Athazagoraphobia

Word Count 1724

Athazagoraphobia 

Margot Davis has sat in this room twice a day every week for the past eleven years. In that time, they celebrated two engagements, a pregnancy announcement, one retirement, and countless birthdays.

All the festivities happen in the tiny office basement kitchen stocked with mismatched mugs and a blue polka-dot electric kettle. Even the partners aren’t too proud to visit the bowels of the office building once in a while and dutifully drag themselves away from their busy schedules to share pleasantries while having a piece of vanilla sponge and a cup of tea. Margot is the one who slips out to get the cake, makes the tea, and rallies the others down to the kitchen. Still, today, her thirty-second birthday, there is no commemoration. 

She doesn’t blame them for forgetting about her since she’s more of a listener than a talker. She mostly stays quiet, and nobody notices her lack of contribution.

Occasionally she overhears them chatting when they congregate in the ladies, checking their makeup and blathering about the latest fad diet or their time of the month — things she would rather not talk about.

It’s their morning tea break, and they sit in their usual seats, staring at their mugs. The conversation is somewhat reserved for a Friday. Margot knows she shouldn’t say anything but declares excitedly, against her better judgment, ‘Last night I finished a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle of the Mona Lisa. It only took me four days to finish.’

The other secretaries gape back with blank stares. ‘What?’ Delia finally says after an uncomfortably long pause.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Margot says, getting up. ‘Does anyone want more tea?’

Eileen shifts in her seat. ‘So, are you going to the pub tonight, Delia?’ 

‘I’m counting the minutes. Considering all the overtime we worked, it’s about time they took us out for a drink.’

‘I didn’t know we were going to the pub tonight,’ Margot says excitedly.

‘You’re not invited, Margot. It’s only for the solicitors and secretaries who helped with the big merger,’ Delia says.

Margot chides herself for being troubled by their absent-mindedness. She doesn’t blame them since it’s not a terribly important birthday. In years past, she would drop hints, then at the last minute, someone would run to the bakery, and a haphazard get-together would ensue before people started excusing themselves needing to return to work. Last year it was three o’clock when someone sent the new girl out. She came back with a box of stale doughnuts.

Being overlooked is not a new phenomenon. One of Margot’s earliest memories is of her parents accidentally leaving her at the shopping center. Two hours passed before they realized they had forgotten her. She had spent that time waiting in the car park with a grumpy security guard who kept complaining he was missing the football match, and every time he spoke, bits of spit flew from his mouth. When her dad finally arrived, he had no idea why she was so upset. 

At school, teachers constantly forgot her name, and one time her maths teacher insisted she wasn’t even in his class. It had been an oversight by the secretary, who had omitted to put Margot’s name on the class roster. 

The most humiliating memory was when she was left off the list of young girls who had completed a 10k to raise money for the local children’s hospital. She stood on the sidelines while the other girls had their photos taken for the local newspaper. She was given her medal two days later when the error was finally rectified. 

Margot fills in at the reception desk this afternoon when Delia goes home sick. She checks her phone periodically, but there are no calls or texts. Her boss, Clive, phones reception. ‘Can you come to the kitchen? I need to speak to you about something.’ Her face is beaming, and she giddily skips down the hall. She pushes open the door expecting to see them gathered around with a pot of tea on the table and a cake full of candles, but the kitchen is in darkness.

‘Oh, Margot,’ Clive calls from the hallway. Give me your opinion on the leak under the sink, will you? We might need a plumber.’ Then he rushes up the stairs two at a time.

She puts a faded Tupperware bowl under the sink to catch the drip and phones the plumber, who can only make it after 5:30. The others are gone when he arrives. She waits at her desk and checks her email, but there are no messages. Gran always remembered; when she was little, they always spent her birthday together.

Gran visits when she can and does her best to encourage Margot to get out and meet people. The last time she popped in, she insisted Margot attend a speed dating night she had heard about.‘You should go. What’s the worst that can happen?’ she said, practically pushing her out the door. 

Margot put on a brave face and was greeted in the hallway by a young woman wearing a psychedelic patterned mini dress and a beehive hairstyle. She gave Margot a name tag. ‘The speed dating event is being held downstairs.’ 

 The basement pub was called Pink and had 60s-inspired decor with a sunken area and four steps down to a fire surrounded by brightly coloured couches.

‘Are you here for the dating thing?’ the barman whispered shifting his eyes as if they were discussing a drug deal or some other illegal activity. ‘Just so you know, the do is in there,’ he said, cocking his head towards a room with long tables and chairs on either side.

People started to arrive, each one looking equally nervous.

She clung tightly to her handbag on her lap while looking at the exit door and wondering how she could quickly escape. Before she could make a run for it, the young woman in the psychedelic dress came in to announce they were about to start. Margot regretted wearing a pencil shirt and block-heeled sandals and, red-faced, had to slide off the stool while holding on to the edge of the bar counter.

 She took her seat, recognizing Tim right away. She didn’t know him exactly but had seen him several times over the summer. They would pass each other on their daily walks, and awkward smiles progressed to them waving and saying hello.

‘We used to see each other walking on the trail all the time,’ he said with a surprized look. 

‘Yes, that’s right. I can’t believe you remember me.’ 

‘I’m Tim.’

‘Margot.’

‘I missed seeing you. I switched jobs, and my schedule changed. Why would you think I wouldn’t remember you?’

‘I slip people’s minds all the time. If I leave a lasting impression, it’s usually a negative one.’

He laughed. ‘I like a woman with a sense of humor.’ He leaned forward. ‘Can I have your phone number before the buzzer goes off? I’d love to see you again.’

When Margot gets home from work, she looks through the post. No cards. Mum texted, Sorry we can’t get over to see you. Totally forgot it was your birthday and agreed to have dinner with our bridge friends. We’ll get over to see you tomorrow or the next day. Have a great birthday!!!! 

She’s frying some sausages for her dinner when Gran shows up. ‘Happy birthday, love.’

‘Thanks for popping in, Gran.’

‘How was today?’

She let out a loud sob. 

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Apart from a text from Mum, you’re the only one who remembered. This is why I can’t be bothered with people,’ she says, plucking tissues out of the tissue box.

‘Oh, nonsense. What about that young man Tim?’

‘That’s over.’

‘But you are perfect for each other.’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘A misunderstanding?’

‘We had a fight. Tim said I’m obsessed with people forgetting and shouldn’t lump him in with everyone else. I told him about when I started my job, and the bookkeeper didn’t know, and I had to wait for more than a month before getting paid. He said it was years ago and shouldn’t let it bother me. Then he had the gall to tell me I had Athazagoraphobia.’

‘Atha?—’

‘Athazagoraphobia. I had to look it up. It’s a fear of people forgetting about you.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’

‘I’m better off without him.’

‘Don’t push him away.’ 

‘He forgot about my birthday too.’

‘No, he didn’t. You need to give him a chance.’

The doorbell rings, and she sees Tim standing on the other side of the glass door.

‘It’s him! He didn’t forget.’

‘I have to go now. I’ll leave you two alone.’

‘Don’t go, Gran.’

‘My time is up. It might be a while before I get back to see you again. I love you, Margot.’  

‘But—’

 The doorbell rings again. Margot takes a deep breath and slowly opens the door. 

‘Happy birthday! The woman in the flower shop said these are Forget-Me-Nots,’ Tim says with a huge grin and hands her the small bouquet.  

‘They’re lovely. I didn’t expect to see you today.’

‘Oh, right. I should have phoned,’ he says, putting his hands in his pockets. ‘Do you have company? I thought I heard you talking to someone. I can come back later.’

‘No. There’s only me here. Do you want to come in?’

‘Is something burning?’ he says, stepping into the hall.

‘Oh no, my dinner!’ she says, dashing inside.

 Smoke rises from her ruined pan, and her sausages look like pieces of charcoal.

‘You shouldn’t be eating alone on your birthday. I know how lonely it can be.’

‘When I was younger, I spent my birthdays with my Gran. She always made me feel important. She died about ten years ago.’ 

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I think you should spend every birthday with me from now on.’  

‘That would be very nice.’

 ‘I should have been more understanding and I’m sorry I said you had Athazagoraphobia. You mean the world to me. I know we’d be great together if you gave me a chance. Here, I bought you a card. It’s a musical one.’

She slid her finger along the back of the envelope and opened the card. It played ‘Unforgettable.’