Two Saturdays ago, I was able to attend a Writer's Workshop for Beginners at Windward Community College. It was fun and this is the result of my one-hour free-write. Please feel free to make comments!

STRING

As I watched her tug the loose string from the hem of her skirt, the hem began to unravel. A worried expression ran across her face. Frantically she began digging in her purse, after a moment her shoulders dropped and the worried look dissipated, being replaced instead with reconciliation. I let a small smile cross my lips as she zipped her purse up and folded her arms across it. After glancing quickly around the room she unzipped her purse again and pulled out a tube of chap-stick. But as she was midway across her bottom lip the secretary’s head appeared from behind the laminate desk and called a name, both of our heads turned.
Rising quickly, she approached the secretary’s desk. Instead of a greeting, the secretary merely lifted her paper-thin hand and motioned towards the door. After a small stumble in her obviously brand new shoes, she pulled on the door that refused to budge. Another pull and she gave a quiet cough and a shake of her head, I gave a small laugh. Pushing the door open and making her grand entrance, I watched the red string hanging from the back of her skirt disappear into the fluorescent light and I listened, as I stared down at the stained commercial blue carpet, for the click of the heavy door as it separated she and I.
Did I really want this job? I knew that I was overqualified, and the first of the month would be here quickly. She had obviously gone to great pains in preparing her appearance, whereas I had simply thrown on my gray suit and black dress shoes. I had taken the time to choose a semi-unwrinkled tie. The secretary gave a miniature sneeze from behind her desk and continued flipping through what sounded like a glossy magazine. The clock across the room, too small to see, made a great ticking sound and I wondered that something so insignificant could make such an impression on my eardrums from such a great distance.
I was grateful for the cushioned chair I had managed to snag by arriving a few minutes early and as I enjoyed its comfort I began to let my eyes wander, once again, around the room. Another young, and obviously eager, interviewee had joined the secretary and myself. He sat himself opposite me and fixed his eyes on the secretary’s desk, giving me full visual reign over him. A bit younger than I, if the executive was a woman, my chances just dropped.
His suit, gray, looked so new I thought the tags were probably still hanging on the sleeve, just tucked inside. With old church shoes that were heavily creased across his toes - he made a rather "circle shoved into a square" appearance . Just above the thick black sole of his right shoe it became clear to me that those shoes had once enjoyed life as a pair of brown suede, but had been transformed to black with shoe polish. By mistake? Maybe. At any rate, they served their purpose underneath the gray suit. He too had discovered a loose string on his ensemble. His was hanging from the third button hole on his silver shirt. I imagine that he felt a bit like Regis Philbin while standing in front of his closet door mirror, but upon leaving his room and entering the real world - perhaps he would have felt more comfortable at a car lot or in an eighties boy band.
He tugged at the string and when it refused to release its hold on the shirt, he contorted his neck and attempted to bite it off. After failing several times, he resigned himself to winding it around his middle finger, tightly enough that it was trapping blood in the tip and leaving an indention at his first joint. I found myself holding my breath each time the string wrapped tightly around and exhaling after he released it. Hoping he had not noticed my breathing pattern, I shifted in my chair and gave a fake cough. As I settled into my new position, the heavy office door clicked open and she walked out.
She was not smiling exactly, but did not look disappointed either. Shaking hands with what appeared to be a woman, kept hidden behind the great door, she muttered a ‘thank-you’ and turned to walk out of the dimly lit waiting area. As she passed, I could not help but notice the string, still hanging from the hem of her skirt, the young innocent sitting across from me and though I knew that my world would unravel without this job, I arose before she got to the door, opened it, and followed her out.