The White Gem

I’m tired. I’m tired of going to the same boring job, spinning around in my creaky office chair, hearing Samual type on the other side of the cubicle wall with more force than is ever necessary. I’m tired of doing the same old job, staring at my computer screen all day, coming up with different ways to say “I hope this email finds you well.”

Every day I come home at 5:27 p.m. on the dot, and 5:15 p.m. on Fridays, as my boss offers “you all worked hard this week, you can get out of here early,” when we all know he can’t leave until everyone else is out of the office. I come home to sit in another chair, different from my grey wheely chair but one I sit in just as much, and stare at yet another, though larger, screen. I turn my TV on to some sort of YouTube commentary video on a movie I never knew existed or old episodes of Brooklyn 99 that I’ve seen a hundred times.

I don’t get up from my spot until I realize it’s probably an appropriate time to eat dinner. I open my fridge to find nothing I have the energy to make into a meal, open my cupboard which is full of cans of soup I say I’ll eat and never will, chips, and mac and cheese. When I don’t like any of those options, I sit back into the warm ass indent I have made in the polyester couch, open the DoorDash app, tip my driver, and await my mildly warm Thai food or the Chipotle bowl I could have made myself for half the price.

I eat until I should, save the leftovers for the next day, and get ready for bed.

It’s the same. Everyday.

Almost.

I share a cozy cubicle wall with Heather, who is somebody that somehow works the same job as the rest of us but has hobbies that prove she gets money from other avenues. She certainly enjoys shoving it in everyone's face, with her new customized keyboard that she paid someone to put together, her gym membership to a place that offers hot lavender towels after hot yoga, and pictures of her sunset views off her several acre plot of grassy land that is taken care of by people she hires.

I wouldn’t be so bothered about it if she didn’t make it her entire personality. I don’t really care what people get up to as long as they're not assholes, but she makes a point to let everyone know about all the wonderful things she experiences in her life. It makes zero sense where she gets the money from. Everytime people joke about it to her, she brushes it off.

“Another new designer bag, huh Heather? Must have gotten a bonus I didn’t hear about!”

“Oh Steph, stop!” Heather would stay, holding on to her bag with a poor attempt at “hiding” it.

I wouldn’t say I was close to Heather. We would talk, share weekend stories, talk about the newest trending Netflix documentary, but nothing more. She was a person that I could talk with at work but couldn’t imagine hanging out with. I have no idea what we would talk about.

One day, though, Heather asked about the shirt I was wearing. It was a loose, thin overshirt that was long in the torso and arms and had little designs on the sleeves. It was the first time I wore it to work.

“Where did you get that? It’s so cute!” She asked.

“Oh, thank you! I bought it online.”

“I love it.” She smiled broadly and wheeled herself back in front of her computer. It was a nice complement. I loved the shirt too.

Not ten seconds later, she wheeled herself back over to me.

“Hey, what are you doing after work today?” She asked.

“Um… probably just going home.” Going home to my TV, my ordering in, my ass indent.

“Want to grab drinks after work or something? We’ve never hung out!”

I am not one to make plans on the fly. My routine is boring, yes, but it’s exactly that. A routine. I don’t like messing that up.

“Oh, uh… maybe,” I thought of any excuse I could to get out of it, but I came up short. Nothing seemed realistic enough. It’s a Thursday night, I don’t have kids, I don’t have a pet to get home to. I’m free every day, really.

“Well, if you want to, let me know! I’ve heard of a cute place by the river. Could be fun to try something new!” She pulled herself back to her desk and typed away at her soft, rich, milky clicking keyboard. I turned back to my screen and stared at the open draft of an email.

Could be fun to try something new.

Something new. That’s not often fun for me. It stresses me out. It’s my worst nightmare when I think I make one-on-one plans with a close friend and it turns out they invited their other friend and that friend invited their other friend. I didn’t sign up to meet strangers, I signed up to talk to you, someone that I know.

And what about the horrors of being with someone you don’t know very well? What if Heather and I get drinks and it’s really awkward? What if she doesn’t tip the bartender? What if we have such an awful time that every day I go into work I have to endure awkward tension at my desk everyday for the foreseeable future?

I don’t know if it’s worth it. I should just tell her that I had forgotten I already had plans. Or reschedule for sometime next week then never set an official date and the offer becomes forgotten. I just want to go home.

But go home and do what?

See the same episode of a show that ended years ago, eat the same expensive takeout by myself, because I didn’t want to mess up my routine? For one afternoon?

When 5 o’clock rolled around, Heather gave me the location of the place she wanted to try. When I told her I was down to get drinks, she squealed and excitedly looked up the address to send to me.

Whoever told her the place was cute was right. It had nice outdoor seating, tables dotted around the half shaded and half in the sun patio with quirky little salt and pepper shakers at each table.

Heather ordered a chardonnay and I ordered the same. It sounded good, and I wanted to fit in. This interaction can go as smoothly as possible if I am exactly who she wants me to be. And I guess that she would like someone like her.

We sit down and start to chat about things we normally chat about at work but with a much nicer scenery. The expense reports, the crazy meeting Karly walked out of the other week, and Samual’s insufferably loud typing.

“It should be illegal to type that loudly,” I say.

“I agree!” She slams her hand on the table. “It’s ridiculous! I don’t know how his keyboard isn’t broken. That’s why I got a milky sounding one. At least everyone can hear one keyboard that sounds nice.”

Her fancy, customized keyboard. She loves that thing, along with anything else she buys new and flashy.

“It is nice to listen to,” I say, sipping my wine. I wish I had ordered a cocktail. “Where did you get it from?”

“Oh, this website online I found that sells these gorgeous custom mechanical keyboards. I asked for a free sample and they gave me one.” She said this as she sipped her light yellow wine and looked out at the water.

“What do you mean they gave you one? You didn’t buy it?”

“God no, they’re insanely expensive. They gave it to me.”

I don’t really understand how someone can just ask for something expensive for free and be given it. I thought that treatment was saved for celebrities and influencers.

“You’re looking at me like I’m insane,” Heather said with a smirk over her glass.

“Well, come on!” I said after a moment. “How do you just get things like that for free? Are you famous or something?”

“Not famous. Wanna know my secret?”

I stare at her. She has an extremely smug look on her face, her eyes squinted and her mouth in a half smile. I have no idea what this secret could be other than something I might not be comfortable with.

“Fine, I’ll just show you. I’ve been dying to share this with someone.” She reaches into her designer clutch and pulls out a small ziploc bag. Drugs? Is she pulling out drugs at a restaurant?

“What… are you allowed to-”

“Relax,” Heather said. “It’s not drugs. I bought it off Tik Tok Shop.”

I immediately relax my shoulders. She bought it on a public app. Can’t be that bad.

She opened her opaque little bag and pulled out what looked like a white crystal, partly opaque and see through in parts. It fit in the palm of her hand, barely thicker and shorter than her thumb.

“A rock?” I say.

“It’s not just a rock,” she scoffs. “It’s a very powerful gem.”

She looked deeply at her palm. She seemed very serious about it. I’m not particularly a believer in anything I can’t immediately observe. Ghosts? Heaven? Magic rocks? Can’t be proven, so how can I know they exist?

“Have you ever seen those Tik Tok lives where those women sift through big vats of rocks and gems trying to sell them?”

It’s such a specific description and yet, I had seen those. These people are sitting in front of huge bowls of rocks and gems, cycling through moving, vibrating sand and through a sifter. They’re talking loudly at the camera, reading comments, mentioning the users that bought a bundle of random rocks and showing them what types they were getting. There are some wild Tik Tok lives out there.

“Weirdly enough, I have seen those.”

“Right? So I was watching one a few months ago, not thinking much of it. I stopped scrolling and started lurking to see what was going on, and I thought, why not? I’ll buy a bag of random rocks.”

“But this one,” she held up the white, jagged gem closer to her face, “was special. I felt it as soon as I took it out of the packaging.”

There’s no way.

“What did you feel?” I asked.

“I felt like everything was suddenly perfect. That I could get whatever I wanted, and all I had to do was ask.”

An involuntary chuckle came out of me that, as I tried to stop it from coming out, sounded more like a snort or a weird throat clearing.

She insisted that I should hold the rock, to feel it. I tried to politely decline. I’m not much of an actor, and I don’t think she would believe me if I tried to feign a fake “feeling.” I wanted to give her what she wanted, but me holding this rock would not help this friendship. This can be her thing, and I can admire it from afar.

But she wouldn’t let up.

She basically shoved the gem into my hand and made me close my fingers around it. The warmth from her palm transferred to mine as I held it.

And I felt something.

I felt like everything turned suddenly right. Like I just stepped into a day where everything goes as smoothly as possible. Hitting every green light, plugging in the HDMI cord on the first try, every single movement and purpose lands and sticks like it’s supposed to.

I look up at Heather, eyes and smile wide.

Then, the next few horrific things happened so quickly they were almost simultaneous.

I saw behind her someone walking very quickly toward our table. Before I was able to say anything, Heather’s red designer bag was snatched from her chair and he was gone. Heather sat, mouth agape, eyebrows tightly knit.

Before she could speak, something fell from the awning above. It landed with a large splash in the guacamole in between us. Somehow, all of the spillage landed in a wide array all over Heather’s shirt, face, and hair, while I was left unscathed as if I wasn’t sitting at the table at all.

Heather’s eyes suddenly became prickled with red, standing out from the green spattered on her face and hair. They got so red, blood red, covering her irises and pupils until a void of red was left. Her eyes began to drip. Red streams ran from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks, pooling within the avocado and tomato mash. She screamed, hands scraping at her eyes, painfully slapping and mixing the red and green. Her screams followed her as she fell to the ground, prying, pleading, thrashing.

She fell still. Face down, screams silenced.

I heard my own screams and felt my legs standing, scrambling back, unable to understand the horror.

My hand landed on my chest, trying to stop it from heaving and pounding from my heart.

I looked around and no one noticed.

The table next to us were sipping their drinks and eating their caprese.

The waiter stepped over Heather’s body like it was a crack in the concrete.

Was I there? Had I been taken somewhere else? To a nightmare?

My mind registered the warm gem still clutched tightly in my hand. I looked at it, glistening from my sweat. I looked back at Heather.

No.

That wasn’t me.

Was it?

The gem, as if speaking in my mind, forced me to take it in. To never let it go. Use it.

I threw the gem. Get it away from me. Far, far, away. Evil destroyer.

It landed at a man in a grey suits’ table. He picked it up.

I felt wetness on my cheeks, went to wipe it away, only to see red on my fingertips.