Becky, Part 7. The missing dish, and other changes.

The box of crackers sat on the little table -  off to the side from the main conference table - alongside of what was left of the store-bought clear plastic-covered cake.  Beside that, sat a short stack of logo'd plastic plates and a few matching napkins, and a few remaining plastic utensils.  A partially opened bag of chips leaned upon the crackers.  

The sorry-imitation-of-crystal plate, which had contained the sea-salad was nowhere...in either sight, nor smell.  Becky had asked a co-worker, who had attended Friday's little party, if "they" had seen it.  Apparently not.   Becky wished she had used another dish.  Not that the missing dish was of any monetary value.  On the contrary, it had been purchased at a store, called "Kmart."  She still recalled the day, her mom put the holiday left-over item in the cart; Becky had been in either second or third grade, and they were on their way to ... she couldn't recall, but probably over to uncle pete and aunt cheryl's.  Dad was on his way back from a run, and they'd meet up.  Nothing really significant about the day...just another day of growing up in a family where dad and mom actually liked each other, and liked their three kids.  

All said, and Becky couldn't put her finger on it, but that plate held sentimental value, and she certainly never imagined it would go missing; seriously, who would want it?  It wasn't even fake glass - let alone crystal.

Becky had meant to remove the items on friday, following the party, but some work things had come up.  She glanced at the clock, it read 8:24.  She loaded the items into a mail cart and wiped down the little table.  Upon exiting the conference room, two of the meeting's attendees were arriving.  As Becky wheeled the contents towards the breakroom, out of the corner of her eye, she met Daisy's not-so-usual dismissive stare.  But this time, there was something else - something far from friendly - from those painted just-ever-so eyes.

One thing for sure: Daisy didn't buy her cosmetics from anywhere near a "Kmart."

Another thing for sure - as she wheeled the now empty cart by Frank's now vacant little office - she missed him.  Frank was one of the few people who was ... well, real.  Realness was becoming less and less.  Unsurprisingly, realness was found amongst the becoming fewer - and far betweener - absense of that certain little tell-tale upload mark.  

The one either upon the right hand, or upon the forehead.