Alone by Mathias

The loud clicking noises issuing from the keyboards, like millions of tiny insects running for their life, were drowned by the sudden chiming of a large clock set in the far corner of the cramped office space.
The clicking ceased abruptly, as if the insects had all fled down a large hole in the grey-tiled floor.
Every one of the workers in the office rose from their computers and were now putting on coats and scarves, chatting loudly all the while.
Only one person did not jump to his feet when the clock struck.
Jerome had been counting down the last few minutes, dreading the time when the clock would chime five.
The woman on Jerome’s left was talking over him, speaking animatedly to the man on his right of her many plans for the weekend.
Jerome sat sweating, praying that they would not ask him what he was doing the next two days. They didn’t. No one ever did …
 Jerome waited for the office to clear out, before rising slowly from his chair. His large stomach knocked against the desk, making him lose his balance. He grabbed the chair, and stood, panting slightly.
Looking back at him reflected in the computer screen was a large man with chocolate coloured skin, dressed in a light blue shirt, the latter damp with sweat.
There was no smile upon his round, fat face. His eyes were sad and lonely: two islands, alone in the vast ocean that was the world, which they gazed upon with fear.
Jerome packed his tiny briefcase and awkwardly pulled on his massive coat, his breath still unsteady.
He was always the last to leave the office on a Friday. He dreaded the time when he would be asked about his plans for the weekend. If someone ever bothered to ask, or talk to him at all, he would lie and say he was going to spend his free days with friends, friends he did not have.
Out in the street Jerome walked slowly, his heavy breath steaming in the winter cold. His eyes darted around suspiciously, fearing the sight of someone’s derisive gaze, staring at he, Jerome, the loneliest man on earth.
Jerome would go home, then take a trip into McDonalds and order three burgers and a large plate of chips – drowning it all in ketchup. The young girl who took his order would always look over his shoulder to see how many he was ordering for, and Jerome would always mumble, ‘Just for one …’
He sat at the very back of the dining area, away from the windows and the children who pointed and stared.
Afterwards he would waddle across the street to the cinema.
Jerome loved the movies; they were so much better than the life he led. If the film was sad, he would cry, because he knew the feeling only too well. If it was a happy film, he would cry, because his life could never be as good. He also loved the darkness that enveloped the theatre. Here at least no one would stare at him and whisper.
Jerome always sat in the back row. If it was full he would choose another movie lest kids behind him would pelt him with popcorn and laugh at his huge mass sagging into the neighbouring seat. He always came early to make sure of a seat, and always the man selling tickets would ask, ‘Just the one, sir?’ and every time Jerome would answer, ‘Just the one …’
Some of the saddest movies he watched were not the ones where others cried, but the ones where they laughed and smiled.
Jerome would laugh at the jokes and smile, but tears trickled from his dark eyes all the same.
When the other people left the cinema, talking loudly and discussing the movie, he sat in his chair, eating his popcorn with extra butter, watching the credits roll on the screen, deep in thought about what he had just seen. After an entire life of near solitude and shyness, Jerome had seen his fair share of films, and knew much about them. His dream was to leave his dead-end job as accountant, to escape his tidy desk and the unease he felt working there, and rise in his company to become a film critic. But he never dared apply, fearing his co-workers would scorn him.
Jerome sat in the cinema until the cleaners came in, before forcing himself to leave. If he felt like it, he would watch a second movie, because he dreaded the time when he would have to leave the warmth of the building and go home to his cold flat, where he sat all alone, waiting for Monday to arrive.
Although he was safe in his home, he was also lonely. The only noises that broke the silence were the sound of the TV, Jerome’s only loyal friend.
Each time he left the safety of his flat seemed like a monstrous journey. The world outside was too big and too fast for him. Just crossing the street felt like crossing a river full of crocodiles, who took the shape of staring children, sneering young men, and women who cast him haughty looks of disgust. It was especially the latter of the three that destroyed him and ruined his almost non-existent self-confidence.
Apart from his dream of being a movie critic, Jerome dreamt of having friends he could laugh with, and not at him. He wanted to meet a girl who did not cringe at the sight of him, but cared for him and liked him as he was.
Winter wore on. Christmas films appeared in the cinemas and McDonalds set up a suitably seasonal menu. But this did not lift Jerome’s spirits. He dreaded this happy celebration more than any other time of the year. Christmas was a time of joy, a time spent with friends and family. Jerome had no friends or family.
Soon people were discussing holiday plans, and even he, Jerome, could not escape questions. In addition, the firm’s yearly Christmas party was approaching fast. Jerome had never been to one. Even after ten years at his job, he still felt unwanted and shunned. It was far better, he convinced himself, to sit at home with a bottle of coke and bag of chips, watching a good film while he snuggled up under his blanket, hugging his cushion.
As November ended, Jerome took to leaving the office as fast as he could, and avoiding others in the lunch breaks.
Posters announcing the party seemed to pop up everywhere, like scarlet flyers with the sole purpose of reminding Jerome how alone he was.
In one of his lunch breaks, Jerome stood at the notice where one was to write one’s name if wishing to attend the party. He gazed unseeing at the long list. A young girl walked up to him, took out a pen, and signed her name. She turned to him and smiled widely. Jerome just stared at her.
She was rather pale, with dark hair and twinkling hazel eyes that caught him in a suffocating embrace.
He watched stunned, as she crossed back to her desk again and began writing on her computer. He had never seen the girl before. After ten years at the company Jerome knew who all the workers were; although he didn’t know them in person, he was a good observer. The girl he had just met was unknown to him. Assuming she must be new, he turned to the list and searched for her name.
Mia.
It was short, but incredibly beautiful to Jerome. For a long time he just gazed upon her untidy scrawl, written in bright red ink in contrast to the sea of humble blue surrounding it.
That afternoon, when everyone was packing up, Mia once again walked over to Jerome, who was still at his desk, trying to make his massive form smaller.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘You going to the party?’
‘No,’ he managed to stutter.
‘Why not?’ she frowned. Jerome shrugged.
‘Come on, it’ll be fun!’ and with that she strode off, pulling on a bright red coat.
The next day Jerome walked passed the list of partygoers, just to see Mia’s name again. He located it, shining as bright as ever in that sparkling red ink. There was a new name, however, also added in red ink. It was at the very bottom and read: Jerome.
‘I put your name up,’ He turned to see Mia watching him.
A strange feeling filled Jerome as he turned and walked to his desk, an uncertain smile glowing upon his face.
Street lamps cast their beams on Jerome, where he walked along the pavement, his boots crunching in the newly fallen snow. His shadow was enormous: a stain of black depression upon the pure and joyful snow.
Jerome was anxious. Sweat trickled down his back. Over the years, he had developed this uncomfortable reaction to stress and embarrassment.
Tonight he was heading for “The Wizardry”, where his company usually held their Christmas party. It was a restaurant he often walked by on his way to McDonalds – its smells wafting towards him like tempting spirits inviting him inside with their delicious odours.
Jerome would stop and gaze at the diners sitting within the fashionable restaurant, wishing he could join them and be an equal. But his wages wouldn’t afford him that choice. Only once had he eaten there, sitting at the very back, working his way quietly through a delicious steak. Afterwards Jerome had gone to an I-max cinema nearby and watched a movie. It had been one of his better days that year.
It had been his birthday. 
Now he stood, once again, in front of the lavish building with spotless windows, through which he could see a crowd already assembling.
Jerome put his hand on the doorknob, ready to push, but moved no further. His breathing quickened and beads of perspiration began to gather on his brow. Fear and nerves gripped him, preventing him from seeing anything but his outline in the sparkling window: A fat, lonely man with only his dreams for company. Jerome’s eyes began to water, and he was about to turn away, when someone approached the place where he stood. It was a middle-aged man whom Jerome knew only by name. Alex strode towards him. He was the senior film critic at Jerome’s firm, and a good-natured person as far as he had observed.
‘Bloody slippery, isn’t it?’ Alex grinned at Jerome’s unmoving figure. ‘So, are we going inside? This cold is giving me the heebie-jeebies!’
And without another word, he led Jerome through the door and into the warmth beyond.
A blur of sound and movement threatened to overwhelm him as he was thrust into the chaos of bodies and chatter.
‘You came!’ a welcoming voice erupted from within the mass of people. Mia stepped forward and gave Jerome a brief hug.
‘You two can get seats over there, next to me, if you like,’ she indicated two empty chairs on the far side of the table. Alex smiled and led Jerome forward once again.
Jerome was nervous over the prospect of sitting down to a dinner with other people he would have to talk to. However, after he had been poured a glass of wine from a smiling waitress and had his plate filled, he felt less uneasy and even stopped sweating.
‘So, Jerome, I hear from your colleagues that you watch a lot of movies?’ Alex was speaking to him. Jerome flushed and began sweating again. Did they know? Did they all know about his life?
‘I … I watch … a bit, yes…’ Jerome stammered.
‘Excellent! You must tell me what you thought of the new Batman film! Straight sixes and a possible Oscar nomination – not bad for an action film, eh?’
Without knowing he was doing it, Jerome had soon lapsed into a long discussion about old and new movies – all his fears forgotten.
After Jerome’s particularly long and reflecting confession of his views on
The Shaw Shank Redemption and its fellow Green Mile, Alex sat quite still, just gazing at Jerome. A few of the other employees were also paying attention. Jerome, who had forgotten himself completely, suddenly returned to reality. He grew warm and anxiety seeped through him. His nervous shaking had just started up when Alex said, ‘Ever considered a career as a film critic, Jerome?’
Jerome actually lost his fork on the floor, but he did not notice. His watery eyes were fixed on Alex as if he was God incarnate.
‘Tell you what – you try it out for a while, see what you think, and if you like it you can have the job. There’s a vacancy now anyhow … that is if you want to, of course?’
‘I …’ Jerome just gaped.
‘Of course he wants to!’ Mia winked at him and turned to the others.
‘Merry Christmas everyone!’
A week later Jerome was standing by the ticket office at his local cinema. ‘Ticket for one, sir?’ the man inquired.
‘No,’ said Jerome, as a dark haired woman emerged from the ladies and walked to stand beside him. ‘For two.’
The ticket seller stared at Mia before returning his attention to Jerome. ‘Back row?’
‘No,’ smiled Jerome. ‘Front row – reserved seats for the critic.’
Jerome sat grinning and throwing glances at Mia all the way through the film. It was a simple and joyful one, but still the best Jerome had ever been to.
After it had finished they went to McDonalds – Mia ordering a burger and some fries, Jerome grabbing a bowl of apples in cinnamon. The two of them sat by the window, Mia talking away, Jerome chewing at his apples and smiling broadly as he had never smiled before.

On the crispy night of New Year’s Eve, Jerome was walking along the bustling main street, his back arched, his breathing steady, and a smile curling his lips.
He was heading for Alex’s place, where he, for the first time since his childhood, would be spending New Year’s Eve with friends.
Jerome picked up his new cell phone and scrolled down his contact list – it was short, but at least it now existed. He found Mia’s name and pressed the call button.
‘Hello?’ her cheerful voice crackled in his ear. For a while he was still, just listening to her breathing.
‘Who is it?’ she sounded uncertain.
‘Jerome …’
‘Oh, hi! Hurry up – the turkey’s getting cold and Alex is stressing over the pudding.’
Again, Jerome let her wonderful voice glide through his eardrums, savouring every tone.
Now he had a friend to laugh with, and a girl who smiled at him and cared for him.
Grinning to himself, as he now did every day, Jerome strode off down the street, embracing the New Year, a happy man, no longer alone.