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The Mark of Success


I require a temporary seat and she’s out of town.

Days stretch into weeks for us both. She’s informed she’s been reassigned and I’m directed to pack up her possessions.

I separate personal items from office supplies. The bottle of iodine goes into a plastic bag, followed by loose Band Aids retrieved from various desk drawers. I add the pen-like, razor-tipped scalpel last.

She telephones, upset that her possessions are being disturbed. I assure her all is well. A decade passes in which neither of us acknowledges that exchange.

She cuts, I overeat. Welcome to the world of successful women.

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