The Stone Carrier

            When the black of the night sky starts to fade into a dusty orange, the city starts to wake up. Albert, a tall, middle-aged man, rises at 7 a.m. He makes a single cup of coffee and two pieces of toast. He does the dishes quickly and after pausing on the front porch to place something in his briefcase, he hits the ground with heavy footfalls every morning. They echo around in the alley way behind his modest apartment. The light breaks over the building, casting the shadow of the brown brick box against the larger, red brick box behind it. There are sharp corners all over the city at this time of day, but Albert doesn’t cut any blocks on his way. He walks to Chestnut, which changes into Pine and then he turns onto Virginia Street. Albert’s route to work leads him up a hill of decent grade. His shoulders always start to ache on this walk. This will take him straight to where he needs to go, and he marches on without pause. The streets fill with hundreds of Albert’s and Allison’s as the clock in the center of town ticks closer to 9 a.m. They talk with one another, trench coats hitting calves and briefcases swinging. The women’s shiny black heels click-clack on the uneven pavement as they whisper to each other over coffees. They breeze past the younger interns and assistants who run with six coffees in hand and an earpiece that they would love to smash on that pavement. The voice yelling into their ears belong to important bodies crammed into expensive suits storming up into the office. The executive hung up his phone and huffed in the elevator, angry about a spat with his wife. He does not hold the door for Albert, who ran to catch it. Albert’s shoulders are heavier and heavier the further up the building he goes. He had just rushed through the circulating glass as not to catch the mass of his coworkers, but there he stood, waiting with them and avoiding conversations that circulate every Monday.

“Gosh, it never gets easier does it?” Mark from accounting said to Marcy, who is the CFO. She smiles, nods, makes a sympathetic sound. Mark from accounting does not get the message.

            “Have a good weekend?” He tries again as the elevator opens with a chime. Albert funnels in and stands next to Marcy. She deflects again with a short, “Yes, I did. Thanks, Mark,”. Mark from accounting gets the message. Albert breathes in the stale conversation and stares straight ahead. The weight on his shoulders worsen during the elevator ride every day, without fail. The elevator shoots upwards, passing an advertising agency, the headquarters of a dairy corporation, and the empty floor of a victim of the economy last year. Albert used to keep himself from getting off at this floor, as he had worked there, leaving him briefly unemployed before he was hired by the big box store that was located two floors above. His mother considered it a promotion, but Albert did not. The elevator stopped and the men and women dressed in black and white shirts flow out into the black and white office. The lights flicker on with the motion and everyone collectively starts to hold their breath a little longer. Marcy walks to her corner office and says hello to the receptionist with pressed slacks and a degree that overqualifies him for his job. He smiles curtly at her, a phone held between his ear and shoulder. Albert walks to his desk in the center of the office, surrounded by fabric cubicle walls. A stack of manilla folders and thick, stapled packets of papers had tipped his file organizers and scattered pens across his keyboard. With a sigh, he sits down as conversations begin to fill the air and the copy machines whirs to life. The bustle thuds like a heartbeat and Albert feels his own fall into rhythm. Phones ring out like soft screams. He chips away at the stack of papers and things start to move in double time around him. People zoom across the office and to the copier and back to their desks. They grab lunch and sip coffee like mechanical dolls, raising their hand to their mouths and then lowering in robotic repetition. Returning to their desks, they work through their own piles of work. Mark attempted to par a game of online golf. Taking his focus from the forms and the antiquated computer system, Albert rubbed his shoulders that have begun to give him a headache. He breathed for a second, closed his eyes. He was aware of the weight bearing down on him, the pressure and the burden that he could not shake, but it was not good nor was it bad. It seemed like meditation, but Albert didn’t stay here for more than a minute. It is back to work as the sun started to fall in the sky, turning the clouds a clementine and rose-colored swirl. The trance of the workday started to crumble away and the song of zippers opening and closing stop the quiet heartbeat. Copy machines shut off and Marcy’s light turns off. The chatter of goodbyes and “Charlie’s tonight? I need a drink,” beckon people from their chairs and into their coats. Mark smiles at Marcy on their way to the elevator, and meeting his eye, she smiles back. Albert among them, he signs the last sheet of paper in the divider. The pens are all back in their cup. The flow pulled the workers back into the elevator, exactly as they had come. Everything in reverse, just as it had been, the other way around.

            The white shirts, now crumbled around the belt, spilled out into the streets and Albert rolled his shoulders as he walked with heavy footsteps back down the hill. He doesn’t say goodbye to anyone and hurries home. The pain leaves his body with each step closer to the bottom of the hill. Virginia, Pine, Chestnut. The sky gave into almost complete darkness as people split off onto their own roads towards their own houses until Albert was alone. Then there is the alleyway and the walls he knows so well. Someone has tagged the wall with the words “criminal” and a cock-eyed smiley face. He walks up the stairs, not lingering on the graffiti.

            Albert froze at the front door of the apartment, key in hand. He turned upwards, towards the black sky. The stars stare at him with unblinking eyes and he stared back, rolling his shoulders that no longer ache at all. Albert smiled, a smile that creased his face and moistened his eyes just so. Opening his briefcase on the steps, he takes out a round flat stone and places it on the edge of the stairs.

            “See you tomorrow,” He says under his breath and walks inside. The moon, almost full, shines a shadow of the brown brick building onto the red wall behind it.