Square One -

She's wearing a backpack, and a zip up hoodie over a black and white striped crop top. She has bright green eyes that don't look away when you meet her gaze. She reaches up and strokes the top of her backwards hat, as if to tame unruly hair that, from what I can see, is a medium brown. But it's hard to tell since it's in a short fade. I almost don't hear her when she says, "I'd like to take out all of my money in cash, please."

"All of it?" I ask. Too loudly.

Despite having seen it in movies, nobody has ever actually asked me for the entire value of their bank account in cash.

"All of it." She says without flinching. She holds my eyes with hers and offers a half smile and an almost imperceptible wink.

An electric shock goes through my entire body.

"Is that going to be a problem?" She asks, gently.

I am grateful for the question which brings me back to my brain so I can sputter, "Nobody has ever asked me this before, to be totally honest with you!"

She laughs. reaches across the counter, touches me lightly on the forearm, and says, just above a whisper, "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

Electricity, again.

"Am I in danger?" I scream in my head. But out loud I manage to just say, "Okay great! Would you like to wait in one of our conference rooms while I go talk to my Manager so I make sure to do this properly?"

She nods her head and then gestures for me to lead the way.

My knees feel like they are only barely supporting my weight, and I pray that they will not fail me as I walk out from behind the counter and lead her to one of the rooms where we work more privately with the customers who want to open a new account.

"Do you want some water, while you wait?" I ask as she looks around the room carefully selecting which chair she intends to sit in. She takes the one behind the desk where the bank employee usually sits.

"No thank you. I have everything I need."

"I believe you." I hear myself saying.

Immediately I clap my hands up to my mouth, and say, "I'm so sorry. What a strange thing for me to say."

She laughs in a way that lets me know that she is aware of the impact she's having on me.

I spin on my heel and quip, "I'll be back" as I let the door close behind me.

"I'm so glad." I think she says. I process it too late to reply and it replays in my mind as I walk across the cold tile floor to the Branch Manager's office. I stop with my hand on the doorknob and try to figure out what the hell it is that I am feeling.

***

I am startled when the door handle is ripped out of my hand. "What are you doing?" My manager asks, abruptly. "The walls are all windows, weirdo. Get in here and sit down. You look like you're having a stroke. What is happening?" He guides me by the elbow to a chair in front of his desk.

Martin is beautiful and composed, always. His hair is styled to perfection, and he wears colors and patterns that only people of color can pull off. I once flippantly asked him, "Who are you trying to impress?" He replied back, "My future husband, girl. He's going to walk in here one day and take me away from all this. He'll know that all I want is to be kept like an expensive exotic pet. One with a very long leash, or credit limit, to be clear!" I wish I was half as confident as he is.

Still in a bit of shock, I manage to say, "Don't freak out, okay? But that woman I just took to the back sales room..." I wait for him to nod that he knows who I'm talking about. "She might be robbing us. But I'm not sure."

"What in the world are you talking about? Are you being serious?" As playful as he can be, he knows when he has to wear his boss hat. Attempted bank robberies really do happen all of the time, and we have very strict protocol for how to handle them. "Tell me exactly what's happening."

I clear my throat, push my hair back from my face, and tell him step by step exactly what happened.

"Okay. Compose yourself." He snaps at me while he says it, as if to wake me up from a dream. "It's her money. She can have it if she wants it, how much are we talking about?"

"I don't know. I didn't even pull up her account!" I admit with a healthy amount of shame, having failed to do the very obvious thing that I do for 100% of my at work interactions. "What is wrong with me?" I ask, sincerely.

"Do you want me to answer that as your friend or your boss?" He asks from between his very furrowed brows.

"Both!" I exclaim, feeling confused about why I would have failed to do something so obvious.

"Okay, off the record, this is what we like to call 'gay panic'. That woman over there..." He subtly leans his head towards the conference room, as if I might not know which woman he is talking about. "She's what I like to call 'an entry level lesbian'. Her whole look is designed to confuse queer women who still think they're straight. You're attracted to her! That's why you're being so weird."

"But I am straight." I say with a wave of my hands down my body, as if the way I dress is explanation enough.

"Mmmmkay, you know I think hetero-normativity is a limiting mindset. But I accept you for whoever it is that you want to be."

I hold his gaze in a game of chicken. Who will break first? Not me...

I break first. "Just be my boss!" I say decisively.

"Just complete the electronic form for closing an account. Pull up her account first and tell her that if it's more than we have in the vault she'll have to come back tomorrow, otherwise she can have it today. It's that simple."

"Got it!" I pop up from my chair and grab the laptop that is set aside for the Account Managers.

"Do you?" He asks playfully. "I can have Amanda do it if you're afraid for your safety."

Amanda is a self described "butch-lesbian", and she's not afraid of anything, as far as I can tell. She has saved me from many a creepy customer. She almost has a sixth sense about it, and has, more than once, magically appeared from her office just in time to intercept a regular who once managed to spend 30 minutes at my counter just to make a $20 withdrawal and a long winded plea for me to go out with him, despite having been told no on multiple occasions.

"Don't be ridiculous." I say as I assertively leave his office, my legs only slightly wobbling under me. "I've totally got this."

***

She is sitting behind the desk, with her hands clasped calmly in front of her. She locks eyes with me through the glass as I walk towards the room.

"This is why you're supposed to sit in one of the other chairs" I mumble under my breath as I walk across the lobby towards her. But I smile and avert my gaze to the handle of the door as a more comfortable focal point.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting" I say as I enter the room and gesture a suggestion for her to move into one of the two chairs that faces the desk. I am determined to take the power back. She holds my gaze with that damn half-smile, totally unmoving. I give up and sit in one of the chairs. I scoot unceremoniously closer to the desk so I can set up the laptop.

Why isn't she saying anything, I ask myself. What is she doing? Doesn't she know how unsettling she is?

I stumble through getting her personal information so I can pull up her account. She has just over $90,000. Far less than what's in the vault but certainly more than I've ever had to withdraw in cash for just one customer. I send a quick message to Martin, so he has a heads up that we'll need to get it from the back when I'm done.

"I am sorry to hear you've decided to close your account today" I read from the script in our training material. I continue, "to ensure that I am offering you the best service possible, may I ask you a few questions before we proceed?"

"Of course. I figured you'd need to check a few boxes and get a signature or two. What have you got for me?" Her directness disarms me. I feel like someone is walking ice cold fingers up my spine.

"Let's see here..." I say. It takes all of my focus to make sure that I am swallowing, blinking, and breathing like normal. But it's not normal to have to think about those things, so I feel certain that I am not being "normal" at all.

More time than I realize must have passed, because she interrupts my thoughts with "If you've got the questions in front of you, can I just look at them and give you my answers?" She offers, pointing at the back of the laptop screen.

"Yes. They're all right here. It's just a couple of yes or no questions to make sure that you're not under duress and that you understand that withdrawing the full amount will close your account with us completely."

She pushes back from the desk and walks around to where I'm sitting. She leans over my shoulder and so she can read the form for herself. She's not touching me at all, but I can feel her breath on my cheek and in my ear. Every single hair on my neck and arms is standing straight up, as if reaching for her.

I don't think I breathe at all until she reaches up, points at the questions, and says, "No, I am not under duress. And yes, I understand that this will close my account. Where do I sign?" She stands up and returns to her seat behind the desk.

I plug in the signature pad and push it towards her. She signs it and cheekily says, "Pleasure doing business with ya'!" As she tosses the tethered pen casually onto the desk.

"I am assuming you'd like it in large bills, is that correct?" I ask, as our final point of clarification.

"Yes. Please." The way she separates the words sends a new pulse through me.

Resolved to stay composed, I quickly say "You got it. I'll go get your cash!" I close the laptop and begin to stand. "Give me about ten minutes, there's a whole set of procedures for opening the vault during business hours."

"Take your time." She says to me, once again.

I find myself feeling almost angry about how calm she's being. This is all of her money, as far as I can assume. It's none of my business why she's taking it out, and maybe it's unprofessional of me to ask, but I find myself feeling particularly curious.

With one hand on the door, I dig up just enough nerve to turn back and say, "It's none of my business, and you absolutely do not have to answer, but what in the world are you going to do with this much cash?"

"I'm taking it to Vegas." She says, as if this isn't a shocking thing to say.

"Stop it. That's not real." I say, with far too much sass. My eyes are too wide, and when I catch myself with my mouth agape I begin to laugh.

"I have to say, I really enjoy the faces you make when you're taken by surprise." she says as she leans all the way forward, resting all of her weight onto her forearms with her jaw pointed directly at me as if to challenge me to question her.

"It's your money." I say, in an attempt to sound as nonchalant as she does. "But it's like all of your money..." I say with a very questioning tone.

"That it is." She says with a full smile, as she leans back and kicks her feet up on the desk.

I can't help myself, though, and I ask, "Aren't you scared you'll lose it all?"

"The way I see it, one of two things is going to happen. I'll come home with significantly more money, or I'll come back right back with nothing, back at square one." She takes her feet off of the desk and stands up. She is significantly taller than me, I notice for the first time. She takes two steps to close the distance between us, and quietly says "And I'm not scared of square one anymore."

Despite the fact that she's a full foot from me I feel as though she's pressed me up against the door.

"That sounds... amazing, actually." I say once I can't find a more professional response. "Excuse me." I step out of the door before she can say anything else.

***

I make a bee-line for Martin's office, counting my steps to calm myself. "Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten..." I find myself silently thanking the gods that the chairs that face his desk have their back facing the wall of conference rooms.

He smiles at me as I collapse into the seats across from him. "You okay?" He asks as if he really does not think that I am okay.

"Don't look at me like that, she can see you!" I beg, desperate to hold onto the strands of self-respect I have left.

"I've just never had to get so much cash from the vault before." I say, as a way to feebly explain my nerves. I try to covertly stuff tissues into the armpits of my shirt to soak up the sweat that I can feel dripping down my skin, but he just stares me down, to make it clear that I'm not being even remotely stealthy.

"If you say so." He murmurs. "I've got the keys, let's go." He waves me up from the chair and guides me out the door. He pops his head into Amanda's office to tell her to watch the front since we are going to the back to get into the vault.

As soon as we are out of view of everyone in the glass aquariums I slide down the wall until I am fully seated with my head between my knees.

"I think I'm getting sick, or something." I say without raising my head.

"What's that?" He asks, as if he can't hear me.

"I'm coming down with something." I say again, this time raising my head to make sure he can hear me.

He holds my gaze for a moment, as if considering making another joke. But then he slides down the wall next to me and gently places his hand at the back of my head in what feels like a fatherly gesture until he shoves my face back between my knees and says "I think you might actually be a lot gay."

I press my knees into my temples and take three really deep breaths. With my head still down I say "I just need to get this lady her money. This is crazy. She just wants her money. What is wrong with me?"

All of the humor is gone from Martin's face when I manage to find his eyes again. "Let's go get her money then, shall we?" He helps me off of the ground, brushes imaginary dust from my shoulders, and squeezes my hands with three quick pulses before heading to the vault.

Silently, he bags up the money for me and closes the vault. He gently instructs me to take a couple of minutes to gather myself before I go back to the front, and leaves me to it. I stand stupidly with the nondescript bag of cash in my hands.

It's not as bulky as you'd think, 90k in one-hundreds. I try to focus on the very particular smell that cash has, grounding myself in its predictability. I repeat to myself that I've done this type of transaction a million times, and there is no reason for me to be nervous. I plaster a business-casual smile on my face and leave the safety of the cave-like back for the sunny front lobby.

***

"Thank you again for your patience" I say, like a pre-programmed robot, as I walk back into the conference room. I set the bag on the calendar desk pad in front of her. "It's all here. I'll give you a few minutes alone to count for yourself."

Before I can leave she says, "I trust you!" and scoops it into her backpack without a second thought.

Unsettled by the casual way she's handling what must be her life's savings, I find myself unsure of what to do from here. I had expected to have a couple of minutes to prepare for how to end our transaction. "Are you sure?" It's the best I can do with such limited blood flow to my head. I need to sit back down.

As if she could hear my thoughts she said, "Why don't you sit down?"

Grateful for the direction, I once again find myself seated in one of the customer's chairs. I search the training scripts in my mind for the final question we have to ask before we end each customer interaction and finally find it, "Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"Yes, actually." She says as if she was hoping I'd ask. "Pick a number between 0 and 36."

"Why?" I ask, "This feels like a question with a 'right answer' and those types of questions freak me out."

"What if there is no such thing as right and wrong answers, and we are all just walking around high-strung for nothing?" She says, instead of answering my question. "What if we find ourselves on our deathbed, in who knows how long, having done all of the supposed 'right' things. We're still going to die just like everyone else... right?"

"I guess" I say, unconvinced.

"Roulette" she offers.

"What?" I find myself caught off-guard.

"In Vegas. I'm going to play roulette. You can bet on a number between 0 and 36. Tell me what number to bet on."

"That is far too much pressure," I reply. But I don't make a move towards standing, despite my refusal to play the game.

"Fair enough. What day of the month were you born?"

I hesitate as if I might be walking into a trap. "The seventeenth..." I offer slowly as if it's a question.

"17 it is. Thanks, Lovely." She has her backpack on her shoulder and she's out the door before I know what's happened.

Dumbstruck I turn in my chair and watch as she walks out the front door. I stay in this position until she is out of my line of sight and I'm sure she's not coming back.

"She just left!" I say to an empty room, not sure of what I thought was going to happen. I find that I'm fighting back tears for some reason so I face forward in my chair, thankful for the first time that I'm in the chairs facing away from the windows into the lobby.

I'm not sure how long I've been sitting there, but the motion detector lights turn off. I stand up, brush myself off, and go back to my assigned spot behind the counter. I look at the clock on the wall, and feel grateful that my shift is over in an hour. Martin walks behind me and squeezes my shoulder. He whispers, "You're going to be okay."

But I don't think I am.