He looked out on the office floor observing the activity. All busy bees buzzing about the interior office space, carrying laptops and notepads. Each one moving along, busy building the hive. Each one following trails and cubicled caverns leading to different work; interlocked and shared between; exchanging vectors inside booked conference rooms as each one added on to the layer of honeycomb gradually rising from the earth.
Charles drew the blinds to block out the Sun baking him on the outside while last night’s conversation and the recall of past events were baking him on the inside. His emotions swirled and bubbled as he let out a laugh. How incredibly naive, he thought to himself, for a man of his age to believe in things that should have been locked away as with so many trinkets and toys of youth. Instead he greedily grabbed at things, hoarding them and people, setting them all around him in reflection of his defiance to aging.
He sat in his office wondering how he let himself be so pulled out of character, to be engaged, against his better judgement, in wistful yearnings for the misspent currency and heat of youth. There’s no fool like an old fool. But he had become absorbed and enthralled by the moist skin and the Spring of her feminine curves. She was forty years his junior – Janelle from accounting – doesn’t everyone come from accounting at some point if you work in an office. She was fresh faced with dewy cleavage that crowned the hourglass of her frame – all wrapped in form fitting attire. She greeted him with a smile every morning, wide eyed and toothy, as if she’d been genuinely and most pleasantly surprised to see him. Spurred on by her response to his presence, he made a point to frequent the coffee room even though he could barely make it through one cup of the stuff.
“This may come across as a bit of an awkward question , but were you trained as a dancer?” He inquired.
“Yes, as a little girl I took ballet.” She smiled and tilted her head slightly. The sun lay an accent of light across the length of her neck. “Why do you ask?”
She wore her hair up, mostly. The style lending direct visibility to her neck and shoulders. “Well, it shows. You have the graceful lines of a dancer.” Their eyes met in receipt of the compliment.
Janelle made a point to be noticed by Charles. Who knows her motivations for seeking his attention; however, his reasons were simple and silly. He refused to adjust to the seasons, stubbornly grasping at reminders of a time when his muscles delighted and his smile captivated; when he was highly visible and found to be attractive by women of Janelle’s age. A time in his life when there was excitement contained in the utter nothingness and weightlessness of the minutes held, which were so different in contrast to the minutes now in his possession, burdened by the weight of responsibility and routine.
You have just been introduced to a Mr. Charles Jordan. An older gentlemen of sorts, of a bygone time, who like all people who’ve forgotten to set the clock found themselves awake many years later, having missed a better part of their lives, while they climbed corporate ladders, chased the next hot startup, or milled around through their daily routine checking off tasks.
But Charles Jordan awoke to find someone who reminded him of the time of his life when he recalled the smells and flavors of the moment. A woman, who didn’t see past him, but had a keen eye on his movements. She saw him. A woman, who though less than half his age, adored him. But his desire will run its course like all desires do when the wisdom of age shines a light on it, in the Twilight Zone.
by malakhai jones
(c) Copyright 2016
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