Third-Shift

I usually stayed quiet when working on my copying machine. I enter into a serene and Zen state of mind as I systematically placed one bundle of paper after another onto the machine's loading tray. My fellow coworker, Mike, often spent the night gabbing away with the third shift manager, John, about irreverent topics; from the paranormal to which lead singer in a rock band is most likely to overdose on cocaine. Granted, I did get along with them, I only despised their constant bickering.

I liked things better when Mike was not yet an employee of the company. There was only John and me, and over 10,000 copies of confidential law firm documents to be made. I was still quiet even when I worked alone with him. I am a quiet person by nature; however, John always did or said little things to make me laugh. I've often thought he did these little gestures to acknowledge that the third shift life can be rather miserable, but a simple smile can make it fun.

When I first started working at this company, my first impression of John was that he was a sweet guy, but he hated the world because he often found himself "screwed over" by someone or something. I admit I felt sorry for him. No one should ever walk around with that much misery. My ultimate conclusion was that he needed to be loved, or felt like he was loved. I recall him telling me about his unsuccessful attempt of finding someone to date. I saw the pain in his eyes as I listened to his tale of constant rejections. I wish I could've given him a hug. His last words were, "I'm a nice guy, and girls don't date a nice guy." I immediately thought that wasn't true, but it didn't matter because he believed it.

By listening to John's method of approaching women, I can understand why he was often rejected. He is attractive, in a Marc Anthony sort of way. He comes from a long line of Polish ancestry. He's tall, and terribly skinny, which probably comes from is excessive use of cigarettes. He often slicks back his short brown hair which tends to make him look like a Nazi regime officer. His facial features resemble that of an innocent boy, but you always have the impression of a man. He has large brown eyes that he hides behind prescriptive glasses, an average size nose, and tiny flushed lips. However, when he smiles, he releases his secret weapon. He flashes of pair of perfectly straightened teeth that are immediately accompanied by two irresistible dimples.

But besides having these great qualities, it's his personality that eventually destroys his chances. He absolutely massacres the term, "make a good impression." Within the first week of meeting John, I learned he had been at this dead end job for nine years; which is amazing since he was only 28. One would think he would've obtained a college degree by now. He also lives in an apartment with his mother. There are no words to describe how disturbing that sounds. He constantly makes conversation regarding the end of the world in year 2012. God knows I'm sick and tired of hearing about Doomsday. He dresses in t-shirt and jeans every day because he feels that people who care about what they're seen in, have low self-esteem. I'm still trying to figure that one out. And lastly, every time he receives a compliment or words of wisdom, he somehow transforms it into something dismal. Sometimes, he makes you feel miserable by talking to him.

However, when he's not talking it's his actions that show how caring he truly is. There is a pregnant woman that works the second shift, and John would give her a Nutra-Grain bar, that he stores in his locker, whenever she might have been hungry. During the morning, he always hugged and kissed the first shift ladies as a warm gesture to start their day. And whenever I needed to ease my aches and pains, John always offered me aspirins. It seems as though his personality is playing two parts, and they contradict each other.

Nevertheless I thought he was a fascinating guy; weird, but still fascinating. And as the weeks passed, and he and I grew to know each other, I became used to his demeanor. I no longer looked at him uncomfortably, but instead as this sweet man who needed to know romance, or at least one night of passion.

I often spend many nights fantasizing about this. So much that I could no longer look John in the eyes without feeling the urge to blush. When I was near him my mind was constantly racing, and when I spoke, I often slurred my words. I knew what was going on with me, but I didn't want to admit it. I wanted to play it cool as best as I could, but that was until I realized he was acting the same way.

I first noticed when I had accidentally broken my pinky nail on the lunchroom lockers. The nail had broken far into the finger, causing excessive bleeding and excruciating pain. I needed help wrapping the wound, and John was the first one to come to my rescue. With the occasional eeks and ouches, I watched as he tenderly cleaned and wrapped my frail little finger, carefully treating it as if he were aiding an ailing fawn. As he wrapped the last bit of surgical tape around my pinky, we came to the actualization that it was the first time we had touched each other. I looked at him and he shyly looked away. He stammered as he spoke to me, and clumsily fumbled his way out of the lunchroom. Ever since then, whenever he finds the courage to look me in the eyes, he stares deeply; locking my eyes within his. It usually takes me a moment to fight away his gaze, because the longer he captures my eyes, the more my true emotions are revealed. Oddly enough, we've never touched each other again for fear of how we might react.

So I've spent night after night trying to keep myself busy. To avoid awkward interactions, I had limited how many times I needed to speak to him per night. It seemed as though I was now becoming the odd one.

Tonight was no different. Mike and John were still discussing the injurious lives of rock stars, and I was hastily trying to copy the last two boxes of documents so we would finish work early. Suddenly, Mike's machine came to a screeching halt. I knew what the sound had meant. His machine was broken and I was the person who would be left to copy his remaining files. That was all that I needed for the rest of the night; more work on top of my already strenuous load. Since there were only three copying machines within the office, and one was already broken, that meant Mike was allowed to go home for the night. I must admit, the thought of him leaving was soothing since I could no longer stand his gift of gab. However, that only meant his leaving would disrupt my intentions of departing early.

As John carried Mike's remaining files over to my work station, I could feel the scorn building within my muscles. I heard John whisper a sorrowful sorry as he placed the box of files next to my own. I let out a loud sigh, and proceeded to finish with my work. Mike walked over to my machine and gave me a sort of half smile as a gesture of apology. I reciprocated with a blank stare. Noting that I wasn't in the mood to speak to him, he quietly walked away. I finally made him shut up. The thought brought a devilish smile to my face.

A few minutes later, Mike had gathered his things, bid John and I goodnight, and departed. I was still busy mumbling to myself of how disturbing this was of having to do more work than intended. My self-nagging was disrupted as I heard John mention that it was just him and me for the rest of the night. The thought hadn't occurred to me until now. John and I hadn't worked alone in weeks; it was just like old times. I repeated two little words in my head the entire time: we're alone! The more I said it to myself, the tenser I became. Each time he would say something to me, I would jump a little. I was on edge and I couldn't seem to keep calm. At one point, I had to show him something, and when I got close to him, I could tell he was a little nervous too. I felt better because I was no longer the only one.

Three hours had passed and I was finally nearing the end of both my and Mike's boxes of files. My shoulder muscles were aching and my neck became very stiff. Only ten more pieces of paper to go and I was done. The sight of finishing was invigorating. I was going to be able to go home early as anticipated. John was also excited because he would be able to sleep longer today.

As John walked over to take the finished boxes, he saw me exhaustingly leaning over my work bench. I was rubbing my neck and shoulders hoping to ease some of my pain. He had asked what was wrong and I mentioned how tense I had become from working so quickly. He offered to give me a massage, but I was a bit apprehensive. I had never met a guy who had successfully given me a massage without inflicting more pain onto me than what I was already experiencing. He boasted of how he used to give massages to his sister's friends, and they absolutely loved them. Not only was I skeptical about the massage, I was also recalling that if I allowed him to proceed, this would be the second time in which we made physical contact. But I needed to find some relief from this pain quickly, no matter who it was. I complied with his offer. As soon as he stored away the file boxes, he had begun.

As he stood behind me, I could see his tall shadow casting onto my work bench. He slowly brushed my long hair over my shoulders, enabling him to have a clear view of my back. My heart began to pace as I felt the first touch. His hands were warm and smooth, and incredibly soothing. It was a first for me; a man who knew how to massage. His fingers worked effortlessly on every tense muscle, and I could only go limp from each stroke. My skin was reacting to his every move. My body loved his touch. I felt myself drifting away in his hands. Unintentionally, I released a faint moan, and immediately, I felt him reduce his pace. When I realized what I had done, I became tenser; I knew he felt it. I stood there quietly, and slowly, his strokes returned to normal. I was so embarrassed, but yet a part of me was happy that he had heard me. It was as though my subconscious was revealing my true feelings to him. Before I knew it, I had moaned two more times. I was losing control to his touch.

I wasn't sure if he was beginning to feel uncomfortable, but he started to move away. And just before he removed his hand from my shoulder, I reached out for him, and placed his hand on my neck. I begged him not to stop. I wanted him to continue on my neck because it too had been irritating me. John hadn't said a word the entire time. I noticed that although he was rubbing my neck, he was standing far away from me. I casually told him to move closer. He did, but he seemed a bit timid. I said nothing, and allowed him to continue his massage.

With every circular motion, I felt my eye lids get heavy, and my breathing quicken. My mind was no longer repeating the words, "we're alone," but instead, "I can't believe he's touching me." With every breath, I murmured those words to myself. Suddenly I realized that I wasn't the only one breathing heavily. I had failed to notice that John was standing much closer to me now. I could feel his hot breath surging down my back. I remained motionless, because it caught me by surprise. His firm circular motions on my neck had now become gentle, caressing strokes. I felt his hands softly glide back and forth from my neck to my shoulders. Oh my God! He was touching me...intimately. I didn't know what to do. I slowly turned around and looked up at him. He stared down at me with those same brown eyes that had me trapped. As we stood there, gazing into each other's eyes, I could hear his heart beating erratically. I only wondered if he could hear mine too. His hands reached up and cupped my face. His fingers gently brushed over my now blushing cheeks. How could I hide my feelings from him now? I wanted to turn my face away in shyness, but he wouldn't allow me. John gave a faint smile, as his face leaned towards mine. He kissed me.