The Latent Accountant by Amanda Kramer

It was well and truly dusk as he lay in bed thinking of ways to do his presentation to the Artistic Directors of Melbourne without using PowerPoint. The evil, blasphemous brief was specific, and recommended exploring other ways to get the budding artist’s creative idea across. The thought filled him with resentment so bitter his stomach turned and he felt a lump in his throat. His eyes hurt. He turned in his single bed, hearing it creak and felt a cold draft lick his toe as the blanket was cruelly wrenched from his foot with the movement of it all.

After six months in the arts industry, where the girls (women) had shiny lips and were far too loud, and the men’s presence made him stammer and loosen his tie in an effort to appear more at ease, the concern began to consume his entire being. If he was a Mr. Men character, he thought, he would probably be Mr. Grumpy. But he was not fond of the colour purple or cartoons so he banished that thought.

He climbed out of bed and stood in front of his square window in his flannelette pyjamas. It wasn’t quite summer and he was a practical man. From there, he watched the neighbours across the block finishing dinner and talking.

He did this when he needed distraction, watched the neighbours that is. Pondering what possible topics could form their conversations served as a welcome, almost challenging mind game for him. (He’d met the family before, of course. This was anything but voyeuristic and sinister). As he watched Jo pack the dishwasher while Geoff chatted with the baby on his knee, he wondered what on earth they could possibly be talking about. Surely they had already covered the important and necessary topics such as whether each other’s day was sufficiently enjoyable and what they wanted to consume at dinner. The rest perturbed him. It was September and Tax Time had come and gone so it couldn’t be that. Perhaps there was an unusual charge on the grocery bill and they were listing what items were purchased that week in a crude process of elimination... This was probably it, he thought.

With his mind at ease, another conflict balanced, he retired to bed, his cot, his haven for dreams of square homes and round numbers.