GONE

Petty Esquire: A fictional account of the extraordinarily petty, six figure, underbelly of the legal world.



When I stepped out of the doors of the firm onto the sidewalk I could barely form a coherent thought. I was devastated. I looked up and the sky was a clear, soft blue with a few wispy white clouds floating lazily by. The sun shone soft and warm across downtown, brightening one side of the street while the other side was shaded by the tall buildings that lined the streets. There was a cool breeze wafting over the hot asphalt keeping the temperature just perfect. People walked busily down the side walks—a young couple smiling brightly and looking excitedly into each others’ eyes; a suited man, walking briskly, erect, probably on his way to a meeting; two skinny teens zipping by on skate boards, their very playful behavior equally threatening harm to everyone around as well as to themselves.

But I was crushed. I walked aimlessly, with no plan or destination. About a half an hour later I ended up at my condominium. It had been my idea to buy a condo downtown. Coming from a small trailer park community in a small town that was situated behind God’s back, it had always been my dream to live downtown. All my years of studying were partly inspired by my dream of one day living in a beautiful condominium in a big city.

The doorman opened the door for me and held it. His starched maroon uniform fit his body perfectly like a glove. It represented the type of orderliness that I had always craved. “Mr. Petty,” he said, greeting me. I did not reply. He did not react.

I headed to the elevator bank, oblivious to the people coming and going around me. My feet burned from the long walk on hot sidewalks in shoes that were uncomfortable but my emotions were too numb to react to the pain. I was going to the only place that I had left to go to as automatically as if I were taking a breath. When I made it to my door and put the key in the lock I had the slightest sense of relief. At least I did still have a place to call home.

I was not prepared for what I saw next. The condo was bare. Everything was gone, from the bedroom furniture to the chandelier in the dining room; from the curtains to the flatware; from the towels to the white furniture that my fiancee had to have. It was all gone. I sat on the floor, hung my head between my knees and stared down at the hardwood floors that were bare now that the carpet had been removed.