Every office has its bright lights. Mine includes a precious few, which makes the departure of each one bittersweet indeed.

In this case, as with almost every one before her, a much-loved co-worker is moving on to something better.

Like prisoners watching a fellow inmate make parole, we share her joy. All of us are waiting our turn to take that exit interview, gather the meager belongings and handful of change with which we arrived and let that heavy, steel side door clang shut behind us one last time. We're all on good behavior until that day arrives, knowing we need the good references, the benefits and the paycheck so we can smoothly transition into a brave, new world.

Watching a coworker leave gives us all hope and restores our confidence that it can indeed be done. But like Ellis in Shawshank Redemption, those of us who remain feel the loss.

The parolee, Molly, is a staff photographer with whom I've worked for three years. She isn't hanging around and risking the hellish recidivism of a rehire. She's crossing several state lines and getting far the hell away from Dodge.

Yeah, yeah, I know – she's moving someplace cool to visit. But really, why can't she just conduct her graduate school studies here in Colorado? Just what kind of sicko comes up with a scholarship that requires you move to California to cash in on it? Besides an overabundance of beautiful people, beautiful beaches and a fading but once-beautiful governor, where's the appeal?

Molly is more than 10 years my junior but one of those people who attracts friends of all ages and types and with whom age is irrelevant. I consider her a good friend. So does everyone else.

Like me, she tested as an ESFJ Meyers-Briggs personality, but is far more true to type than I. The description that accompanies this personality type is Molly: "Warm, friendly and affirming by nature, generally upbeat and popular, people are drawn to them. They are the guardians of birthdays, holidays and celebrations."

I can think of few people into whose category I'd rather be lumped. But she is the ESFJ Classic. I am ESFJ Dark, a far moodier version who manages to be a party-throwing, spotlight-hogging, hostess-with-the-mostest in some situations, a completely withdrawn - and often sullen - misfit in others.

Whatever. Molly tolerates my occasional social challenges well. She has ridden with me through some choppy waters in the last year, taking my side without question when even I didn't know if my decisions were for the best.

She is quick with a quip, a shoulder or a shot.

You could enter the office a stranger and find Molly. Follow the laughter to her desk. It's a too-rare sound in our office, an alarming and no-doubt annoying reminder to many there that work and fun really can go hand in hand. And it most often radiates from her desk, around which one or two people, often a small knot of them, gather.

Molly always takes the time to smile, banter, share fashion observations, hangover remedies and unvarnished gossip.

She's also situated en route to the bathroom, which gives me an easy and frequent excuse to take a social break.

I know that for a while after she leaves, my throat will ache a bit every time I pass her desk, and I will baselessly resent whomever next takes that seat.

Ideally, we'll get a new and equally fascinating inmate soon, but such creatures rarely are sucked into our strange little vortex. When they are, they're spat back to the normal world in short order. For us, the left behind, the only course is to follow the rules, be model employees and wait for the day when we can follow Molly's footsteps into the staggering brightness of the free world.

And just like in Shawshank, I'll start that new life with the fat wad of cash Molly's leaving under a rock for me. Hey, we all need our little fantasies.

Meanwhile, the bright lights that remain will keep one another amused, and our solemn co-workers annoyed.

And if we listen carefully, I bet we'll soon hear the faint echo of her new friends' laughter emanating from the West Coast.