to the second question. The client had asked for it, so shouldn’t he do it?

As for calling him again, Christopher thought that would be a thing that Frank would do. Frank would always want to follow up with a client, especially if the balance was as small as Mr. Jefferson’s.

Or, well, wait a second. Frank wouldn’t have done that. No, no, Christopher always did the following up. Frank was always transferring the hard clients to Mike. Mike was always furious with Frank.

Except, that wasn’t right either.

Frank was a guy who could resolve any conflict. Let him talk with leaders in a way and there would be peace within the hour. No, Frank would never transfer bad calls to Mike. Who would do that then? Anna? No, Anna was always trying to copy Christopher and-

No! No Goddammit no! Think Christopher! Who are you and why did you do those things?

Tears welled in Christopher’s eyes. His green skin danced in the bulb of the wet droplets, shattering his world into a million Christopher-sized pieces.

Mike sighed, shook his head, and leaned back in his chair.

“Why don’t you go home for today. It’s almost five anyways,” Mike said.

Christopher moved his mouth but nothing came out. He rolled out of the chair and inched out of the office. He grabbed his things from his cubicle and started toward the elevator.

“See you tomorrow!” A voice called out.

Christopher slightly turned to see Anna waving him goodbye.

You.

Who was the “you” she would see tomorrow?

***

Christopher went straight home into his bed. He cocooned himself in blankets moist with his tears. They clung to his body like wet leaves on glass. The world could not hurt him inside his shell, yet he continued to cry. He mourned for the lives he could not live up to and for the life he had never fully accepted. Each tear held a hope for another chance. One more chance. He told himself he would do it differently.

He would do it right.

The tears filled the cocoon. They left him as a baby drifting through the ether of eternity.

***

The next day, the elevator doors to the company floor opened and out came Christopher. He made his way through the office and to his cubicle. Eyes stared at him half in awe and half in contempt. They did not weigh down Christopher’s flight, however.

His strong wings beat against the air. Their brown, black, and white markings shone brilliantly in the light that pierced through the 11th story windows.

He soared to his chair like a king to a throne, and what a monarch he was.

Anna had heard all the commotion and came to investigate. She peeked her head into Christopher’s cubicle and gaped, taking a step back.

“Why are you like that?” Anna asked in terror.

“Like what?” Christopher asked, turning his kind eyes and welcoming wings towards her.

“Like that! It’s almost like you’re not you!”

Christopher gently flapped his wings and rose to Anna’s level. He looked into her eyes at something deeper. “This is me,” Christopher proudly admitted. He fluttered up even higher so that all could see him. “My name is Christopher. I have worn many different masks each day I have known all of you. Today, I come to you as myself. This is me.”

Anna stood in shock. Tim and Frank shot each other nervous glances. Mike gritted his teeth. Everyone in the office shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re not him,” Anna said as she grabbed a nearby stapler and threw it at Christopher. “That’s not him!”

The blow from the stapler made Christopher dizzy for a moment. Things had gone from bad to worse in those few seconds. Where an uncomfortableness once permeated, a fire of hate had been lit.

He dodged around paperweights that would have crushed him and binders that sailed through the air. A scissor from Tim tore a hole through one of his wings. A pencil holder found its mark on one of his eyes, leaving it a pulpy mess. Christopher tried to land on a cubicle divider to reorient himself, but Frank and Mike jumped up and grabbed onto a leg, ripping it off. His blood painted the clean white cubicle walls with a rich color that had never before touched it. 

Another peer took the opportunity to stab into him with a pencil. It stuck clean into him and stayed there.

He beat furiously away from the crowds and smashed right into a window. The view from the 11th floor was beautiful. He had never really taken it all in before. His attention shifted from the view of the city below to the slight reflection of himself in the glass. 

The reflection was blurry. His body was torn apart, eye bludgeoned, wings tattered, and blood oozing, but it was him. 

It was Christopher.

And he was beautiful.

He heard a grunt and felt something large and heavy smash into him and through the window. Someone had thrown a printer at him. His lower body was crushed with that satisfying crunch the crowds love.

He would die before he hit the ground below.

He felt the wind rushing by his head and through the holes in his wings and thought about how wonderful it was to suffer fully as one’s self. How good it was to bare one’s soul to the world; to embrace the true him that made him his own.

His vision was almost completely gone now. The rough cement below was approaching fast with promises of an eternal sleep.

Yet, nothing came.

In fact, it seemed as though he was shooting upwards. His vision was slowly coming back. The wounds on his body no longer hurt.

He rose past the 11th floor. Nobody paid him any attention. They were all looking down a the printer and the bits of Christopher spread across the sidewalk.

Anna spit through the broken glass.

The 11th floor passed. Soon, the top of the skyscraper did too.

Christopher looked around and saw specks of gold slowly drifting up both near and far. 

He glowed a soft, warm yellow as well.

He and the others drifted higher into the sky to a faraway destination, the color of their souls guiding them.