Sheila's Sam

“I’m not even joking! You need to understand the rules of the game unless you want out.”

Her flowing anger burst its banks. Sheila ranted, lamenting about why there was no food in the house.

“I get tired when I come from work,” she added, smashing her forehead with a sigh. “I don’t think you even understand.”

It had already gotten late. The night was old enough to be half its age. That day, their manager extended their shifts. Something happened, a fraud, and he didn’t want his hands dirty. So, he had to clean them, and the cleaners were his subordinates. There was a project, which Sheila manned; the first phase of the sustainability program, that had gone sideways and it needed resuscitation.

What happened is; the manager took half the money allocated, did something with it, and the executives asked for an accountability report. Sheila had already produced the report based on the funds she received but the manager called her prior, asking her not to release the report. He said “Just tell them you’re still working on it. I’ll put a word for you so that you don’t look like you’re not doing your job, and then, we’ll have to make a new one.”

“Don’t look at me like that! I don’t even want to see you right now,” barked Sheila as she rested on the couch. In her mind, words flipped: eggs; spaghetti; rice; meat? Jolting across the room, she thought, I don’t have meat; opening her fridge while taking a sneak peek. There wasn’t any. In fact, there was no milk too.

“See what you did! I’ll die of hunger today,” glowered she, thinking fast. When she arrived at her workplace in the morning, there wasn’t enough time to leave for the tea break. Lunch too, and what entered her stomach were slices of mangoes, and other fruits she hadn’t eaten before.

Their manager had imprisoned everyone in the conference room, giving orders and numbers. He was very specific with what he expected the team to do, and no one asked a question. Perhaps they were afraid of him. Maybe he meant what he used to say, “Anyone who doesn’t like working with me, they can leave. It’s never a must.” And he always did it with a straight face, his glasses darkening his eyes.

“There’s no food for you too!” added Sheila, wondering how she forgot to stock up. Her house was basically a food desert.

But then, there was a neighbor she’d seen move in a few months aback. He looked like those guys who wouldn’t mind sharing their food. Holding that thought, Sheila recalled how the young man would smile broadly each time they met, making a friendly face that she never married. Sheila would walk faster, offer a pursed smile, and hope he wasn’t one of the perverts running around in the streets.

Sheila was genuinely afraid of men who did manly things. The neighbor had huge hands, muscles, and deep eyes that couldn’t be stared into. And a deep voice too.

“What do you think? Should I go?” asked Sheila, undecided about what to do next. Her instincts forced her to believe he liked her. No one goes out of their way with such consistency. He was, all the same, each time.

“But where will I start,” deliberated she, “and this is all your fault. I wouldn’t be here were it not for what you did Sam!”

There was no response. Sam spread his legs on the couch, blinking steadily. He already got his beating and his attitude had changed. He wasn’t in the mood for another episode with her.

“Say something!” poked Sheila, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who’s brought me into this mess,” believing every word she said. “Should I go ask if he has anything?”

Sam meowed.

On the clock, the hour rested on number eleven. An hour to midnight. When Sheila came from work, it was already ten. She knew there wasn’t anything to worry about because there was food. The previous night, she cooked rice with chicken, the leftovers meant to be supper for the next day, but Sam had a different idea. When Sheila forgot to give him milk, and by chance, she also forgot to take the pots away from the kitchen counter, Sam didn’t have a complex equation to balance. He ate the food. All of it.

“But we have to agree on one thing. You cannot do this to me! Even if I forget to leave food for you,” affirmed Sheila, her heart heavy with her selfish attitude, “I know it’s bad but that’s nothing compared to what I’m going through right now. There’s nothing in this house! I can’t eat eggs, nor can I eat vegetables alone!”

Where she lived, there weren’t any restaurants around. All food apps neglected that part of town mostly because there weren’t many recurrent customers, and that’s bad for business. The apartments were located a breath away from the outskirts of the town; something Sheila didn’t appreciate so much. Were it not for the enormous space, Sheila would’ve moved out.

In fact, that morning, she was late despite their manager texting everyone the night prior; detailing the time everyone was expected to arrive. As the project manager, Sheila needed to arrive an hour earlier. And she didn’t. Her Uber delayed her and when they got to town, a tree had fallen on the road.

“Now what do I say? ‘Hello, I’m Sheila. Do you have food?’”

Sam wasn’t even listening. If he was, he wasn’t really interested. He looked too comfortable and moody; his eyes almost shut.

Staring at her cat, Sheila questioned her sanity for a second. He wasn’t going to say anything. She knew he was angry but then, he can’t do that. There was a rule in that house, and it had to be followed. Sam couldn’t eat food that it’s not his. Period.

“I’ll buy your milk tomorrow – and you won’t have a reason to eat my food,” soothed she, trying to create a script in her head. Sheila thought, maybe being friendly like he was would solve her problem. Besides, time was running out and there weren’t any options floating around.

“I remember his name,” recalled Sheila, “Peter. He said he was Peter,” reliving that day. It was on a Friday afternoon, and their manager had told everyone to have the rest of the day off. He needed the office to host several meetings – completely unrelated to the company – using the resources at his disposal. That day, Peter stopped her while deeply invested in her thoughts. They had a humorous conversation in a flash, but she remembered his name.

On the television, there was an advert about betting. She hated gambling. Every time she saw such ads, she’d get agitated. She was of the opinion that, in the long run, children who grow up watching ads will normalize gambling – why not? It was on the television – and her childhood was shaped by ads too. Sheila was in love with a geisha advertisement which made her dream of taking a bath in a jacuzzi. What about betting?

It irked her, and for that, she left for her coat that she’d thrown on her bed. Staring at the mirror, Sheila checked the clock again: 11:13, and headed out. She had a plan.