Lost on Earth

There is a gray man who works in my office. A small, self-contained man, with neatly trimmed hair, shaved chin, and pressed clothes. He looks like he pays his taxes on time, does yard work on the weekends, drives a well-tuned, reliable Japanese car – probably an Accord. Even though his name is written in a Plexiglas plaque next to his office I never remember to read it. When I pass his open door, it is all I can do to keep from stopping to gape at the bare walls, the slate-colored computer screen, the books neatly arranged on their dust-free shelf, and him, sitting like a little puff of fog behind his stony desk. Somehow it has been arranged that the lighting in his office is half as bright as the light in the other offices, and is distinctly…gray.

No matter what color of shirt he is wearing, his complexion resembles young cement. As he walks through the halls the color around him seems to drain away, and his cold gray eyes never show any light when he greets people, greyly, without smiling.

I spend a shameful amount of time thinking about this gray man. I wonder if he always looked like this or if it is because he has been working here at ACME CORPORATION for too long. I wonder if he has a gray little wife and two shadowy children. I wonder if he can see in color or if, in his gray world, everything looks as bleak as he does. I wonder, not without terror, if I will be as gray as him someday.