The Architecture of Waiting

The corporate hierarchy rose like a pyramid above us—tiered offices with increasingly better views, each level more inaccessible than the last. I'd spent seven years climbing its sides, scraping against bureaucracy and office politics, until I'd landed in middle management: a comfortable plateau where ambition went to breathe through a straw.

'You going to the memorial?' Marcus asked, leaning against my doorframe. He was the only person here I'd call friend, though even that felt generous after the merger reshuffled loyalties like a deck of cards.

'I should.' I rubbed my palm against my forehead. 'David and I started on the same day. We used to take lunch together every Thursday.' Until he made Director last year and our scheduled conversations evaporated into calendar invites and cc'd emails.

Marcus nodded. 'He talked about you sometimes. Said you reminded him of—' He stopped. 'Doesn't matter now.'

Downstairs, the reception area had been transformed. Someone had arranged photos of David in chronological order, documenting his corporate ascent. I paused at one from five years ago: David at his desk, smiling beside a small bowl containing a single goldfish. His daughter had won it at a carnival, he'd told me once. He kept it alive through two office relocations, three different cubes, careful feedings, water changes he performed himself before anyone arrived.

'Seven years,' I said, surprised by the thickness in my throat. 'That fish lived longer than some marriages.'

'Bernice,' Marcus said quietly. 'Her name was Bernice.'

I turned. 'You knew the fish's name?'

'I know David named you Bernice's emergency caretaker in his will.' Marcus's expression was strange—part amusement, something else underneath. 'He told me you'd probably forget to feed her, but you were the only one he trusted to try.'

The irony settled between us. David had ascended to that pinnacle alone, but somewhere along the climb, he'd left behind something real. Something that required showing up before anyone arrived, something that couldn't be cc'd or rescheduled.

'I should check on her,' I said.

Marcus's palm rested briefly on my shoulder. 'Yeah. You should.'

Upstairs, my corner office awaited—my prize, my achievement, my increasingly comfortable prison. But the pyramid could wait. Some things were more important than the view from the top.