Chapter 11

The Buffer

The last of the Community Building group piled into the elevator, napkins and unraveling cinnamon rolls in their hands. Laughing about food.

“Burger place across the street?”

“OK! Best burgers in town!”

“Last time I ate there, I lost a weekend.”

“That chili oughta come with medical insurance.”

The elevator doors slid shut on their laughter.

For a moment, the twenty-sixth floor settled into the strange nighttime stillness of office buildings after everybody important had gone home. Air handlers whispered above the ceiling tiles. Somewhere far below, traffic moved through the city like distant surf.

Sock, the head janitor who wasn’t especially important, stood with his hands in the pockets of his gray coveralls, watching the closed elevator doors a second longer.

Then he turned. Halfway down the corridor, Danny was losing a fight with the floor buffer. The machine swung hard to the left, dragging him with it. He yanked back. The buffer shot right. His shoulders tightened. The cord wrapped briefly around one ankle before he kicked free of it.

The thing looked less like cleaning equipment and more like a carnival ride powered by bad decisions.

Sock started down the hall. “How’s it going?”

Danny wrestled the machine another few feet, then shut it off before answering.

“The thing’s a monster, Mr. Sock.”

“I noticed. And it’s just Sock.”

A strained laugh escaped Danny’s throat.

“You tired yet?”

“Oh, I’m alright.”

Sock nodded in the way older men nod when younger men say something obviously untrue. “Let’s take a break.”

Near the floor-to-ceiling windows, Sock flipped over a pair of orange utility buckets and sat on one. Beyond the glass, the city lights shimmered against the dark like scattered circuitry. From a brown paper sack, Sock produced two cans of pop and a pack of peanut butter crackers. Danny sat heavily across from him, rolling one shoulder until it popped.

Sock handed over a can. “You’re fighting it too hard.”

Danny snorted. “Well, yeah. If I don’t fight it, it takes off.”

“Mm.” Sock opened his pop.

For a while, they sat in silence listening to the building hum around them. Finally, Sock said, almost casually, “You married, what… six years now?”

“Be seven in October.”

Sock nodded. “How’s Ginger doing?”

Danny shrugged automatically. “She’s alright.” Another nod. Sock waited. Danny took a drink. “She gets stressed pretty easy.”

“Mm.”

“She worries.”

“About what?” Sock asked, paying more attention to the wrapper of the peanut butter cracker package.

“Everything, I guess.” Danny gave a tired laugh.

Sock shook out a cracker and offered it to Danny. “Has she always been that way?”

Danny looked out the window toward the traffic below. “I dunno.”

Sock said nothing. Danny shifted on the bucket and asked, “You ever gonna tell me how you got the name Sock?”

Sock smiled faintly without looking up. “Folks usually ask that when they don’t want to answer something else.”

Danny laughed despite himself. “That obvious?”

“To somebody who’s been around the block.”

“Sorry.” Danny shook his head.

“No need.” Sock took another sip of pop.

Danny took a bite of cracker and a sip of his pop. He said, quietly, “Her folks split up a few years back.”

Sock glanced over.

“After thirty years together,” said Danny.

“Mm.”

“She took it hard.” Danny rubbed his palms together slowly. “She kept saying she should’ve seen it coming. Said maybe if she’d visited more… called more…” His voice drifted off.

Sock waited.

“She acts like everything’s about to fall apart now. Like if she doesn’t keep both hands on everything all the time…” He shrugged. “I dunno.”

Sock nodded once, not agreement exactly, but recognition.

Danny stared down the hallway at the silent buffer waiting where he had abandoned it. “She gets mad about little stuff. If I’m late. If I forget to text. If I get quiet.”

“Is she trying to control you?”

Danny opened his mouth immediately. Then stopped.

Sock watched him think.

Finally, Danny said, “Maybe she’s trying to stop something.”

Sock gave the smallest smile.

“Maybe.”

The building settled around them. Far below, headlights drifted through the streets, taillights obediently following. After a while, Sock stood and brushed cracker crumbs from his hands.

“C’mon.” They walked back down the corridor toward the waiting machine. Danny grabbed the handles again with visible reluctance and kicked on the power switch.

Sock reached over. “Here.”

He lifted the handle slightly. The buffer eased left.

Lowered it slightly. The machine drifted right.

He twisted gently clockwise. The buffer moved forward as smoothly as a boat leaving the dock.

Counterclockwise. It backed up obediently.

Danny frowned. “That’s it?”

Sock stepped back. “Machine already wants to move.”

Danny stared at the buffer. Then slowly he took hold of it again. This time, instead of wrestling it, he twisted the handle almost cautiously. The machine glided forward down the hallway.

Smooth. Quiet. Almost effortless. Danny guided the buffer down the hall to where the buckets were still upside down. Sock flipped them over and picked up the empty pop cans.

“Doesn’t need muscling,” he said.

Danny guided the buffer in a slow arc, watching it move.

“Just steering.”