#fridayflash: Red Scarf

Joanna was the cleaning lady in our office. She was short and plump, and her eyes were so big and blue, that she looked a little like Miss Piggy, especially from up close. She always had a cloud of nice smell around her head, like a mixture of toothpaste and shampoo, which I always thought was a great achievement, considering she spent most of her time unblocking all the ladies' toilets in our building.

Other people in my office didn't pay her much attention. She spoke funny, like a sleep-walking Yoda, so most people either made fun of her behind her back, or simply walked pass her as if through air.

I didn't. I felt sorry for her. More accurately, I felt uncomfortable around her, a little guilty about working in a nice job in a nice office while she was unblocking the toilets. So I tried to be nice to her without being too condescending. Just say hi and good morning, and how are you today, trying to speak the same way as I would with anybody else, but failing miserably.

To make matters worse, she wasn't bitter or disgruntled about any of it. Not about cleaning the toilets, not about people ignoring her, not about me giving her a big fake smile and asking her loudly “AND HOW ARE YOU THIS MORNING?”

She was grateful for having a job and getting her children through school. She either hasn't noticed or didn't care that people made fun of her. And she liked me because I was paying her some attention. As a thank you, she used to go into my office early in the morning to turn on the heating for me or open the windows (depends on the weather) before I got in.

And she always came to my office to let me know when there were left-over biscuits in the meeting room (not that I'm in the habit of eating someone else's leftovers, but my boss used to buy really good biscuits!)

One morning, as I was pouring the coffee and having a whispered conversation with Janet about the new vacancy on Bob's team, Janet wrinkled her nose and said, “your friend's coming. God, I can't stand that woman” and disappeared before I could even turn to see who she talking about.

I turned to find myself face-to-face with Joanna, and my nostrils filled with the mixture of toothpaste and shampoo.

Joanna looked at me curiously and said in her high, breathy voice, “What you dream about, I know”.

It was weird, having a conversation with Joanna that was not about the weather or biscuits, but I tried to act as if it was still Janet who said those words.

“Everybody knows what I dream about”, I shrugged, “I could really use that promotion, and Bob could use my experience in...” my voice trailed off.

Joanna's eyes narrowed and looked at mine as if I was speaking in a different language.

“No, what you dream about, I know”, she said again. “Pomegranate, was it not? And your grandmother?”

I stared at her. I never remember my dreams, but what she said sounded strangely familiar.

I did dream about my grandmother last night, didn't I? And she was peeling off a pomegranate. But why would Joanna, of all people, know about it?

“Very much your grandmother loves you”, Joanna said, “and as many as the seeds of the pomegranate were her good deeds”.

“My grandmother is dead”, I heard myself say, “and I really have to get back to work”.

I turned and hurried back to my office without another word. Before closing the door behind me, I caught a glimpse of Joanna, standing staring at the air, with a dreamy smile upon her face.

For a while there I tried to convince myself I imagined the whole thing, and that no one ever had a conversation about my grandmother or about pomegranate seeds. Still, I tried to avoid Joanna as much as I could. Whenever I came into the kitchen and saw her washing the dishes, I would sneak out before she noticed me at the door, and one day I even made fun of her breathy voice without caring whether she heard me or not.

But you can't hide in an office for long, especially not in ours, and Joanna was now standing in my office, telling me that “the meeting room has the biscuits you like”.

I smiled and thanked her, but she didn't go away. She was staring at me and smiling, and definitely not moving.

“Joanna?” I asked, wondering whether I should call a doctor, or a security guard.

“Hmmm?” she answered, sleepily.

“We both should get back to work”, I said.

“Red scarf”, she said, “lovely red scarf that was”.

I looked around me. There was no red scarf to be seen. In fact, now that I thought about it, I didn't have a red scarf since the one my father gave me for Christmas... and the images started rushing through my brain.

Not memories of my father giving me the red scarf for my eighth birthday, but of the dream I had the night before, where I had lost the red scarf and was running across the fields behind my old school yard, looking for it.

“Listen to me, Joanna”, I said, trying to control my voice as best I could. “I don't know what you're playing at, but it's not funny anymore. Why do you say these things? There is no red scarf here!”

“lovely red scarf”, she repeated and sighed sadly. “I know, but not what their meaning”.

And without another word, she left the room.

***

I didn't get the promotion. The boss has brought someone new to fill the vacancy, a sporty, good-looking Nick, and all I could do was sulk and hate him in silence.

One day Joanna was fired.

From the little gossip I could find, I heard she went straight to our Head of Department and told him of a dream he had. She said he dreamed his new pet hamster was eating him alive. She thought she should warn him, but didn't know of what, and he was not impressed at being interrupted by the cleaning lady to talk about hamsters.

Three years later we discovered Nick was responsible for a massive fraud, worth millions.

He was fired, and I finally got that promotion.

But by that point, Joanna has disappeared and no one has ever heard from her again.