The Grin
by Scott H. Urban
“Here. Do you need one of these?” Henderson held his left hand out toward me.
It was a long Tuesday morning. I was killing hours until lunch-time by helping Henderson empty the contents of his desk drawers. Murray Henderson, who for four and a half years had occupied the desk next to mine, had been granted a promotion and pay raise. He was my best friend, bullshitting buddy, and Sunday afternoon tennis partner. Now he could treat himself to martini luncheons and corner-office putting practice.
I wasn’t jealous of Henderson and I didn’t feel he was undeserving. Murray was a capable administrator and a hard worker. I was genuinely happy for him, as he would have been for me had our situations been reversed. Any uneasiness I felt was a fear of not fitting into my old friend’s new world.
Henderson had a staple remover in his hand. “I never have use for these things, and I’ve always got extras. I know I lack the finer touch, but this one was always particularly good at mauling papers. Maybe you’ll have better luck with it. Besides, when the wife heard about my promotion, she ran out and bought a whole slew of fancy office equipment, most of it personalized with my name. You can imagine the hot water I’d be in if I didn’t use her gifts.
I reached out my palm, where he dropped the cold metal gadget. “Thanks,” I said. “Now I won’t have to fill out a requisite form in triplicate to get one of my own. Plus, I’ll be reminded of all the fine times we’ve had together everytime I cut myself on it.” We chuckled – I’m notoriously accident-prone, and my innate clumsiness was a long-standing joke between us.
Yes, we laughed, but it was strained. I knew the fault-line was widening.
Henderson and I went out for lunch at our favorite Chinese eatery. He picked up the tab, although I wished he hadn’t. Before, we had always split the check. His promotion and subsequent raise in salary were already affecting his actions, bringing change at a time when I needed desperately to feel as if nothing had altered between us, despite his good fortune.
I knew we wouldn’t have many more lunches together, no matter how much he spoke of making reservations for the following weeks.
Back at the office, I helped him cart his professional belongings up several flights of stairs, dropping the bulky boxes on the low-cut carpet of his new domain. With a nod and a promise to visit him now and again, I rode the elevator back down to my floor, mentally undressing a curvaceous passenger rather than dwell on my increasingly hurt feelings.
I sat back down at my desk, groaning inwardly at the thought of going over next quarter’s budget proposals. Henderson’s desk sat untenanted; a deserted outpost that seemed to mock, “Everyone else has moved up and out, why not you?”
I moved my hands down my thighs, smoothing out my trousers, and encountered, through the light fabric, an unlikey bulge in my right hip pocket. It looked vaguely obscene and I wondered if I had gone into the restaurant displaying it on my leg.
I pulled out Henderson’s staple remover and eyed it critically. “My, what an evil-looking devise you are.” For some reason I was reminded of the wolf in the Little Red Riding Hood fairytale. What big teeth you have, grandma!
I continued to stare at the tool in the too-warm room of what used to be a happy office. I have no idea how long I remained like this. No one came in to bother me.
“What are you grinning at?” I asked. Turned head-on, the device did resemble a mouth of sorts, a mouth with four sharp metal fangs; arcs of cruel points that clicked together when squeezed. I kept staring into the miniature maw, noting the springs that kept the jaws wide.
It was soothing, almost hypnotic, to sit there and work the device’s springs. Its hinges emitted a high, whining squeak.
I’ll be reminded of all the fine times we’ve had together every time I cut myself on it.
I put my left forefinger in the narrow space between the shining “fangs.” With deliberate slowness I brought the tips together. I didn’t release the tension at the first sensation of pain. A thrilled rush warmed my groin. I continued to press down. Blood welled up. A tiny stain of red smeared on a sharp, metal edge.
Yes, Murray, all those good, fine times we used to have.
I put the small incisors against the inside of my left wrist.
I should have got that promotion, but my ideas somehow became yours, didn’t they, Murray? How long before my wife leaves me for someone more successful?
I pressed the teeth down straight into my flesh - I’ll be reminded of you, Henderson, of all those fine times you flirted with my girl and took credit for my work - pressed the teeth down and exposed tendons and purple veins. The steel was impossibly cold. The edges bit into my skin and it felt strangely comforting. I sought out the tenderest spots and squeezed.
My manager says he understands, but Henderson doesn’t come to visit anymore.
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