Neighbors

Shelley sat at her gray desk with its lone sodium lamp. Flecks of graphite lingered in the atmosphere under its pyramid of yellow light. The soft scratching of the Writers' Guild filled the massive room with a sense of closeness. She pulled her pencil from the page for a moment and looked around her. The desks were identical (save their occupants) and they continued off in all four directions, practically to the horizon line. She would not know how to begin estimating the number of writers in this space. Her imagination saw it curving with the earth and eventually wrapping around on itself. Shelly had a tendency to become rapt in large thoughts like this. Perhaps it was why she was chosen for this job. Indeed, a mind that can conceive of great things and bring them down to a level of understand-ability, that is a talent here.

Where was I? She thought unexpectedly, and she looked down at the lined paper to her last pencil marks.

.... to concentrate with Michelle crying all the time. I asked her what the matter was and she could barely speak through fits of sobbing. Rob left again and she's afraid he'll never come back. How many times has she been through this? He leaves, she bargains, promises him more attention, whatever he wants, he eventually returns and she is miserable. Same cycle over and over. She could do so much better. She HAS done so much better. I remember Charlie. He was such a character. So funny and smart, sexy too. He was honestly perfect for her but she killed him just like all the other nice guys. I seriously do not understand what's going on in her mind.
I told her to write Rob off... permanently. Let him go. Burn his letters if she needs to, but do something. No one good is going to come around until Rob is out of the picture. Like every weak woman in history, she swears she can change him. Isn't that the most used-up line in the world?
Kill him, Michelle! Kill him and move on! I swear, if you don't, I will!
Michelle is sharpening her pencil and giggling in the way people do when they see the rediculousness of their tears. When they finally understand that they've been here before. They watch their world come to an end and they weep for the loss. When the crying is over their world has ended but they, themselves are still here. Stranded like castaways. And they giggle. They laugh at themselves for being laid bare and for having to start over from nothing.
Michelle scratches some more on her pad of paper. She turns to smile at me through soft, pouting lips.
"Rob came back!" she half laughs. "He's been working for the government and couldn't reveal his location!"
I'm sure she wants to believe all this bullshit about Rob's secret spy life. She is so gullable. Probably why she keeps coming up with guys like Rob. Yeah, Rob's a spy and I'm Ernest Hemingway!
"That's Wonderful, dear!" I lie sweetly to her. "I'm sure he's missed you terribly."
"Thank you Shelley." she leans in, "Thank you for being there for me. I know it's been crazy. I, I just want you to know that I appreciate your support. You're my only real friend, Shelley!"
"Of course. Listen, we should get back to writing. You and Rob have lots of work to do. Maybe you could write him into a fatherhood role..." I say with a wink. Michelle beams with such intensity that I think she may burst from joy.

Shelley sat at her gray desk with its lone sodium lamp. Flecks of graphite lingered in the atmosphere under its pyramid of yellow light. She stared directly down onto her writing pad and she never looked up. No one ever looked up.

She turned the page and began to write: