Dad Says He Saw You at the Mall by Ken Sparling

to move my head around to see who it is who is standing beside my desk, but my face is locked to the desk. I form a loop on one side of the lace and wrap the other side around.
    “Who is that beside my desk?” I say.
    “Rebecca,” a voice says. “The new girl.”
    “Could you come back in five minutes, Rebecca?” I say.
    “I’m pretty busy right now.”
    “That’s okay,” Rebecca says. “I just wanted to meet you. I’m introducing myself to everyone in the office.”
    “Glad to meet you, Rebecca,” I say. I slip the one loop under the other loop and pull on the ends of both loops and right away I can tell I’ve done it. I’ve tied a bow under my desk. I pull my cheek up off the desk and realize I’ve been sweating and my face is stuck a little. It makes a popping sound when I lift it off.
    “I did it,” I say out loud. Some of the bozos at the desks in front of me turn around to see what I’ve done.
    ~
     
    Tutti is sitting beside me, stuffing this stuffed cat she is making.
    Tutti made one of these stuffed cats before. I watch her stuff the stuffing in.
    The last time Tutti made one of these stuffed cats, she gave it to my sister. This one is for Tutti’s sister.
    “Do you think we’ll be here for the rest of our lives?” Tutti asks.
    “You mean here here or here anywhere?” I say.
    “I don’t know what I mean,” Tutti says.
    ~
     
    One day, I go to work and my desk is gone. There’s a space on the floor where it used to be. The chair is gone, too, and so is my picture of Tutti.
    All my pens are gone, my paper, my coffee mug with the picture of Gandhi on it, which I got from Texaco, my Big Mac coupons, my naked-lady letter opener, gone. All of it. Gone.
    I go into the washroom, turn on the water, roll out some paper towels, blow my nose, flush the urinal, pace around, look up at the ceiling, look down at my toes, wring my hands, lock myself in the stall, and begin to weep.
    After I have my little weep, I go back out to the workroom and do what work I can without my desk, which is no work. The manager calls me into her office and fires me, so I go home, have a lemonade, and sit at the kitchen table reading grocery flyers. I kick off my shoes and put on some music. I daydream about this one time, years ago, when I was a rock star and people wanted important things, like my autograph, or a piece of my underwear.
    ~
     
    I was thinking about Dad and suddenly I started trying to think about what it would be like to think about Dad if it was not Dad I was thinking about.

O NCE A small boy went into a convenience store and bought a cherry popsicle. He took the popsicle out to the parking lot of the convenience store and ate it, sitting on the cement parking abutment. When the popsicle was gone, he stuck the popsicle sticks in his pocket. Then he went back into the convenience store and bought another cherry popsicle. He went back out to the parking lot and ate this cherry popsicle, too. He kept on doing this all night, until he felt like a bag of shit. At seven in the morning, with the sun coming up, he looked like a bag of shit, too. He was a fat kid, with not very many friends, and his pocket linings were stuck to the skin on his legs from all the cherry popsicle sticks he had stuck in there. He looked as if he had been shot in the legs, and he sort of walked that way as well, from how gross it felt having the skin ripped off his legs as he walked along.
    When the fat boy got home, he dumped all his popsicle sticks on the table in the living room. He went and got a tube of white glue and started gluing. His parents were upstairs in their bedroom, asleep. When they came down, they found their tubby son asleep on the couch with his pants off. Nearby, a bunch of popsicle sticks were glued together to form what looked like an abandoned shack in the Ozark Mountains.
    The tubby boy took the shack in for show-and-tell at school. Nobody liked him anyway. Girls stuck their finger in their throat when they