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Belonging - Keir Hudson

It’s around 2 p.m. when I finally decide I can’t take it anymore. The emptiness of my office has been chewing away at my soul long enough. I need human contact, if only for a few minutes.

 

Walking down the hallway, I see Garret and Jacob talking with one another by the water cooler. Taking a deep breath, I walk into the break room with social intent.

 

“Did you see how much the NASDAQ dropped yesterday?” Garret asks.

 

“Yeah, I was so pissed!”

 

Oh God, they’re talking about stocks again. I stand patiently nearby, committing to the attempt at joining them in conversation anyway. Anything to have a break from the isolation of my office.

 

The two of them continue the flow of their conversation, seemingly oblivious to my presence. Whether or not they’re trying to keep me out of the conversation is unclear, but either way I’m having trouble tracking the conversation well enough to interject.

 

“So I’ve been thinking about diversifying a bit more,” Jacob says.

 

I think I know what that means, so I try to jump in. “I-”

 

“Are there any particular stocks you’ve been looking at? I have a few that I’ve been keeping my eye on…”

 

My coworkers are nice enough, but eventually I realize this isn’t going anywhere. I wander back down the empty hallway towards the exile of my office.

 

As soon as the clock hits 5 p.m. I launch myself from my seat, grab my brown leather work bag, and practically dash to the stairs. Most of my coworkers use the elevator instead, but the stairs make for a faster escape from the workplace.

 

Soon I’m on the road, and my stomach is feeling a bit light. I take a slight detour and pull up to a convenience store.

 

Inside I find a few people browsing the aisles, none of whom seem particularly open to conversation. I grab a bag of barbeque chips and a cherry slush, bringing them up to the register. The middle-aged woman behind it looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks, and clearly isn’t getting paid enough for this shit. Even so, I need something to tide me over, even if it’s just a simple exchange of pleasantries.

 

“Hello!”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

Beep! “Your rewards card has been scanned.”

 

“This weather sure is nice, isn’t it?”

 

Beep! Beep!

 

“Six dollars and thirty-five cents.”

 

I tap my card against the card reader, take my receipt, and leave with my snack.

 

At 5:30 p.m., I finally arrive at the Dragon’s Den Game Store.

 

It’s a small store, so to say the whole room cheers as I walk in wouldn’t be an exaggeration. We make a habit of doing that for each other - it’s one of the love languages we share. The sound of their voices warms a spot in my chest that’s been cold all day.

 

“Quincy, what’s happening, friend?”

 

I greet the owner of the store with a grin. “I’m doing alright, John! Looking forward to getting some games in this weekend. You have any new items in stock?”

 

“Yeah, we got another few boxes of booster packs from the new set. Plus a few new board games, most of them are over on the wall.”

 

Harriet is waving to me from one of the cheap folding tables scattered around the room. “Quincy, come pull up a chair! We were just about to start a new game!”

 

“Hold up, let me set my bag down! What are we playing?”

 

“Well, we have a few options. Joe brought some new games he picked up at a convention last weekend. Come check them out!”

 

Leaving my bag in an empty chair, I head over to join my friends in picking out which game to play. Along the way George offers me a fist bump. “Hey, I have a new deck I wanna test out with you later!”

 

I nod in agreement, a broad smile still plastered on my face. As I sit down, I take a moment to take in the sights and the sounds of the store. The joyful faces of my friends, the shuffling of cards, the rolling of dice. For the first time since I woke up, I feel like I’m finally whole.

 

Keir Hudson considers his work as a social worker, his work as a writer, and his work as a human being to be extensions of one another. He has published work in the online publication Half and One, and is in the process of writing his first novel. This story falls under the category of flash fiction.

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