A Room of His Own

Behind him, Jim and Pam are talking about this or that, whispering as if nobody could hear them. But Toby can hear them, and he hears much more than he would like to.

Today, there is altogether too much paperwork to be completed, too many files that have dodged the authority of organization as of late. He should not be sitting, motionless, in his cubicle, eavesdropping on happy conversations, and, in the helpless manner of a child who has just learned that Santa Claus is nothing more than a fictitious marketing device, wishing that he could be talking to her right now instead of that (he scowls) infinitely more attractive boy from sales.

So he opens the top drawer of his desk and pulls out a blue frame. He has never shown it to anybody before, and he imagines that, if anyone in this office ever saw it, raised eyebrows might ensue. It is the picture of him and Pam that was taken on the night of his going-away party, and he smiles as he rubs his thumb across the glass. Of course, it occurs to him that Jim and Pam likely have an entire album of adorable pictures of their due-to-be-wedded bliss, but it gives him more satisfaction than he can say to think that none of those pictures was as painstakingly obtained as this one. That, he thinks, has to count for something.