by Emily McPhillips
I could make my own wedding dress, and it’d be made out of A4 sized white sheets of paper that I’ve been taking from work, ten sheets a week, and nobody would notice, or really care, because they’ve all been taking packs of Post-It notes home like small luminous presents. I can imagine this one guy I work with, called Ken, getting home from work, throwing his briefcase aside, and his wife, who has one of those names like Melinda, but it isn’t quite Melinda, but it sounds good to say, will call out to him with her pet-name for him, that is something sweet enough to eat, and he’ll present to her his weekly offering of the Post-It notes like something that should really be romantic, or even something as acceptable as a carton of cigarettes from the airport-duty-free, but Melinda or Melanie, or the woman with the name that makes me think mmm will kiss her salesman husband Ken, in a way that is as memorable as a first kiss but as knowledgeable as the last. I photocopy some order forms, I think it was twelve copies, but I don’t really care, and when I get back to my desk I am looking forward to moving that lever on the side of my chair that makes me zoom up and fall down. We’re up seven stories and I have a window, and if I look out of the window, I can understand what a bird’s-eye-view looks like from here. The people below don’t look as small as the bride & groom on a wedding cake, but there are similarities; one woman is wearing a white dress, and there are men wearing suits, and I see one man bend down to tie his laces, and his shoes are shiny, and maybe he can see his face in the shine from his shoe, and he is looking up at me, seven stories high, and he is wondering how many sheets of paper it will take to make me a wedding dress, and what time am I clocking off work. I imagine Ken asked Melinda to marry him by sticking a Post-It note on the door of the fridge, a little yellow invitation of happiness, that took Melinda a week to reply to, but with emphatic capitals, "YES!" and "PS, We need more milk!" and I am understanding how important good stationary levels will be for any of my future relationships.
Emily McPhillips, author of The Tip, was born in 1985. She lives in Manchester where she studies Journalism at Salford University. She has recently had her work published on 3am Magazine and Straight From The Fridge, and has work forthcoming for Dogmatika.