One of Laura's parents was a building and she's got the heart to show it. Parted down the middle with drywall it's painted one side and empty in the other; that's where the structure lies, she's reinforced it herself over the years laying the wiring and the plumbing and it works quite well for all her twenty-five years, it's kept in one piece the whole time and she's very proud of it. Among her friend's she's known for dealing with bad news the quickest. It's not callousness, it's just the foundation, the piling runs right to her knees. They like her for it. People pick up on these things fast.
One night after work she's having dinner with this new friend, who we'll call Michelle, who's having some problems of her own. Michelle needs a large amount of money, fast. Exactly one hundred and fifty eight dollars and thirty two cents. Laura's the last person she can think of. She can't ask anybody else at the workplace or they'll find out. Who will find out? Michelle doesn't know. But it's incredibly important. Laura gives her most of the money. She's got principles. She's stable enough, she thinks, to let this one slide. Michelle thanks her, and treats the both of them to beers. Laura doesn't question this logic either but now she wants to know more.
They get to talking. Turns out Michelle's descended from a building too, though again she doesn't say which one. It's all very enigmatic. Laura decides it fits her, this image of her, so indistinct around the edges yet so different from her drywall heart. Michelle's made of many parts and ends her sentences in a way that sounds like she's always asking a question. "Aiyah I'm not so keen on the whole family thing, you know?" Stuff like that. Laura knows it's on purpose. It's got to be some kind of act. When they get to the train station, Michelle breaks formation and runs.
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At this point a fair number of us have had a little building in us. Byproduct of living in dense cities. Blood gets around. Ask your mother or grandmother, she'll know. If it's not you then it's a cousin. Always taller than the rest because concrete has a tendency to stand up in the blood. It can also take a number of forms. Pig iron in the legs. Windows in the brain. Asbestos in the blood. We're all a little more fragile but we're also more modular because we know exactly what we're made of and we fix ourselves to match. They sell IV bags of concrete mix in pharmacies under the counter if you ask. We build ourselves up all the time when you're not looking. Sometimes we even have kids. Laura doesn't want to have kids but she certainly could, if she tried.
The next morning Laura comes to work with a little more pour into her legs. She's not disappointed, just unsteadied. She fixes herself like that. People like Michelle came as no surprise. She likes the new weight her heel puts into the carpet with every step, thinks she should do this more often if it weren't so troublesome or if it didn't scare the others so much. She sits down with the other women in her department and gets to work answering emails. It's a hot desk kind of thing but nobody's managed to unsettle her spot by the potted fern and the ventilation fan for months now. She's very proud of that, thinks it's her inner constitution. Around her the veins of the office building hum and hum and hum.
Come lunchtime she gets to asking around and finds out there isn't a Michelle in her department. By chance the women in the pantry are talking about new en-bloc developments that have consumed the whole south side of the island, new towers of gold and silk that flutter in the breeze and big enough to house forty thousand families. Much better than the old ones. They don't cast an eye to her when they say that anymore. One of the perks of working close to each other is that you don't see each other anymore. Laura likes that, it gives her more time for herself, and she's never been unstable enough to care.
She applies foundation in the pantry mirror when everyone's gone, just in case.
///
Michelle waits for her outside the office after work. "What do you mean didn't get my WhatsApp?" The two walk along the side of the river until they reach the street where all the food is. They don't say a word to each other. They don't look at each other in the eye. The water of the river laps noisily against the stone wall of the bank and their high heels leave marks on the boardwalk.
It's funny, Laura thinks to herself she hasn't met anyone like this before. It's a cliche, which she enjoys, because she always knows how they end. Nice to have something one can depend on. She thinks about her day and the work she's put in. She thinks about the women in the office, their dust-free hair, their chittering nails. She can't live like that, she thinks. Where others float, she digs in. Looking at Michelle she's not sure if the other woman's the same. That woman's dug in but she spills sideways instead of down. Michelle senses this and flashes her a smile. All buildings are mildly telepathic.
At the street where all the food is Michelle and Laura share a large bowl of ramen. The waitress doesn't stick around long and leaves them the menu. Michelle gets to talking about something inconsequential, about some distant item of office politics that registered briefly on her radar, taking great care to remain neutral, to assure herself that that's all that exists, ever. If you don't understand it that's fine. Laura clicks her nails on the table and nods. Michelle keeps talking but she seems to want to talk about something else, but the shape of the room won't let her.
Slowly Laura is aware of a growing gulf between them the size of a city block, the size of a downtown core. She realises she doesn't mind that. She's always loved monumental things. She flicks a grin to Michelle every once in a while to let her know that she's there, and her grin is as wide as a billboard, an LCD screen at a crosswalk, a sky-lit blimp. The ramen turns cold between them. "You know, sometimes I really just want to let myself grow." And so on and so forth.
At some point Laura mentions her family. "My father was a construction crane and my mother was an office block." Michelle thinks that's hilarious. She thinks Laura's got mass and grand floor plans inside. The opposite is actually true. Her mother was an airy woman with infinitely configurable insides, who would rationalise the infinite if it meant to fit her needs. She taught her daughter how to see the world. This is the problem of wanting too much; this is the problem of sinking piles into the ground so one can grow tall. And leave infinite space inside. Suddenly Michelle is beaming at her. "Oh my god, girl, me too..."
///
Something breaks from then on. Something in the drywall heart reconfigures to fit a new thing. A new switchboard or something. New cables adding to the tangle of stuff that's there. This is not unexpected. The next day Laura texts her about things that have happened during the week and her big ideas for moving things forward. She talks about shifts in her department as if nothing's happened at all. At some point Laura is horrified when she remembers she hasn't asked about the one hundred and fifty eight dollars and thirty two cents. But it's too far gone to ask. Michelle hasn't brought it up either. On some days, they make conversations entirely through vibrations in the ground.
Back in the office they're talking about more and more en-bloc projects. Janice says it'll be big business for the department. Some obscure implication of property law that their office specialises in by technicality. Nobody pays her any attention. They're more interested in the views. Talking about redevelopment makes everybody happy so Laura doesn't say a word and eats her maple syrup scented bran cereal in peace. The world dies as it grows, she thinks. She replies to all her emails with one beautifully painted hand.
The thing about buildings is that it's pretty hard not to forget. Everything sticks one way or another and we just make more space for it over time. Call it incrementalism. Call it cowardice. Laura thinks it's more of a boldness that only grows more refined over time and of course when she thinks that she's thinking about her mother. But she also thinks about Michelle, about how people like her continue to grow despite everything. Maybe she's lying about being part building. If anything she'd be a construction site. Doesn't know what her base is made of so she just runs with it. Heart planted in nothing but loose sand and gravel. But always, always moving, in the way she herself could never dream.