Across the Street

By John W. Vander Velden                       

For over twenty-seven years, William did not cross the street.

 Five days a week William drove to his work, coming north on Harrison Street, turning right, finding a space in the company lot, but he never crossed the street.  Walking into the large building, to the elevator and the third floor.  Out of the elevator, turning right once again, down the hallway…the space between rows of cubicles…those doorless four and a half foot tall gray fiberboard enclosures.  William walked past thirteen, then turned right a third time to a space containing a metal desk and moderately comfortable chair.  It was time to work.  Will placed himself in that chair, as he began booting up the computer, work begun. 

The hour delegated for his lunch found William in the windowless break room surrounded by walls of pastels…soft blues and greens.  There among others, each day he ate, often speaking of things that really did not matter, but he never crossed the street.  When at last William’s day ended…the task left unfinished to be attacked once more on the morrow…he left the third floor.

He left the building.

He left the parking space.

He left the company lot…but he did not go across the street. 

For across the street was a space…a space reserved for anyone…a space of trees and grass…a small pool of water with bright orange fish…a space where birds could be heard…where the wind could be felt…where the sun would warm…but William never crossed the street.

(265 Words)