Zero Sum

The zero who sits next to me at work barely speaks. I don't refer to him by name because he might as well not have one. He works away like a squirrel over there, tidying up his stash of nuts, no contact with anything but his own thoughts. A group of our fellow workers is getting together for lunch because one of us is retiring after too many years of service, but the zero says he has other plans and won't be able to come. No one believes he has plans today or any other day. He doesn't want to talk to anybody or look at anybody or have anybody look at him. He doesn't want one of us bothering him, in short. What kind of elitism is at work here? He won't eat cake when we have a party in the staff room, and his lip curls at the sight of the frosting. What kind of dessert does he eat when he's alone, one that's somehow superior to what we eat? This retiree of the moment has never done anything but give me a pain in the ass anyway, so I say I've been feeling a little queasy, no appetite, I think I'll pass on lunch myself.

My wheels are turning toward the zero. He's never asked me one question about myself, and if I ask anything about him I get nothing but a smirk in the corner of his mouth. From what watchtower does this smirk originate and what is he implying about me with his smirk? The other people around here let him go his separate way, but I ask myself why I should accept his disrespect. Why should he feel free to live in a separate world?

I'm tired of taking the zero's crap and doing nothing about it. He's got to understand there are consequences to the way he deals with us, and I'm going to be one of those consequences. Every day at noon he leaves the building for lunch, but today he waits until after the lunch group is out the door and has had time to drive away. The wait makes him impatient, and he slams a drawer shut several minutes past noon and heads for the back door. I give him a lead, and then I go out after him. He parks in the same space every day, so I know where to find him and know what direction he'll take out of the parking lot. I follow him, not far back, but I doubt he'll be looking for me.

Just as I suspect, he goes home for lunch. His so-called plans probably include heating up a can of tomato soup and sitting at his kitchen table with the soup and a stack of saltines. He parks in front of his house, goes up the walk and inside without once looking back. I park a couple of houses down and give him ten minutes before I go up to his front door and ring the bell. I hear his footsteps approaching, seconds pass, the zero looking through the peephole at me, and then I hear the bolt turn and the door opens.

What are you doing here? he asks.

What are you doing here? I ask him.

I live here.

You said you had plans.

He doesn't bother to answer. He's ready to shut the door on me already.

Are you inviting me in? I ask. I haven't had anything to eat.

Why did you invite yourself here?

I wanted to see what your plans were.

My plans have nothing to do with you.

He shuts the door in my face and locks it. The whole of what the zero strikes me as being is embodied by his locked door. My first thought is to take a step back and kick the door down, but who knows if my foot and ankle would give way instead of the door. Besides, I don't want to involve the police, don't want the zero...