*7*

Bob looked up from his desk: John and two other employees were in MaryAnn's office - there seemed to be a disturbance going on. John was the department supervisor and an older Filipino, with his hair thinning on top. A somewhat fatherly figure, John heeded the slow path toward wisdom. Oh, Bob thought, someone probably seriously screwed up this time. Bob looked back at his computer and shifted two fields around in the query and clicked the run button. From the corner of his eye he saw MaryAnn leave her office and walk over to the supervisor's desk to his right. The disturbance seemed to be propagating. Bob got up to go to the men's room.

When he got back to his desk, MaryAnn, back in her office, talked with four other employees. John came by Bob's desk.

"Did you year about Brandy?" John asked. Bob looked up. Some haunting reminiscent thoughts coursed across his brain. Nice breasts. Teeth. Belinda. Hurry Curry.
"She died," John said.
"What?" Bob asked, incredulous.
"Last night. In New York."

Bob couldn't get a full handle on what John had just said. He stood and walked into MaryAnn's office. MaryAnn met Bob's eyes and immediately, without a word, Bob saw the calamity was true.

"What happened?", Bob asked.
"We don't know," MaryAnn began, "it was sudden. She was eating in a restaurant in New York last night with her mom and sister, and then she was dead."
Bob sat in silence for half a minute.
"Oh dear," Bob thought and also said aloud.
"I'll tell you when we find something more out," MaryAnn said, standing up. Bob stood, and MaryAnn gave him a hug.

Bob walked back to his desk, stunned. How could this have happened? Bob flashed back on his lunch with Brandy, her complaint of a headache. Oh dear, God bless her. Bob felt a small rent in his heart, a little piece of Brandy being set free.

Bob, with trouble concentrating, looked at the software on his PC: it seemed distant and remote. He needed a break and some fresh air. He took the elevator down to the ground floor and went outside. He began to just walk. Fighting tears past the gate, he reached the sidewalk. He glanced up, no cars were coming; he crossed the street. He wasn't sure where he was going, and it didn't matter. Wow, Brandy died. He let himself cry now. He put his psychic hands around the hole in his soul. Oh dear. Brandy. Dear me.

Bob walked up to the corner and stopped. He didn't have any place to go, but it didn't feel right just to stand there at the corner. He glanced down to his left, then followed his view by heading in that direction. He reached for Brandy's soul. His tears fogged his vision: a white path for the sidewalk, blurs of metal for the parked cars. Sigh. He walked up to the next corner and turned left again.

This narrow, quiet residential street had cars parked on the other side only. Sigh. He stopped to get back in touch with himself. Breathing deeply, he felt his diaphragm lower and his chest expand. He was a little better now. He walked some more, arriving back at the main street fronting Aurora. He breathed deep again, and sighed. Well, the fresh air hadn't changed anything. He didn't exactly feel like going back to work yet, either.

Waves of sorrow connected him with the other grieving workers. Oh dear, here was the connection to her sister and her family. God bless them. Bob stopped and unconsciously steadied himself by grabbing onto a nearby iron gate. Oh dear. His sorrow paled to that of her family. It was too much. He forced himself back in touch with his own feelings, with the waxing hole in his soul.

Bob walked into the work plaza and sat at a table beneath the overhang, his mind empty. He reached down and put psychic supports around the hole in his soul. Dark and deep, endlessly deep, it screamed horrific, empty of contrivance and filled with grief. It separated him into a soul and a sentient being: sound going into ears, light going into eyes, air breathing in and out of a body, mind disconnected and consumed by his effort to stop himself from falling into the void. He jumped: a grasp on his shoulder! It was John.

"How ya doin?" John said, sympathetically.
Bob shrugged. John patted Bob's shoulder.
"It changes everything, doesn't it," John remarked.

Bob half understood, but nodded anyway. John nodded and headed back inside. Bob thought for a few moments, wisps of thoughts, traces of connections. He found the love of his parents and of his brother. That helped. The connections with his family helped him define himself. He reached for the other mourners in the department. Although sad, he now realized that this too was necessary. In his heart, he thanked John.

Sigh. He got up to go back into the building. Yes, everything was different now. When he met people's eyes, when his mind touched theirs, he asked them had they heard?. Those that had, sent their sympathy. He sent sympathy back to them. They each saw the hole in one another, the acknowledgment that they were all fighting the fall. That they would all be grieving in their own way, later. He performed his job as a minister of love, relieving sorrow. It tired him; he had to rest, so he sat back at his desk. Sigh.

The afternoon dragged on. Bob watched himself type, file and fiddle. By now word had gotten around; the sound of shuffling papers seemed to be the only thing that lightly connected the mass of grieving souls to the remnants of a modern office. Clerks spoke quietly on the phone to customers and whispered hoarsely to one another; everyone was thirsty for the day to end. For a while it seemed that everyone had quietly said their prayers together. Finally, nothing remained but to acknowledge that they all shared in the sorrow. There sat the misery and loss naked in the office, all of its rough edges, holes, blackness. The sorrow. Much more from Brandy's family. Some intertwined traces of sorrow from the losses of other lovers, dear pets, or relatives.

Bob glanced at his watch. Finally, five o'clock. He shut down his computer and nodded to Rick. Peace be with you, Bob thought. And also with you, Rick returned his thought. Bob walked to the elevator, down to his car. Getting in the car, he removed his tie, unbuttoned his sleeve cuffs and his top shirt button. Geesh, what a day. Once again, he felt the upwelling of sorrow. Sigh. He started the car, exited the garage, and headed down toward the beach.

He pulled over where he always parked, in a side residential street about three blocks from the ocean, got out of the car and headed down the hill toward the shore. The cool day had subdued the beach bustle; he passed only a couple lone shoppers walking on the sidewalk. The patio outside the coffeeshop was deserted. Bob passed the oceanfront shops and headed to the sand.

The wind, strong enough to be skimming a fine layer of sand from the beach, blustered through his hair. Bob sat down on the sand, his eyes filling with tears. Alone, finally, he surrendered and cried. Oh dear Lord. Bob fell into the desolation of sorrow. He stroked the sand, his eyes and brain watching asunder, as the wind carried away the grains. He looked at the ocean through the blur of his tears. He ears listened disconnected to the sound of the waves breaking, his heart and thoughts far away.

His soul briefly entwined with those of Brandy's mother, father and sisters. God bless you. Lord, take away their sorrow. Bob then looked up to the sky and breaking his vow of unselfishness, for the first time in a long time, prayed for his own self. Lord, take away my sorrow. His thoughts blank, he stared at the breaking waves. In the distance he viewed a small white triangle of a sailboat.

He stroked the sand again, feeling the grains flow between his fingers. His love lingered toward his parents, his future kids. Sigh, life is for the living. The crying had helped. He steadied himself, rose to his feet, brushed the sand from the seat of his pants, and wiped the sand from his hands on the front of his pant legs. Sigh. He headed back to his car.

Seated quietly now in his car, he reviewed the melded flow of love. Yes, Brandy was gone now, but he still loved her. And, now, momentarily, just for the briefest of seconds, she loved him in return. He understood her communication: by and by she has other paths to follow.

Bob breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. In the here and now, Bob had his own path, the love to his future reconnecting, the people he worked with, lovers in the distance. He suddenly felt ten years older. Again, deep breath in, controlled exhale, turn the key, start the car. As the engine warmed, he reached up for the rear view mirror, and adjusted it to stare into his own eyes. God bless you Brandy.

Time to go home.