Steven looked up from his desk and stared out the window, squinting his eyes at the Godzilla-like monster rising from the ocean. He realized he needed to pee.
Steven liked it here. He kept his desk in very neat order. That was especially easy after his girlfriend left. Her shit was always everywhere, he remembered. But then he also remembered shit was a bad word. That’s why he didn’t say it. Most everyone knew shit was a bad word. That’s why they called it ‘going number two’ instead. It was OK to think shit, just not say it. Steven knew thinking something wasn’t the same as saying it. Also, that’s why he went pee more often than he went number two. Pee wasn’t a bad word.
On his way to the bathroom, the angel in the birdcage fluttered its tiny wings. Steven had put the angel in there instead of a bird. Birds sh*t everywhere, his father had said. That’s why he decided to put an angel in the cage instead of a bird. Angels didn’t go number two. But they did talk a lot.
On the wall behind the birdcage hung a giant chalkboard. Fifteen years ago, Steven had scribbled ‘Don’t rearrange my things, please.’ on it. He had written nothing on it since because he hated the feeling of his fingernails on the chalkboard, and he wasn’t willing to risk his fingernails scraping it again. The thought made him shudder.
Usually, thoughts like this would make Steven leave wherever he was. But not this time. This time, he moved closer to the chalkboard and touched the chalky dust of the ‘e’. He pulled his finger away and watched the dust dance on the tip of his forefinger. Then he remembered…
His father had purchased that chalkboard from a flea market somewhere in Orange County. “It will make the chalk dance in your fingers,” the woman had said. In or on? Steven wondered. Perhaps she was a witch? Steven glanced at the angel in the birdcage. Witches and angels don’t get along. He knew this was true because he had read parts of the Bible.
He decided to pee his pants. Not near the chair, of course. That’s why he remained standing. The urine dribbled louder on the hardwood floor and some of it soaked into his right sock. Warm, and louder than expected, Steven was curious why none of it dripped into his left pant…