Having zero expectations? That’s super easy being invisible. No one expects anything from you, plus you don’t have to worry about what you do or if it’s right or wrong. You fill up space in just the right way. There is no perfect occasion to wear an appropriate outfit. Jeans? Sure. Leggings? Absolutely. Unfortunate shorts, the ones that leave nothing to the imagination? You bet! Nothing you wear makes a difference because no one sees you anyway.

If you can’t be seen, is your voice mute, too?

“Harriet? You awake over there?” She stared out the window, watching the fluffy cotton cloud drift by. Today was landscaping day, the sound of lawnmowers and weedeaters buzzing in the early morning sunlight. Each landscaping crew member had the same uniform – long khaki Carhart pants and a fluorescent yellow t-shirt. She watched a young man struggle to pull on the starter rope of the weedeater. His supervisor, or another man on the crew, Harriet wasn’t sure, came over and helped him get it started. No one was embarrassed, and no one cared that it didn’t start right away. Harriet noticed that he slapped the kid on the shoulder, smiling, the kid smiling back and returning to the job at hand – stripping the curb of the weeds peeking out from the concrete. “Harriet?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I’m here.” She noticed the screen had a long line of the letter ‘Z’ in her document. Harriet was taking notes for her boss, Felicia Yanica. Felicia repeated her last sentence. “Sorry,” Harriet deleted the line of Z’s from the screen, returning to what her boss told her.

“We’re going to need to hire a storyteller, Harriet.” She looked up from her notes, a subtle glare directed at Felicia. Harriet’s frustration lay in telling Felicia for months that she was a storyteller. She wrote countless pieces of collateral material for her firm, several of which were highlighted by their clients as the best stories anyone ever wrote on their behalf. Harriet had worked diligently to secure her position as a creative storyteller for her organization, dominated by men, often overlooked because she refused to wear pants or look less feminine to get more attention. Instead, she wore modest clothing, leaving nothing for any man to imagine and still allowing her to feel sexy and beautiful.

“You know, Felicia, I could do that for you,” Harriet remembered when she was hired as Felicia’s assistant, the one job she interviewed for after the organization she was working for closed because the founder developed long-term side effects from COVID-19, having succumbed to the virus four times in less than three years. With a small staff, it was impossible to keep her on, even though they wouldn’t officially close the doors for another two years. But keeping on a full-time storyteller without any more stories to tell? That wasn’t a sound financial decision.

Felicia laughed. “You? You are my assistant. You can’t write stories and care for my needs, too.”

“Then hire a new personal assistant, and let me write the stories for you.” Harriet knew she was taking a chance. Talking back to Felicia wasn’t well received. Most of her staff reeled at the mere idea of speaking out. No one else’s ideas were accepted other than Felicia’s. Harriet wondered how Felicia’s business grew with her in the driver’s seat as CEO.

Felicia shook her head no. “That’s a terrible idea. I need to find a storyteller, one of the best in the literary world. Cost is no issue.”

“Then I could do it for you.”

“Right.” She continued to ignore Harriet. “Okay then. Next?” Harriet rolled her eyes, took a deep breath, and returned to taking notes for Felicia feeling invisible.