The Day Madison Blue Left

By Pol Arellano

Madison, that’s her name. She stirs my metaphorical cup of joe, if you will; she is fine, so fine.

Madison goes for a daily swim in my mind as I ride my beat up car to work. There, I would stare at her for brief moments from across the hall. She would tinker with her computer, hum a few songs, eat her small lunch, and be on her way home.

Madison had the simplicity I always wanted to see in a person with a real pulse, the kind that they describe in novels and cornball romance movies. She was the girl who would become the prom queen in that irritating high school movie you once watched with your friends, the one you watched out of curiosity. Only she never became the prom queen. She never had a transformation in the end – she never wore the red slinky dress and the slutty black shoes. She never left her charming self behind for a yearbook photo op with the popular quarterback and the canned applause. She remained to be her simple self, with her chunky glasses, her empty pocket and her lopsided smile.

She’s just your queen, but never the prom queen.

Madison was part of my perfect weekday routine. She’s the reason why I don’t mind the ten-hour shifts, the non-existent career advancement, the stale coffee they brew on the yellowish pot in the pantry.

Madison. If you keep perfectly still after saying her name in your mind, you’re bound to hear a pretty song or two. That’s her.

It was a cold post-winter day and Madison wore her ocean blue scarf to work. She sat down, removed the tattered scarf that matched her last name, placed it on her desk, and smiled at me from across the hall.

At the office, you can always tell when the boss is coming. You hear her heels tap-tap-tapping on the clear white floor, and the exaggerated type-type-typing sound as everyone’s keyboards scream with pretentiousness.

After a series of loud tap-tap-taps, the boss showed up at Madison’s cubicle. Madison, the boss said. She looked up from her pile of papers for the day. With a furrowed brow and a smile she greeted the boss.

Come with me to the office, she said. Madison stood up, straightened her skirt and nodded.

I didn’t have lunch that day. I just stared at my computer monitor, and typed random words just so it would seem like I was doing something productive. In reality, I really was doing something productive. I was waiting for Madison to come to her cubicle.

The ten-hour work day became eleven, eleven and a half and finally twelve. But I sat there, donning a blank face, typing in words that didn’t make sense. Madison never came out. She never went back to her cubicle.

I went home but had no sleep, and the prospect of drinking some of the stale coffee the office offers tempted me in ways I cannot even imagine. As I entered the office door the next day, I walked fast, hoping to finally talk to Madison, to ask her what happened yesterday, to maybe finally invite her for coffee after work.

As always, Madison’s cubicle was clean. But this time, her piles of paper and her computer were gone. Everything was gone, even her ocean blue scarf.

I waited for the tap-tap-tapping sound on the floor so I can ask my boss what happened. I have never spoken to her before, my boss I mean, aside from when I applied for my position 7 years ago. She seems like a swift robot, ready to pounce on any opportunity to break your neck by making you work long shifts and dismissing you curtly if you ever try to weasel your way out of it.

Before the day was over, I found myself standing in front of her office, staring intently at her door, thinking of how to ask her where Madison is. I remember thinking of starting things off with a small joke, or maybe an off-the-wall limerick. But robots don’t believe in jokes. They wouldn’t get limericks either.

I almost fainted when I heard her say come in, with a clear-cut voice. I looked up and tried to see if there was a camera above my head. There wasn’t. I went in.

Did you have a fun time staring at my door? She asked, without looking up from her laptop.

Uh, well. How did you know I was there ma’am? I asked as I fiddled with the pen in my pocket.

What do you want? Tap-tap-tap she went on her keyboard, as she purposely ignored my query.

I meant to there’s this uh, a colleague that uh, well she

For the love of sanity spit it out. Be a man for once in your life.

Where’s Madison Blue?

She left.

Where did she go?

Where do you think people go when they leave? They go far away. Liberia? Around the corner? I don’t know where she went. She just did.

But you talked to her. You made her come here, to your office. You were the last to speak to her ma’am.

That doesn’t mean that I know why she left.

But what did you tell her?

I told her that she was doing an excellent job, and that she was finally up for a promotion. But she just smiled at me, declined and left. How the hell am I supposed to know where she went?

But.

Some people can’t handle change. Ms. Blue might be one of those people. She’s resigned to stuffing her nose with dusty piles of paper for the rest of her waking life. What can you do?

She can’t just leave. It just doesn’t make sense.

She doesn’t make sense. Now if you’re done ranting like a little girl, please get the hell out of my office.

As I closed her office door, I realized that she never looked at me during the whole conversation. Not even once.

And so today, like the rest of my ten-hour workdays, I sit here, typing random words just so it would seem like I was doing something productive.

In reality, I really am doing something productive.

I am waiting for Madison to come back to her cubicle.

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