Post by orinocoflow on Apr 9, 2010 15:53:04 GMT -5
“No, Damien, I won’t let you go home!” roared his manager. “How many times do I need to tell you? We have a HUGE presentation tomorrow, and yes, it is Christmas, but this is worth millions of dollars! So sit back down and come up with a catchy idea that will land us this account, understand?”
Damien sighed, hanging his head, realizing that arguing was useless. Why had he ever agreed to do this? Was it worth working non-stop simply because it brought in a large pay-check? Resigning, he sat into the leather chair in his office and pulled out the folder assigned to this project. As soon as his boss left, however, he slumped at his desk, no inspiration whatsoever in his brain.
A half-hour later, he gave up, standing to walk around his office. As he gazed out the 30th floor window, he knew that, no matter what his income was, he would not be happy. It was Christmas Eve, for chrissake! Why was he still in the office?! Snorting with disgust at himself, he paced back and forth for a short while before stopping before the phone.
Should I? he wondered, considering. Walking around for a few more minutes, he made up his mind: YES.
Dialing, he waited, listening, hoping. Would she answer? Or had she gone out like she probably would? Just as he was about to give up, he heard the line click and her soft voice come through.
“Damien? Is that you?”
He breathed a sigh of relief, immediately feeling better.
“Yes, it’s me, Sarelle. I was just wondering…well…Happy Christmas Eve. Sorry I can’t be there with you, I got…well…stuck at work…” He trailed off, not sure how to continue.
There was a long pause on the other end.
“Well, it’s all right…I understand, you know…”
“Look, Sarelle, I just want you to know that, even if I’m in Paris, or Rome, or even here in NYC, or wherever there are millions of people or maybe just a hundred, I still miss you. A lot. And this past year that I’ve been away, I know that you always supported me in this idea; I mean, it was the chance of a lifetime, right? And though you couldn’t come with me, with your job, you know, you still believed in me…and I loved that you did but…well, even after we broke up and all, I don’t blame you for it…Can you let me come home for New Year’s?” He finished in a rush, praying the answer would be, “Yes.”
But as she hesitated, he knew that his prayer had not been answered. His heart sinking like an anchor in still water, he felt an icy cold seep through his body when the “No” was whispered across the line, drowned out by the bells announcing that Christmas Eve was at its peak: midnight.
As he sat there, listening to a dial tone, he thought back to all those letters he kept, that he had written but never sent. How would she react when she opened the envelope, hoping to read a long lament…but seeing only a line, maybe two, of, “Hey, I’m doing great, what about you?” She would probably throw it away without replying. Or would she? He never had the courage to send one and find out, afraid of the answer. But now, he would never know.
Turning in his seat, he stared at the manila folder, willing an idea to present itself to him, knowing it wouldn’t.
* * *
The next morning, when they lost the multi-million-dollar account, Damien was promptly fired. Why, his boss never understood, since the boy genius had never failed him before in these ideas, always had a back-up, but now he realized that something was lost in those brown eyes. Within hours, a replacement was hired and working away at another account, and the young man was forgotten forever in all but one heart, to which he never went home.
THE END
Damien sighed, hanging his head, realizing that arguing was useless. Why had he ever agreed to do this? Was it worth working non-stop simply because it brought in a large pay-check? Resigning, he sat into the leather chair in his office and pulled out the folder assigned to this project. As soon as his boss left, however, he slumped at his desk, no inspiration whatsoever in his brain.
A half-hour later, he gave up, standing to walk around his office. As he gazed out the 30th floor window, he knew that, no matter what his income was, he would not be happy. It was Christmas Eve, for chrissake! Why was he still in the office?! Snorting with disgust at himself, he paced back and forth for a short while before stopping before the phone.
Should I? he wondered, considering. Walking around for a few more minutes, he made up his mind: YES.
Dialing, he waited, listening, hoping. Would she answer? Or had she gone out like she probably would? Just as he was about to give up, he heard the line click and her soft voice come through.
“Damien? Is that you?”
He breathed a sigh of relief, immediately feeling better.
“Yes, it’s me, Sarelle. I was just wondering…well…Happy Christmas Eve. Sorry I can’t be there with you, I got…well…stuck at work…” He trailed off, not sure how to continue.
There was a long pause on the other end.
“Well, it’s all right…I understand, you know…”
“Look, Sarelle, I just want you to know that, even if I’m in Paris, or Rome, or even here in NYC, or wherever there are millions of people or maybe just a hundred, I still miss you. A lot. And this past year that I’ve been away, I know that you always supported me in this idea; I mean, it was the chance of a lifetime, right? And though you couldn’t come with me, with your job, you know, you still believed in me…and I loved that you did but…well, even after we broke up and all, I don’t blame you for it…Can you let me come home for New Year’s?” He finished in a rush, praying the answer would be, “Yes.”
But as she hesitated, he knew that his prayer had not been answered. His heart sinking like an anchor in still water, he felt an icy cold seep through his body when the “No” was whispered across the line, drowned out by the bells announcing that Christmas Eve was at its peak: midnight.
As he sat there, listening to a dial tone, he thought back to all those letters he kept, that he had written but never sent. How would she react when she opened the envelope, hoping to read a long lament…but seeing only a line, maybe two, of, “Hey, I’m doing great, what about you?” She would probably throw it away without replying. Or would she? He never had the courage to send one and find out, afraid of the answer. But now, he would never know.
Turning in his seat, he stared at the manila folder, willing an idea to present itself to him, knowing it wouldn’t.
* * *
The next morning, when they lost the multi-million-dollar account, Damien was promptly fired. Why, his boss never understood, since the boy genius had never failed him before in these ideas, always had a back-up, but now he realized that something was lost in those brown eyes. Within hours, a replacement was hired and working away at another account, and the young man was forgotten forever in all but one heart, to which he never went home.
THE END