Zazen - By Vanessa Veselka Page 0,18
stopped. There was really no reason I couldn’t leave.
Rise Up Singing was empty but the tables were full of dirty dishes. Mirror was throwing them into a black bus tub.
“There was a fucking bike messenger convention here. It was the annual race and Franklin forgot to schedule a dishwasher. It totally sucked. They all wanted smoothies and like ten plates of nachos each. We’re out of rice. Rice.”
“Are the checks in?”
“In the back. Franklin changed the work meeting. There’s a sign up.”
Above the time cards was a large piece of peach construction paper.
OUT OF RESPECT FOR MIRROR’S UPCOMING EVENT AND CONCERNS ABOUT ATTENDENCE AT THE WORK MEETING I HAVE CHOSEN TO RESCHEDULE. WE WILL CLOSE EARLY THIS SATURDAY INSTEAD AND MEET FOLLOWING BRUNCH. ALCOHOL AND VEGAN CUPCAKES PROVIDED.
—FRANKLIN
Coworker Franklin had taken the time to draw fleur-de-lis and devil heads around the edge of the paper. I went back out. Mirror had a look of great satisfaction.
“Good for the sex party?”
“Good for fucking Franklin,” she said and threw a heavy white dinner plate into a tub where it broke a pint glass. “I don’t know what he was thinking by scheduling the day after the party. There was totally going to be nobody there. Birds chirping. I’m not even sure we’d be done.”
Someone came in the front door, looked around and left.
“Good. I fucking hate people,” she said.
Mirror grabbed a spoon and started eating lentils off the line.
“Franklin’s changing the food policy,” she said with her mouth full of food, “He says we should pay for salmon because it’s so expensive. I told him he should pay for it by going to hell for serving it and that I hope a two-thousand pound Coho haunts his fucking elder years.”
She dug around in a plastic container for some avocado slices.
My paycheck was nowhere near enough for a ticket. The prices were skyrocketing. Everyone with retirement was cashing out and there were 401(k) fare specials everywhere with slogans like “Why rollover when you can do-over?” Pictures of dilapidated colonial mansions. Beaches of beautiful children. Exotic sodas in Brahmi script. I passed them daily.
But while my money was limited, my credit was not. There was a world of predatory lending to explore. Mail had been piling up for months at my PO box. There had to be credit card offers. I picked up two tubs of personal history from the postmaster, lugged them home, and dumped them on the floor of my room. Letters from the geology department at UC Davis fanned across the carpet. There was one from my advisor urging me to apply for a position and another from an ex-boyfriend who’d read my dissertation, thought it was hot and wanted my number. There were the journals—paleographic, astrobiological, geospheric and a receipt for a six-volume set on brachiopods. Complimentary calendars, notes of congratulation, letters of concern, etc.… I threw anything that wasn’t money-related back into a tub and wrote “Head of John the Baptist” on the side of it with a Sharpie. I picked out a credit card application from the Geological Society of America. 1-888-BUY-COAL.
I called them up.
“Star Bank Plaza One Visa, how may I help you?”
“I’d like to take advantage of a recent credit card offer.”
I told them I was a full tenured professor with no kids. They loved me. I could have bought a plane.
“Would you prefer igneous, metamorphic or sedimentary rock structures on your card, ma’am?”
“Do you have the Deccan Traps? ’Cause I’d like the Deccan Traps if you have it. They’re in India. You know, a lot of people believe that eruption caused the extinction of fifty percent of life on earth.”
“No, ma’am. We have the Grand Canyon, one with some jewels on it and a Hawaiian volcano.”
“Or if you have a comet smashing into the planet. I’d like that too.”
“Canyon, jewels, volcano.”
“Rim of Fire?”
While on the phone I drafted a speech to Credence and Annette:
Fellow Travelers and Attending Bellyfish,
While I have walked this road with you, led mostly by your courage and commitment, it is now time for me to depart and cut my way through the jungle alone. May we all meet under the bright arc of social revolution one day as The Public and celebrate our re-emergence as citizens and lovers.
Until then, I will set up web-based email and make sure you all have it before I leave.
Yours endlessly,
Friend of the Tiny Liver Hearts/Pool of Light
I took the bus downtown. I wanted to go to an actual travel agency because I thought that would