An Office in Winter

Danielle Alakija
Aug 24, 2017 · 2 min read

I can feel the chill running down my spine.

The wind tickles at the back of my neck, I hunch farther down, drawing myself further into my jacket, wishing the fabric would weave itself into my skin, anything to thicken myself, protect myself against this onslaught.

My fingers are painful now, even as I type this. I may not make it to the end of this letter.

I don’t understand why the air is rebelling against me in this way. Just this morning, the sun was high in the sky, dancing in ribbons against my face. Yet, as I crossed the threshold, and came through the great electric gates, the temperature dropped, so sharply that it pained my lungs.

Surely the great upstairs cannot expect me to go on like this? They must understand that there are limits to what I can do under certain circumstances. How can I be expected to work, to save lives when my very own is under threat from hypothermia? If this radically diving temperature continues I am afraid my reports will go unfiled, my audio unedited, scripts unfinished. The organisation itself could crumble.

I make a sign to hang in the window to warn the others who come after me. Do not enter. Turn left. Find the coffee cart on the corner. You’ll be safe there.

I write notes to the ones I love. Tell my parents I love them. Someone make sure my dog is hugged at least 9 times a day. Don’t forget the cat enjoy shredding precious pieces of clothing when she is upset.

Important things.

It has been 4 hours now. I look back at the clock. No, just 35 minutes. No matter. I am blue with cold. I am in the process of lying down under my desk and accepting the sweet embrace of Jack Frost, when I feel it. A tendril of warmth curling around my exposed ankle. The capris were a risk today, and one that did not pay off. I lift my head slowly, hopefully, to see a magnificent hand turning the sun back into the building.

In a final act of defiance I drop my jacket. I stand. At last.

The air conditioning has shut off.

)

Danielle Alakija

Author. Poet. Spaghetti Enthusiast. @daniellealakija

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade