Miracles happen every day...

...Only if we help make them happen...

Every time my left foot struck the sidewalk, I would hear my own words in my head: Miracles happen every day.

With every right footstep, Allison's words would echo in response: Only if we make them happen.

Her advice was not exactly new to me. I had tried to take and implement that advice before, failing each time. It wasn't the advice that was the problem; it was the idiot at the controls who was trying to use it.

Miracles happen every day...

...Only if we help make them happen...

The rondo was swirling about my brain so much that I arrived back at the firm on autopilot. An elevator was available and I opted out from taking six flights of stairs; the motivation just wasn't there today. Stepping inside the box, I pressed the button for the Drafting department and the doors slid closed.

The doors opened after a moment and I didn't recognize the scene at first. I then realized that the previous occupants of the elevator must have hit the wrong button, and I was now waiting patiently on the floor for the Accounting department for the elevator to resume its rise. I instinctively reached for the Door Close button.

Miracles happen every day...

...Only if we help make them happen...

Maybe I should make an effort to make that miracle happen?

Instead of closing the doors, I decided to step out of the elevator and walk over to the Office Administrator cluster.

The cluster of three desks was currently staffed by one woman. At first glance, she appeared to be about my age, give or take a couple of years, of medium height and medium build, dressed in higher-end Office Casual. She also wore the soured expression of someone wresting with uncooperative computer software as she glared at the terminal before her. Sensing my approach as only a veteran of such a career can do without diverting any attention from her primary task, she asked in my direction as I approached, "Can I help you?"

"Maybe," I stammered. "I was looking for Paula?"

"Paula will be back in a minute," the woman answered in a professional but curt tone, still not looking at me.

My courage was evaporating quickly under this woman's curt business-only demeanor and I was already looking for an escape route.

Coincidentally, the second of the two elevator doors behind me dinged to announce its arrival on the floor. I heard the doors slide open.

"David?"

I recognized the voice. I screwed a smile on my face and turned to face her.

"Hi, Paula."

Paula appeared confused by my presence in her department's lobby. "What brings you down to Accounting?"

"Nothing work related," I admitted. "I was just wondering if I could talk to you for a second."

Paula made no reply. I could not tell if it was an invitation to continue explaining myself or a signal to stop and leave.

Miracles happen every day...

...Only if we help make them happen...

I chose to interpret her hesitation as a signal to continue.

"About whether you have any plans for this evening," I offered.

Paula's shoulders slumped, and with that gesture, so did my emotions.

So much for helping make miracles happen, Allison.

"I'm sorry, David," Paula said in a soft voice that sounded like it was making efforts to be gentle for my sake. "I'm... seeing someone..."

My self-hatred roared in villainous laughter in my head. Apparently, the sense that I was getting that Paula did not need a man in her life were just a touch incorrect. That man just didn't happen to look like me. Again.

My disappointment must have been obvious, because Paula added another, much weaker, "I'm sorry," before slowly stepping past me and into the office. I made no move at all and simply stood there blocking the approach to the main desk.

I heard the professional voice behind me, but it was much gentler this time. "Are you okay?"

No, but I wasn't about to unload on a total stranger who probably had to work with Paula day in and day out. Instead I shrugged and turned towards the voice. The office administrator was now looking at me from her chair with what appeared to be genuine concern.

"I guess, but my batting average is pitiful," I joked dejectedly. "Pretty soon they'll be sending me to the minors for a rehab assignment."

The woman blinked twice, obviously not comprehending my reference.

I shrugged again and stapled a polite smile to my face. "I guess you're not a baseball fan?"

She gave me an embarrassed smile. "Sorry. All I know about sports is that my father used to scream at the television so much when they were on that we had to buy him a portable TV for him to use in the basement."

I chuckled politely and took a step closer to the desk to get out of the way of incoming traffic more than any other reason. "If he was a fan of the local teams, that's understandable. Lots to yell at the TV about with those guys."

The woman paused, and I could see her wrestling with an unspoken question. After a second, she blurted out, "are you that David guy in Drafting?"

My smile wilted under the weight of uncertainty, wondering if my name being circulated on the office's Men To Avoid Like The Plague List.

"Depends on whether that means I'm guilty of something or not," I answered.

Her eyes narrowed. "Only of being used," she grumbled, and turned her attention back to her terminal screen. "Consider yourself lucky that she was only using you for boredom therapy."

It was a sentence that was obviously meant to be consoling, but instead it stoked both my curiosity and my anger. I took another step closer to the desk. "So, the Rumor Mill says I'm now the Office Boredom Therapy Guy?"

"No!" she said in a voice just slightly too loud for the polite tone mandated by the Employee Handbook. She recoiled slightly in apparent shame at making that insinuation. "Although she was hinting to some in the office that there was this cute guy named David in Drafting who was good for an evening out."

She was trying to fill in the hole but was instead digging it deeper. However, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, deciding that she was being intentionally honest and unintentionally insulting, not the other way around.

"Well, glad I'm at least good for something," I muttered. I then looked more directly at her, and in my barely tethered frustration asked sarcastically, "you wouldn't care to find out for yourself, would you?"

She shrunk back, looking offended, and turned her attention back to her terminal again. "Not sure I'm your type."

In my frustration, I interpreted her reaction as a further insult. "And what is my 'type'?" I asked in genuine curiosity and controlled anger, wondering what the Rumor Mill or my body language was saying about me.

"Pretty," she spat, not bothering to look back at me.

I could not have been struck more dumbfounded if someone hit me over the head with a telephone pole.

Is that how I made this woman feel? I made her feel ugly?!

Nice Going, Shit For Brains.

I knew that no matter how I attempted to respond, I was not going to erase that impression. I did my best to apologize with a gently spoken, "I'm sorry that I made you feel that way," before excusing myself and heading towards the stairs so that my evil aura would not pulsate in her presence while the elevator took half a year to arrive. I returned to my cubicle, logged back into the office system, and stared at the office logo on the screen saver for what seemed like hours as I contemplated my recent streak of accidental yet abysmal failure and debated whether this was to be a permanent situation that I simply had to accept.

This day began with someone's hand on the lever of the toilet, and my heart was now swirling counter-clockwise in the whirlpool and heading down to the sewer. I had survived the encounter with Lisa's wife unscathed, which was the best of all possible outcomes from that idiocy, but I was paying for that blatant tempting of fate now. Somehow, either through the rumblings of the Rumor Mill or in the way I spoke or looked at that woman downstairs, I had made her feel small and unworthy in my sight. I accepted that I was a man and therefore a pig, but I had hoped that I was at least presenting myself as a civilized pig instead of a caricature of all that was evil in the Male Stereotype. I guess I was not?

Bitterly, I had to admit to myself that I had unconsciously measured the woman on the Lisa Williams Scale and rated her about a two, and that was only because of the concern that she showed me. She was no looker and I felt no animal attraction towards her. But was I really that petty? Were looks all I cared about? I had hoped that Lisa and Shirley and perhaps even Paula had the slightest interest in me beyond my looks. Was I so hypocritical that I was not giving any woman the same benefit of the doubt that I wanted?

Guilty as charged, Shit For Brains.

I decided that I deserved the woman's scorn downstairs, and that I didn't deserve Allison's kindness. I was shallow and evil, and Lisa had discovered that in time to save herself. Lucky her.

A chime sounded from my terminal. I glanced up and saw a message on our inter-office instant messaging system.

dbarnes: Are you the David in Drafting that was in the Accounting office earlier today?

I sadly closed my eyes, certain that Human Resources had gotten wind of that episode and was looking to deliver the warrant for my office arrest. Resigning myself to fate, I responded.

davidg: Yes

Minutes passed with me waiting in foreboding gloom before another message appeared.

dbarnes: I'm sorry for what I said

That sound you're hearing in the background is the sound of a stylus being scratched across an LP. Yes, I know vinyl's back, much to the confusion of my parents who were so happy to replace their gouged record collection with something that sounded better and took up less space in the closet. I was too stunned to respond to that six-word message for almost a minute, until my better sense realized that this "dbarnes" was probably the office administrator down in the Accounting department. She was likely sitting on the other side of this channel and becoming more afraid of my response the longer I was taking to make it. Hurriedly, I typed back.

davidg: apology unnecessary, i'm sorry I made you feel that way

dbarnes: You didnt

davidg: I must have if that's what you thought

Messages started flowing more freely between us after that.

dbarnes: I over reacted. Im sorry

davidg: Don't be, I should be apologizing to you. I probably would have thought the same thing in your place, the way I acted

dbarnes: Well, if I was just told that I was boredom therapy, i'd be mad too

davidg: You didn't start that

dbarnes: But I shoouldnt have said that

The messages were coming so freely now that I was not putting any thought into either my spelling or my responses, and I transmitted a little too much truth before I realized it.

davidg: I'd rather know what people think about me, secrets killed my last relationship :'(

Oh, you stupid, stupid fool! Why the hell did you send that?! She's going to see that as a ticking time bomb at best, an accusation at worst!

dbarnes: yeah they do that. sorry to hear that. you okay now?

Take your time with this response, I ordered myself. Trouble was, I could not construct a response that didn't sound lame. Why hadn't any of Lisa's creative writing skills rubbed off onto me? Probably for the same reason my math skills never rubbed off on her checkbook ledger. Finally, I settled on something.

davidg: getting by with a little help from my friends

dbarnes: me too

That response was a clear invitation, begging me to make further inquiries. That was not something I was willing to do over an instant messaging system on which the management could eavesdrop.

An idea began to form, born of the shame of my earlier actions, the responsibility to make adequate apology, the loneliness of my existence, and the need to put the shambling zombie of Lisa's memory to rest somehow and banish her ghost into the background once again. A whisper in my brain added that beggars could not be choosers; it was the echo of that evil side of me that I had just discovered, the one that viewed looks first and everything else second. Ms. Barnes had reached the same diagnosis herself in the mere sixty seconds I was in her presence earlier. That evil within me not only shamed me, it inspired me to tackle it head-on. My fingers began typing again.

davidg: I still want to apologize properly. Would you like to go someplace after work? You pick the place, it's on me.

Two minutes expired before the fear that I had misunderstood Ms. Barnes and pushed things way to far began to consume me. However, the words were sent, and I could no more erase them than I could erase my other past failures. Finally, a chime sounded to announce her reply.

dbarnes: That's okay.

She was offering a polite refusal, but I wondered if it was not meant as a test to see how sincere I was with the offer. I decided to make myself sincere so that I could prove to myself that I was better than my personal demons.

davidg: I insist. Please?

Another long, nerve-wracking delay intervened before her response showed up.

dbarnes: Cant tonight :-( tomorrow?

I replied so hurriedly that I misspelled the word.

davidg: absulutly :-D

dbarnes: I'll go easy on your credit card ;-)

davidg: don't you dare! it's my apology, it'd better be the one you want

dbarnes: i'm easy to impress

davidg: thank God for that, because I'm an idiot! ;-)

dbarnes: you didn't look like one to me

A warmth began to glow in my chest as I read and reread that last response. It then occurred to me that I did not have one essential piece of information that was necessary before asking someone out on a date.

davidg: BTW Ms Barnes? What's your name?

dbarnes: Diana

I smiled. The name sounded beautiful in my mind for some reason, striking a resonating note.

davidg: Pleasure to meet you, Diana. I'll see you tomorrow?

dbarnes: That would be nice :-)

davidg: Sorry, but boss is heading this way, gotta get back to work :-(. Bye!

dbarnes: Me too. ttfn.

I closed the messaging window before the event I described in my last message really did come to pass. In its place, I launched the CAD application with my current work. Words began echoing in my mind again that had resounded there earlier today, but now they sounded less lecturing and less ominous.

Miracles happen every day...

...Only if we help make them happen...

Who knows?