Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Edge of the Earth

Years ago, I had a humongous crush on this girl at the movie studio where I worked. Once in a while, I'd draw a cartoon featuring her as the leading lady and drop the cartoon off on her desk when she was not around. I knew she liked them, because she nailed the 8-by-10 drawings to a board in her cubicle. Being the biggest chicken in the entire West Coast, I never came right out to express my starry-eyed admiration for her; plus, there was a rumor that she had a boyfriend, with whom she was having a tumultuous on-and-off relationship.

This went on for about a year. My cubicle was on the other side of the building, and we exchanged nothing more than a courteous smile whenever we passed by each other. Then one day, she quit, giving her boss only a short notice. On her last day, as I was agonizing over whether to bid farewell or not, a whiff of familiar perfume jolted me, and there she was, her head hovering over my cubicle wall. "Thanks for the drawings," she said softly, then turned around and left abruptly.

That was the last time I saw her. Occasionally, I Googled her name, but found nothing. It was as if she had fallen off the edge of the earth.

The moral: creativity always outlasts passion.

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