The Succulent on My Old Desk

i came back for the charger. that's what i told the guard downstairs, and it was true, i still have badge access for another nine days, some system nobody bothered to close out early.

my desk isn't my desk anymore. there's a succulent on it, healthier than anything i ever managed to keep alive in that spot. a lanyard on the monitor with a name that isn't mine. the whiteboard behind it still has the training schedule up, four weeks, her name at the top in someone else's neat handwriting.

i unplugged my charger from behind the succulent carefully, like i might knock something over that mattered.

at my goodbye lunch i told everyone i was glad to be off that account, glad someone else could deal with the client who calls at five with fires that aren't fires. i meant most of that.

what i didn't say is i've had her status open on my phone for two weeks. active now. away. active now. i tell myself i'm making sure she's not drowning, in case anyone ever asks me for advice, in case the account still needs me for something.

nobody's asked me for anything in nine days, and i only know that number because i've been counting, the same quiet way i've been checking her status every night, like it's still my job to know if she's okay.

i set my badge on the desk next to the succulent and left before i could open the app again.