The Problems with Eavesdropping

The problem is that she has no idea whether the love is reciprocated or, (worst of all), whether or not the person in question actually knows her name.

Which is a kind of unsatisfying love to be in, though quite romantically tragic

.

His name is Christopher and he sits two cubicles away in the office where Susan works. He's not good looking in the traditional sense, but that's fine with Susan since what she sees suits her just fine. He's tall, well proportioned, has wonderfully soft hair, and he's got an air of brooding passion about him that quite puts her in mind of Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice (one of her favorite books). He could use some fashion advice, of course, but such things come in hopeful time.

But he's shy and despite all her various attempts at flirting (including some friendly hair ruffling when he got a haircut), he seems to be at a loss for anything except polite conversation whenever she's around. At least she hopes it's shyness. The problem with shy people is that it's often very difficult for interested parties to tell the difference between shyness and complete indifference.

Susan knows it's not just her though, as Christopher hardly speaks to anyone. He just comes in, does his work, and then wanders off, saying a polite goodbye or two as he goes. She knows this because she played office politics to get a cubicle along the main drag of the office and she always stays later than he does.

Susan likes to pretend the interest is just a casual thing with her, a kind of game she plays with herself to pass the time in cubicle heck. She has never mentioned Christopher to any of her friends (though she tells them absolutely everything else that happens in her life). She's never stalked him (though when they're both working late and she hears him talking on his cellular she will always casually move to the far side of her cubicle where the acoustics are better). And she doesn't do any of that goofy woman-with-a-crush stuff either (well, she once wrote I-heart-U in the dust on his car, but that was just a kind of "wash-me" thing).

She became quite concerned recently after she committed what she considers the "grand maneuver" to get some sort of reaction from Christopher.

It was during Hawaiian shirt day (which Christopher never participates in), and she started up one of their oh-so-casual conversations. She used the whole shirt thing to talk about Hawaii and quickly directed the conversation toward beaches. She then casually revealed that she preferred nude beaches because she liked to feel the sun all over. Susan had read about this maneuver as an infallible flirtation device in one of her magazines and she felt it was as far as she could go without actually jumping him in the parking garage.

She tried to infuse a little sexiness in her voice, along with a carefully programmed head tilt she'd practiced for 30 minutes the night before. She got a bit nervous though, and instead of the whole sexy head tilt, she kind of jumped up in the air and had to catch the cubicle wall to keep from stumbling.

But it was all in vain. Christopher just nodded politely in that way he had, seeming to indicate he was either paralyzed into muteness by her directness or really wished she would go away and leave him alone. So Susan retreated to the restroom to work out her feelings and think things over (and to kick the toilet a couple of times in frustration).

She was reaching the point where she would either have to give the whole thing up or just ask him out. But if he WAS shy, and she asked him out, he might say no purely out of nervousness. And then she'd have to turn up the dials until she overcame her shyness with her own direct interest. But if he wasn't interested, and she turned up the dials, then he'd still say no and she'd end up giving off a Glen Close/Fatal Attraction kind of vibe that would make every time she saw him around the office a humiliation.

And then one sleepless night in her overlarge bed, she came up with the perfect plan. It's hard to say exactly where the idea came from (some sort of CSI/Bridget Jones hybrid thought that hopped into her mind while she was hugging her Christopher pillow) but it was perfect, discreet, and best of all, it might tell her whether he viewed her with indifference, disapproval, or unrequited longing. The mechanics of the thing might be a bit tricky, not to mention expensive, but Susan wasn't an extravagant person and could afford to make an investment in a possible future.

The next day she ordered the Overhear XL off the Internet.

Susan wasn't much of a Web cruiser and her understanding of the Internet was a limited thing. She did occasionally use it, though, and because she had no idea of what a pop-up blocker or spam filter was, she was constantly besieged with a throng of ads telling her how to make her penis grow, where she could meet the love of her life (she had actually tried a couple of these with no result, save a lot more spam in her e-mail inbox), and, most particularly, how to spy on people.

That is where she learned about the Overhear XL-a portable directional microphone about a foot long and an inch thick. Not the most subtle of instruments, but the ad claimed it could be easily concealed beneath a coat or newspaper for discreet use. It could allegedly pick up sounds 100 feet away and store them as an audio file that could later be downloaded to a PC. The ad also claimed the device would ignore all sounds except those it was pointed at, thus providing the perfect way to overhear private conversations.

Susan's plan was quite simple. She knew, from an overheard cell phone conversation, that Christopher intended to meet a friend (a guy friend she was sure, as opposed to a girlfriend), for dinner at a nearby restaurant the following Tuesday. She would get there at 7:15 (they had scheduled for 7:00), and she would get a table where the Overhear XL could pick up the conversation.

It was a weeknight, so the place wouldn't be crowded (she had driven by twice to make sure). She would then simply walk up to their table, say a friendly hello to Christopher, make a little small talk, and wander off. After she was gone, the friend would ask about her, and Christopher would say ... something. The Overhear XL would pick it up and Susan would know more than she had before - hopefully all she needed to know.

Her plan worked surprisingly well. Perhaps too well.

Susan arrived at 7:10, five minutes earlier than she had hoped, and set up the XL under a copy of the Austin Chronicle in the middle of her table. She was going to walk over immediately, but she noticed that Christopher was doing most of the talking and, never having heard him speak more than a handful of sentences before, her curiosity got the better of her and she let the XL record for several more minutes before she approached them.

Christopher and his friend seemed slightly distracted when she appeared and her half-hope that she might be asked to join them (which would have ruined her plan, but what the hell) was not to be. Christopher was a bit more animated than usual, (he had already guzzled down two margaritas, she knew), but not to the point of actually having a real conversation with her. Unsuccessful in engaging him in anything more than a polite hello, she left and gave him and his friend a few minutes to talk about her before quickly heading home.

After about an hour of fiddling with the XL software, she played the recording:

Christopher: ....Well, I wish he'd get off his ass and tell us something.

Friend: You know Dave, he likes to keep his options open and Rob can't play on Tuesday.

Christopher: So essentially we're a player short and they're forcing us to choose between them.

Friend: Well, not really "forcing"-Rob's working Tuesday night and Dave doesn't know what she's going to say when he asks her so he's trying to keep it clear. He's aiming for Thursday though, and since that's the only day everyone but Rob can play we've got a problem. But he's definitely clear on Tuesday since he's going to ask her on Wednesday.

Christopher: This wouldn't be a problem if any of you would get REAL jobs that run nine to five.

Friend: Hey, up yours, too.

Christopher: I'm so tired of this! Every week we want to play we have to schedule around everyone's dippy schedules that change every week. We haven't had a game in two weeks and I'm feeling it! All right, there's only one fair way to settle this. Rob and Dave will have to have a masturbation contest to decide what day we play on.

Friend: What?

Christopher: Yep, it's the only fair way. Mike will get them both together at his place and off they'll go to the races. May the best man squirt!

Friend: You know if it's your idea, I really think you should be the judge.

Christopher: Me? I can't do it!

Friend: Why not?

Christopher: 'Cause it's gross, that's why! Why do I need to see that? You have a disturbed mind. Look, if it worries you that much we'll have Mike make a tape and you can watch it later.

Friend: I don't want to see it!

Christopher: Look, you're obviously intrigued by the whole thing ...

Friend: NO!

Christopher: Look, everyone knows you're in the closet-this will give you something to watch when you're biting your pillow in unrequited love for Johnny Depp.

Friend: F' you!.

Christopher: I must refuse your offer for, unlike you, I prefer making my sperm deposits in the first National Bank of Woman. If, however, you absolutely need to make a deposit this evening, I think our waiter has been giving you the loving eye.

(Unintelligible grumbling)

Friend: Look, I can make my point about your gay love in bondage very easily. Let's take you're MySpace page, what have you got on it? There's me, the Def Leppard guy, and 40 or so women, all of whom are at least five years younger than you and each of which has an avatar photo in which the chest region is clearly visible-not a head shot to be seen. And the chestal area in all of the photos is either extremely generous or partially revealed via cleavage shots.

Christopher: So?

Friend: Obviously you've constructed an elaborate ruse cloaked in male fantasy where you pretend you are a typical male with the drives and needs of a cat in heat. But if you really were such a man, then your page would contain ...

Visitor: Excuse me.

Christopher: Oh damn it!

Visitor: Advocate Christopher, I would speak with you.

Christopher: Look, this is my night off! The schedule is right there for everyone to read.

Friend: Who is that?

Visitor: The matter is pressing, Advocate. The situation is to be resolved this evening and I am in need of apology.

Friend: Who the hell is that? Where is he?

Visitor: I reside within the container of salt by your left hand. I stand upon the face of the most beautiful crystal in it. All is quiet beauty here. The spires stretch for miles above me and the depths of the canyons are beyond imagining. The fractal reflections of the light passing through your margarita make the whole of it a shining paradise of dancing light, I stand within a dry palace of golden crystal and it ...

Christopher: Thank you, I think you've answered his second question.What about the first one?

Visitor: I am Guiscard, Protector of Kittens. And I am in need of apology.

Friend: Protector of what?

Guiscard, the visitor: Kittens.

Christopher: Look, Jose, could you ... um ... just kind of shut up for awhile? Trust me, you don't want to get into a conversation with these people. I promise to explain everything in just a minute.

Jose,: But ...

Guiscard: Shall I make him unaware of all we do and say? I would not interfere but time is short and I am in need of apology.

Christopher: No, that's fine. Just let me see your case and give me the details.

Guiscard: I have written the whole of the case upon your second enchilada in letters of burning onyx.

Christopher: Oh, yeah, I've got it. Just a sec ... hmmm. It says here you attempted to hire Shadows from the Outside to assassinate Burnt Whisker, the Tormentor of Kittens.

Guiscard: It is so.

Christopher: How exactly did you intend to pay them for this? It couldn't have been cheap.

Guiscard: I offered them the souls of a thousand murdered children, collected from the depths of a hundred slums and other various wastelands of human despair.

Christopher: The souls of human children?

Guiscard: Yes.

Christopher: That doesn't seem like something that would be within your purview. Where did you get them?

Guiscard: I never had them. I lied to the Shadows.

Christopher: That doesn't seem like a very wise thing to do ...

Guiscard: The destruction of Burnt Whisker was my only priority.

Christopher: Did they succeed?

Guiscard: No. The plan was discovered before it was truly started.

Christopher: Well, the conspiracy to commit murder is a bit nasty, but no actual crime took place and if you've got a good record, the apology should be fairly straightforward.

Guiscard: This is not my first offense.

Christopher: Oh?

Guiscard: Two hundred and fourteen years ago in the fulfillment of my duties, I encountered a small human girl who had just blinded a kitten with a sewing needle because the kitten had scratched her hand. I swallowed the girl.

Christopher: Ahhh ... That is rather bad. Was it fairly painless?

Guiscard: You misunderstand me. She is not dead. She is contained within me, imprisoned forever in a compressed space of less than a handspan across, crushed down into a wad of flesh that could never contain life in the mortal world. Her pain is forever. She has screamed inside my mind in endless torment every second for the past two hundred and fourteen years.

Christopher: And they let you off?

Guiscard: My apology was most sincere. And it was generally thought that the presence of the agonized child within me would teach me humility.

Christopher: And did it?

Guiscard: No. There are many crimes against kittens that I am helpless to avenge. And the punishments I can bestow seem minor to me. The knowledge that one soul at least suffers the torment it deserves is a great comfort. I take great joy in the eternal suffering of the human child.

Christopher: Okay, I don't really need ...

Guiscard: I cannot laugh. The knowledge of true joy is beyond such a thing as I. But her screams ... They are my laughter and they bring me joy! Such joy as I can know ...

Christopher: All right!

Guiscard: Have I offended you?

Christopher: I'm an advocate, I can't take offense. Okay, was there anything else I should know?

Guiscard: I do not believe so.

Christopher: Okay ... well then what I think you should do is ...

Susan: Why hi there Christopher!

Christopher: What? Oh! Hello Susan.

Susan: I was just having dinner, saw you over here and decided to come over and say hello. What are you guys eating? Are those enchiladas? Wow! They really went all out on the presentation!It almost looks like there are words ...

Christopher: Ahem! This is my friend Jose! Jose this is Susan, she works with me at ... um ... work.

Jose: Pleased to meetcha...

Susan: Hi Jose! Hey, are you all right? You look a little woozy.

Jose: Uh ... yeah. The refried beans aren't agreeing with me.

Susan: Oh! Well, I just came over to say hi! See you at work Christopher! Nice to meet you Jose!

Christopher: See you Susan.

Jose: G'bye ... Who was that?

Christopher: Just a woman at work. She's kind of a Smurf. Very bright and happy all the time. Very chatty. A little annoying, but she's all right. Not good to have around on a Monday morning, though.

Guiscard: She desires love.

Christopher: What?

Guiscard: Her soul aches for a companionship she can never know. Due to a peculiar twist in her soul there are only 1,343 men on this earth who could ever truly love her. The path of her life will take her near none of them. Her life will be an empty and dry thing; a continual search for love that will leave her crippled and lost. She will never bear children. She will never be able to bring true happiness to any other human being. She will be lost.

Christopher: But ...

It was at this point that the memory space in the Overhear XL ran out.

Susan didn't come into work the next day. Or the day after that, and so on.

As was mentioned before, Susan was a practical woman who saved her money. So as the absence days stacked up, and as the phone gradually stopped ringing, Susan was not hurting. Not financially, anyway.

There was food in the fridge, plenty of alcohol (she had never been a big drinker, but she kept it around for parties that never seemed to materialize), and she had good curtains that could shut out nearly all the daylight.

She didn't do much during the first week. It was pretty bad.

The second week was very bad.

Halfway through the third week she began to believe that she was not going to get any better. Ever.

On the 26^th day of it, she was lying on the floor in her living room, a shattered telephone lying nearby. Enough time had passed for family and friends to start seriously worrying about her and the telephone calls had started up again in earnest. She supposed people would start knocking on the door soon. And the rent was due. And she was out of alcohol.

It might be time to leave.

That was when she heard the scratching.

It came from the front door, just a few feet away.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

She lay there for several minutes waiting for the sound to go away, but the scratching just went on and on.

Finally, because she was vaguely annoyed that the scratching persisted, she opened the door to inspect its source.

And there was a kitten-a pure black kitten that looked up at her with the greenest eyes she'd ever seen. It was a scraggly little thing; its fur matted with dirt and its tiny ribs clearly visible beneath its fur. It was obviously starving.

"Meow!" said the kitten, as it stalked purposely up to her and sat on her foot.

Later, after she'd fed and washed it (to the kitten's great annoyance), Susan found herself lying on the couch crying again. The kitten clawed its way up her nightdress, walked straight up to her face, and began licking the tears from her cheeks.

Then it started to purr, and that was that.

For that's what kittens do. They provide love to the lost and give comfort to the stricken. They are little lives that we are totally responsible for. They are demanding, destructive, capricious, playful, and they will wake you up at 3 a.m. because they are feeling lonely.

And they are love.

Maybe you should go get one.