I met Candy years ago when I worked as a manager for a consulting firm. She was one of several minorities employed there. On her first day they brought her around and introduced her to everyone, which was customary for new employees. She smiled, shook my hand, and said hi. I remember how perfect her teeth were, straight as the ivories on a piano and gleaming white (I’ve always had a thing for good teeth, though I’m not sure why). Later, management asked if I’d mind if she worked at a spare desk in my department until they finished organizing a space for her. No problem.

We hit it off. She was younger than me, asked a lot of intelligent questions about the company and genuinely seemed interested in learning. She sought my opinion regarding events occurring in her life, and I offered what advice I could. She told me whimsical stories about her past, and we laughed together, were silly at times.

She was articulate and vulnerable and real, a breath of fresh air in a stagnate setting. I tend to be a private person, but found myself opening up to her more and more over time. She told me she’d dreamed of being a dermatologist, because she was fascinated by skin and people’s complexions. I told her I was intrigued by teeth, had thought about being a dentist at one time.

She was very attentive. If I was working late I’d get a text from her telling me I should go home, that I was giving too much to a company that didn’t appreciate it. We looked out for each other, ate lunch together when we could, checked on each other when we were sick, missed each other when we were on vacation, were glad to see each other when we returned. I keep very few close friends in my life, they take too much time, are too much effort, but I made an exception for Candy. They moved her to her new office, but she didn’t like the color of the walls, so I stayed late one evening to help her paint them. We connected on social media.

One day she complained another manager had made negative comments about a group of ‘minority’ clients we worked for. The manager had complained the group was continually slow about turning in their financial statements, a comment Candy said proved he was racist. I disagreed. I told her I’d worked with the ‘minority’ group before and knew how frustrating they could be, but she protested, saying the manager was a prick, and she couldn’t stand him. I let it drop.

Weeks later she told me her boyfriend had slammed her against a wall in a state of rage, choking her until she thought she was going to pass out.

I was furious, wanted to drive to their apartment and beat the crap out of him. “What did you do?” I asked.

“I told him he was hurting me, and he eventually stopped.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No.”

“I hope you’re going to break up with him?”

She frowned. “Of course not. We’re planning on getting married someday.”

Months later she confided to me she was a cancer survivor, the youngest person in America to survive a very unique strain of leukemia. I searched the internet, but couldn’t find anything about it.

One day she told me she couldn’t remember anything about her life from the age of eight to fourteen.

I frowned. “How is that possible?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t remember any of it.”

“What about your family? Do your Mom and Dad know?”

“They say they don’t.”

I went home that evening and called a psychologist friend of mine. “Is that possible?” I asked.

“Could be,” he said. “If she received some kind of blunt trauma, an auto accident or something like that. There’ve been cases where it’s taken that long to recover, but surely someone would know if that happened. More likely it’s selective amnesia, if you believe her at all.”

“What’s selective amnesia?”

“It happens to people who are subjected to abuse over an extended period of time. Instead of dealing with the trauma and stress, the mind blocks it like it never happened.”

“You mean like kids who are raped and molested?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?”

“You never know until you run the tests.”

The next day I asked Candy about it again. “Have you ever spoken to a doctor?”

“What difference would it make?”

“For God’s sake, Candy, you lost six years of your life.”

She shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

Our company attended a national convention, and many of us were asked to participate, Candy and myself included. We all stayed at the same hotel that week.

The first night Candy called me from her room in tears, telling me one of the managers was stalking her, calling and leaving messages on her phone repeatedly, wanting to come up to her room. I told her she could hang out in my room if she’d feel safer, and she did. She spent most of the night there talking until we both fell asleep. The following morning, with tears in her eyes, she begged me not to tell anyone what had happened. I finally agreed.

That is until we arrived back at the office and our Human Resource manager called and asked if I knew why Candy had tried to book a different flight back, different than the manager she said was stalking her. Also, somebody had mentioned she’d spent part of the night in my room, which was definitely against company policy. She was my friend, and I’d made a promise, so I squirmed and sweated and blew it off as one big misunderstanding.

That evening I told my wife about Candy and all that had taken place.

She looked at me suspiciously. “You better be careful,” she said.

Shortly thereafter, Candy declared our H.R. Manager was a bitch and two faced. She said she didn’t know how I or anyone else could stand her. She added our CEO was a doofus and a loser. She said she could have him and several other managers wrapped around her finger if she wanted to.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“We girls have our ways.”

“Don’t say that, Candy. That’s beneath you.”

“I’m just saying if I ever wanted to get ahead out here I could. I see the way they look at me.”

That was the first time I felt uncomfortable talking with her.

A year or so later the company made the decision to eliminate my position. They were decent about it, gave me a severance package, and walked me out. I texted Candy immediately and told her what had happened. She walked outside, found me sitting in my truck in the parking lot and climbed inside.

I told her it was a good thing. I was burned out and had been wanting to leave the company for some time, but was too lazy to get off my butt and find something else. This would force me to do what I should’ve done a long time ago. What I didn’t tell her was I felt I’d be abandoning her if I ever did. She told me she’d miss me.

The next morning she called while I was still in bed, telling me she’d been reprimanded by H.R. for joining me in my truck after they’d let me go. She reiterated how much she hated the ‘bitch’ in charge of H.R. as well as the ‘idiot’ CEO. I told her I was sorry I’d gotten her in trouble.

Weeks later I was still receiving calls from her each morning, asking me how I was doing, if I was staying positive, etc. I told her I was fine, that I appreciated her calls, but she didn’t have to do keep doing that. Still, it was nice having a friend who cared.

One day it all stopped. She quit calling, texting, and unfriended me from all her social media accounts. I heard a rumor the company had suggested anyone who was connected to past employees via social media was at risk of losing their job, but I don’t know if that’s true, or even legal for that matter.

A year or so ago, a friend of mine still working there mentioned Candy had finally gotten married to the boyfriend. I hope they’re happy.

Now that time has passed, now that I’ve distanced myself from all that happened, can view things from a different perspective, I’ve realized more about myself than I ever cared to.

I thought about her the other day, her perfect teeth glistening beneath lips shiny with lip gloss, wondered what became of her, where she’s at in life? I honestly don’t know what happened, what’s true and what’s false, or if I ever will. Someone said life brings different experiences, episodes, people and situations into our lives to make us grow. I guess that’s true.