Unstuck

Celeste was a disappointment. It was inevitable. There wasn't anything wrong with her, technically speaking. Nothing that made kids stare at her on the tram or prompted power walkers to cross into the bike lane. Nothing like that. There just wasn’t anything right with her. If anyone believed differently it would be a miracle, but miracles didn’t happen to Celeste. 

She was like a late night takeaway, she’d recently realised while digging for cabbage in her chow mein. Fine in theory. Passable in photographs. Made more attractive by the promise of convenience. But, inevitably, underwhelming. It’s the inevitability that gets you. An absence of hope that pollutes the air before you peel off the plastic lid. 

Everyone knew better than to believe in her. It’s why the boys she dated never felt a spark, whatever that meant. Most likely, it was why her mother liked to eat dinner in front of the television instead of at the table with her. Without a doubt, it was why Celeste could only keep jobs that were done exclusively online.  

You didn’t even need to come in for the interview anymore. At Celeste’s last job, she’d gone a whole seven months without being seen or heard. She did her all work, of course, joining meetings with her camera and microphone permanently off. Occasionally, when explicitly asked, she would send a response in the chat. “No worries,” she typed, her childhood bedroom distorted by the blue light of her laptop.

But when Celeste was let go, via email, due to her lack of passion for the company and its affiliated laundry products, her mother called an old friend. Richard managed an accounting firm and would try to find use for a “false-starter”. It was, he told Celeste on the walk from the carpark, and again in the elevator, a big ask. “I’m happy to do it,” he said, checking his teeth in the reflective panel above the buttons, “But you are massively putting me out.” 

Celeste went to shuffle her feet, a nervous habit, but stopped at some resistance. The bottom of her heels were sticking to some invisible residue. As they slowed at the second last floor, she discretely stepped away from it. She didn’t want to embarrass Richard. She’d simply wait for him to apologise for it and then pretend she hadn’t noticed. 

The shiny doors opened to a windowless plane of desks, devoid of any texture or colours that might trigger stimulation. As Celeste followed Richard through rows of his employees, the familiar feeling of inevitability crawled down her neck. She’d never been able to picture where she’d end up, but of course this would be it.

It’s not like there’d be another job if this one didn’t work out. This was her mother’s last favour, paid in full. At 31, she would do well to stay here for the next fifty years. She should be so lucky to live out her last days in fluorescent lighting, until her weathered body keeled over on the practical carpet. She just needed to lie low, do no more or less than what was asked, and try not to make anything worse.  

They stopped at an empty chair up the back, so Celeste sat down in it and waited for instructions. Nobody looked up from their monitors to greet her. The woman sitting next to her, who Richard introduced as Nicole, only nodded in her general direction. 

Richard had generously assigned her 80% of what her usual workload would be. He expected her to check in with him soon so he could make sure she was the right fit. “Let me know if you have any questions,” he said. “But you shouldn’t because it’s all very straight forward.” He mentioned something about donuts, that Celeste might be able to have some if she was lucky. “Office politics allowing,” he winked. 

Celeste watched him saunter to the other side of the floor, all the way to the glass-walled cubicle near the elevator. It was only when he reclined in his swivel chair that she dared unpack her belongings. It wasn’t much, just a couple of knick knacks from her desk at home. She reached into her backpack to retrieve a navy blue journal and a sparkly astronaut figurine. Celeste bought the journal as part of an unaccomplished New Year’s resolution, right after she graduated from university. She hoped keeping it in her line of sight would prompt her to write in it, but so far it had only reminded her of her lack of follow through. She couldn’t remember where she got the astronaut or why she kept it.

Nicole didn’t have any belongings on her desk, just a clear water bottle that she sipped quietly while scanning her monitor. She was older than Celeste, maybe in her forties. Her hair was slicked into a neat bun, well-behaved in a way Celeste’s never was. From this side-on angle, Nicole’s body was concealed by her shoulders. The rode up and curved forward like she was trying to fold in on herself.

Celeste glanced at Richard’s office. Her new manager was engrossed in a phone call that sounded muffled from far away. It reminded her of the nights she woke in a cold sweat, and couldn’t get back to sleep until she screamed into her pillow. She turned towards her desk mate. “How long have you worked here?” Celeste whispered. 

Nicole didn’t respond until she finished typing a sentence. Eventually she said, “Forever,” and started another line. 

If Nicole wasn’t going to ask her any questions in return, Celeste had nothing to do but wait for her computer to start up. She ran her fingers over the smooth desk, trying to ignore the sinking in her chest. Any hopes she had of making friends had just been snuffed out. She imagined them rapidly withering, turning to stardust in her stomach. 

Celeste’s hand stopped across something even stickier than the elevator floor. She recoiled, causing a popping sound louder than the keyboards clacking around her. The substance was darker than the grey of the desk, and smeared like it hadn’t been wiped away properly. It was the same stuff that now coated the tips of her fingers. She brought her hand to her face to observe a tint of blue. When she wiggled her fingers, it sparkled. 

An upbeat ding told her the computer was ready. Celeste gave a little shake of her head, reminding herself to focus. With her clean hand, she went to enter the password scrawled on a sticky note stuck to the monitor. Before she reached the keyboard, a heavy glob of goo fell onto it.

It was like the stuff on her desk and fingers. But rather than a tint of blue, there was an inky mass of it. It shimmered as it seeped into the middle of the keyboard, covering most of the numbers. She assumed, to do her new job at this accounting firm, she would very much need those numbers. Celeste looked up at the ceiling. Seeping through the cracks between the tiles above her desk, was the goo. The leak seemed to have stopped, at least. 

The whole floor was still typing away, totally undisturbed. Nicole had gotten a tiny splatter of the stuff on her glasses. She simply pulled a handkerchief from the handbag at her feet, wiped it away and returned to business as usual. “Do you know what this is?” Celeste asked, holding her sticky hand in front of Nicole’s monitor. 

The woman craned her neck to keep working around the obstruction. “No.”

Celeste checked the ceiling again, where blue stained the white paint. “Do you think I could go find out?”

All at once, the clacking of keys stopped. Chatter erupted across the floor as everyone stood up from their desks. Celeste looked at the time, unsure how it was twelve o’clock already. Nicole bent over her bag to fetch a cling-wrapped sandwich that seemed to only contain lettuce. On her way back up, Nicole hissed, “No,” into Celeste’s ear. Then she headed for the kitchenette in the corner of the floor. 

Celeste followed her. She tried to ask the others about the goo, even showed them the evidence on her hand. Nobody gave her a second look. They must not have wanted any trouble from Richard, who was circling his desk with his hands on his hips. 

It’s not like Celeste wanted trouble. Couldn’t afford it, even if she did. And the elevator was right next to Richard’s office. To see the source of the goo, she’d have to ride up and back without being interrogated, or fired.

She should just forget about it, stay put in this kitchenette. A box of donuts sat ignored on the linoleum bench. Her new colleagues scooched around it to reach the instant coffee, apologising to each person they passed.

The lunch time conversations were easy to slip into. They talked about the sports game, and what the weather would be like tomorrow (people were getting mixed signals). Celeste nodded along as one of the accountants shared his weekend plans, even though it was only Monday. That’s when she noticed something past his shoulder, on the wall behind her desk. 

It was a door. She hadn’t noticed the door before, but then again she hadn’t been looking for it. Above the doorframe was a small blue sign with an illustration of stairs. Something fluttered in her stomach, flying up to join the pounding of her heart. She could slip away to see the source of the goo, and be back before her break ended. 

Celeste excused herself from the accountant and made a beeline for the door. She could almost touch the handle when Richard cut in front of her in his swivel chair. “How’s it going?” He asked, rolling up the base of his yogurt pouch. 

Celeste clasped her hands together and made her voice sound light. “Good.”

“Good, good,” Richard smiled with all his teeth. “It’s just that we’re halfway through the day and you haven’t checked in with me yet.”

Celeste laughed like it was funny banter she was enjoying. “Lucky I’m nearly halfway done!” She lied, hoping the computer password he’d given her worked. 

“Seriously,” Richard’s smile faded from his face. “Come see me in an hour.” Celeste rearranged her expression to solemn as he took a long slurp of his yogurt. Around them, people shuffled back to their desks. Conversation died down and was quickly replaced with key clacking and mouse clicking. Richard shot Celeste with finger guns. “Prove me wrong.” He was smiling again, so she did the same, forcing the corners of her mouth upwards until he wheeled away to someone else’s desk. 

She rushed to her chair with just an hour to finish the work she hadn’t started. She might have been desperate enough to ask for Nicole’s help, but her chair was still empty. Celeste pressed down on the goo-drenched keyboard, emitting obscene squelches that her colleagues ignored. She tried to be like them, tried to keep her eyes from wandering up to the ceiling, where another glob welled. 

Celeste asked herself who she thought she was. How she’d almost forgotten she was a disappointment, underwhelming, a false-starter. That it was inevitable. Like her mother always said, her life would not get better than this and she’d better learn to believe it. But Celeste’s cursor wouldn’t stop blinking, and her fingers wouldn’t stop sinking deeper into the gooiest parts of the keyboard, spitting out a hundred asterisks where her password should go. 

Something slid across the corners of her vision. She held out her palm to catch the box of donuts, finally opened. Instead of taking one each, everyone had cut themselves a self-sacrificing slither. By the time the donuts reached Celeste, they had been reduced to random chunks of twelve different flavours. 

Just one whole donut remained. It was slathered in midnight blue icing, and when Celeste held it up, flecks of edible glitter caught the light. She lined up the donut hole with her eye. Wielding it like a telescope, she peered around the office — at the people typing away, sending emails and receiving them. The goo on her keyboard. The sparkly astronaut on her desk. She picked up the figurine and gently closed her fingers around it. Then she stood up, took a chomp out of her blue donut, and shouldered through the door.

She knew the stairwell would lead her to the source of the goo. The belief shot through her even before she saw the smudges on the concrete walls. She climbed the steps two at a time, shoving the remainder of the donut in her mouth. The higher she went, the more frequent the smudges became. 

Celeste turned a sharp corner and slammed into something hard. She tried to step back, but her heels had sunk into deep stickiness and refused to move. It was another door, but this one was locked. Heavy goo seeped out through the crack underneath it, pooling around her ankles. Celeste brought her fists down on the door. She screamed. A real scream, with no pillow to restrain it. She had come so close.  

A jangling sound echoed through the stairwell. Nicole lurched around the corner, producing a carabiner straining with keys. Her hair was as neat as ever, but her face was flushed and sweaty. 

“Do you know how I’ve worked here forever?” Nicole panted. She checked over her shoulder before pushing one of the keys into the lock. When that didn’t work, she tried another. “Because I do what I’m told. I don’t ask questions.” She switched keys again. “I wear flat shoes to work. I take the path of least resistance.” The final key caused a click, and the door gave way. Together, they pushed it open. Nicole expertly side stepped the goo that gushed out like lava. 

The top floor mirrored their office. There was no furniture, but it had the same white walls, same ceiling tiles and kitchenette. Underneath the thick layer of goo, it probably had the same practical carpet. On the back wall, where the stairwell door would have been in the accounting firm, was the source of the goo.

The open doorway emitted a light that danced across the floor, making everything twinkle like the night sky. Celeste didn’t know where it led to, but she knew she was going to try. She turned to Nicole, whose eyes reflected the dazzling scene. She looked beautiful. “Are you coming?” Celeste asked. 

Nicole shook her head. “I’m happy, most of the time. I have a window nook where I can read, and a cat, and a husband who mows our lawn. Every Sunday, there he is.” A surge of tenderness rose in Celeste’s chest. She lunged forward, hugging the woman who resisted, but only little. “Besides,” Nicole wiped her eyes with the base of her palms, “I’ll have to stay late. Someone didn’t finish their work today.”

“Do you think I can do it?” Celeste held her breath waiting for the answer. 

Nicole just smiled and said, “Do you?”

Celeste’s heels wouldn’t budge, so she wrangled her feet out of them and stepped forward. Moving through the goo was like wading through honey. Her whole body ached, but the doorway was right there, and she was building momentum surprisingly quickly. After one final push, she stood at the entrance, face to face with the rippling membrane between her and whatever waited beyond. 

She held out her astronaut figurine, which sparkled brilliantly in the new light. When her fingers got closer to the membrane, some sort of magnetic force sucked the astronaut in. There was a white flare that made Celeste hold a hand in front of her face, and then the astronaut was gone. 

If Nicole had said anything at that moment, Celeste wouldn’t have heard it. Everything was drowned out by the buzzing in her ears, and the glimmer of infinite galaxies that stretched out before her. The white flare engulfed Celeste, and as her body was propelled into the unknown, she smiled. It was a miracle. It was inevitable.