 I'm cold. My back is hurting from being pressed against this building. I sit motionless atop the wet, red-brick sidewalk. My pants are soaked and my arm is sore, but I don't care; I don't care about much of anything anymore. I can barely think, still fogged from the poison in my blood; my world has been upended, and so much faster than I thought possible. I have nothing- no job, no money, no future, no escape. I've lost everything, the love of my life, and my daughter along with him, and I would be destined for prison, or worse, were I to be...
How had it come to this?
I had a good job and a good home and a beautiful little baby girl who loved me unconditionally. And I had Charlie, my sweet Charlie; he cared for me and supported me and wanted me to succeed, even when I so earnestly didn't deserve his affection. It should have been more than enough to keep me moving, to keep me right, to keep me sane, to push me forward.
It should have been enough...
I don't know why I didn't let him be there for me when I needed him most, when he was able to help me, when there was something from me worth saving. I don't know why I failed them so completely. I don't know why I let myself become what I now am.
...what have I done...
The rain is coming down harder now, each drop larger than the one before it. I look up, but the water keeps me from seeing the menacing sky, illuminated only briefly by a silent crash of light. My hair is fallen and becoming matted to my forehead. I can feel the stain spread across my chest, and the water streaking down my cheeks in rivers, as though the world were crying in my stead. I must look an awful mess; and yet I will look so much worse in so short a time, as I squeeze the rubber grip in my hand, resting the steel comfortably against my thigh. The barrel is still warm from being so recently in use.
...I can still see his eyes...
Odd, I think, to end here, alone in the rain...
Everything starts with Charlie.
His smile, and nothing more, was more than enough to brighten even the worst of days. I could come home from work, beaten and tired, defeated, and his happiness could lift my spirit to levels unmatched by most any drug. Even my muscles, aching from hours in a non-ergonomic chair, fingers mashing on a non-ergonomic keyboard, seemed to loosen at the sight of his exposed teeth. It certainly helped, of course, that he worked from the comfort of home and didn't have to endure the rage of thickened traffic and a smog-filled, angry city, but the reasons for his capacity to always smile was never a concern of mine. The smile itself was all that mattered, my religion and salvation when nothing seemed real anymore.
I saw that smile the day before it all fell apart...
"John!" he exclaimed as I walked through the front door. I dropped by briefcase by the table just inside the frame and gave him a ferocious hug as he came bursting into the foyer, eyes ablaze and arms outstretched. Just the warmth through my shirt made my heart settle and my eyes gently close, content, satisfied. "I have amazing news!"
"What's that?"
"My father called me today."
I pulled back, flabbergasted. "He called you?"
"Yes, he did!"
"That's..." I had trouble finding the right words for such a thing. "That's wonderful!" It was enough.
"And there's more, believe it or not." And I nodded, waiting. "He said he's going to come to the wedding!"
My eyes flared, my breath stolen, my heart sent faster. "Charlie, that's unbelievable!"
"He even seemed a little excited. I think mom might have had something to do with it, but it doesn't really matter to me so long as he comes. He even asked if he could host the rehearsal dinner."
"I'm speechless." And I very nearly was. "It will be nice to finally get to meet him."
"You'll like him, I'm sure of it."
"If he's anything like you, I have no doubt of that." And he rested his head against my shoulder, and I could almost see the glorious glow of excitement emanating from him. I enjoyed seeing him so happy, although I couldn't help the mild pang of jealousy that was brewing.
"Daddy!"
I turned just quickly enough to see our daughter come flying down the hallway, arms outstretched and brimming with exuberance. It took her only a handful of steps to reach me, in that typical childhood bounding that adults so envied, and all forty pounds of her crashed into my side with more force than I was comfortable accepting. It was enough to stagger me, but I quickly recovered and picked her up into the air and back down to my chest for one of the sweetest moments life has to offer.
"Cassie!" I exclaimed as we gripped each other.
"I missed you today, daddy!"
My heart melted, as it did every evening. "I missed you, too, sweetheart!" And she pulls away from me, eyes fierce.
"I'm coloring."
"Are you?"
She nodded with vigor. "It's a dinosaur."
"You're coloring a dinosaur?"
"He's red now."
"What kind of dinosaur is red?" I ask, my lips pursued, goading her, wishing for some silly response I could treasure. Kids were always willing to offer small mementos of their whimsy, a true solace in the mind of an adult trudging through a life of routine.
"My dinosaur is red. His name is Paul."
I stifle a laugh, but Charlie failed to do so in the background. "Paul the dinosaur?"
"Do you want to see?"
"I'd love to see, sweetie!"
And she wriggled free from my grip and fell to the floor with a crashing thud and seemingly in synchronous with her landing bounded back down the hallway and into her bedroom. "Come on, daddy," she shouts as she rounds the corner, never actually looking to see if I was following, and likely not truly caring much.
But I was of course following.
That evening, we three sat together on the couch in the living room, eating dinner quietly while watching something of little consequence on the television. We knew it would have been better to separate dinner and entertainment, but youthful habits are always difficult to break and it seemed to mostly work for us.
We had lasagna that night. I don't know why I remember that (it certainly wasn't particularly memorable), but I remember it just the same. Afterwards we sat together and watched several animated films until Cassie fell asleep tucked underneath my arm. I remember her little heartbeat drumming against my ribs, her mouth wide open and breathing deeply, her faint scar more visible in the awkward lighting. A gentle stream of drool was beginning to form with each fervent exhale, and every other breath she would snore. It was a most adorable vision. Picking her up and carrying her into her bedroom, arms outstretched over my neck and draped across my back, I felt a line of drool fall on my shoulder. I smile, and find it odd that such things are only cute when your own children are the cause.
Laying her down atop her bed and gently tucking her under her comforter, I kiss her softly on the forehead and head back into the living room where Charlie was sitting in the same position that I had left him in, staring forward at the flickering images.
"How was she today?"
He turned to face me, a half smile. "She was very well behaved. Much better."
"That's good to hear!"
"She's been improving dramatically, actually."
"That's good! I worry about her."
"I do, too."
"Did they check in today?"
"Not today." And he said nothing further. A sore subject, so I left it alone. I reached the couch and sat beside him, and he leaned into me as I stretched my arms around his neck. I began to rub his shoulder with the tips of my fingers, and he moaned gently and shifted deeper into the crook of my stomach, fitting almost perfectly. "How was work?" I asked him.
"Uneventful."
"Is that good?" It was often hard to tell.
"No, definitely not good. Orders have been slow lately, but I just don't think it's worth spending the money to advertise. I'm sure they'll pick up, though, they always seem to eventually." Always the optimist. And he smiled up at me, his eyes an odd and stunning blue in the dim and uneven light glowing from the television that we were both now ignoring. "How was work for you?"
"Actually quite busy."
"Is that good?" He mirrored my question with a gentle smirk, and I responded in kind.
"For me, that is definitely good. With the loss of the last few clients and the lack of new contracts, things have been really uneasy around the office. So getting such a busy week is a sign that things are finally rebounding. We badly need a real recovery."
"Has it really been that bad?"
"It really has been. They've had to layoff some of the non-essential staff, which has been tough."
"That's awful!"
"Yeah," I respond, not really meaning it. "Maybe they'll re-hire them when everything turns around."
"I certainly hope so."
And he turned back toward the glow, eyes fixed; I don't remember what was on, but it didn't really matter. What I do remember was the feeling of his hands, drifting, falling from my shoulder, down my chest, his fingertips gently running over each button of my shirt.
"I missed you today."
"I missed you, too," and I ran my hand through his hair, feeling it mash softly between my fingertips, my palm coming to his forehead. His hand fell further still...
It never took long for us. The television was off, the house shut down for the night, and we were both in bed, tired and a little sweaty, winded, both faces buried into our respective pillows and our breathing easing. His arm was draped across my back, his fingers caressing the side of my hip; I could have thought he was seducing me were he not previously successful already.
"I love you," he breathed, face still partially covered by the ripples of his pillow, only one eye visible in the dim light shining through the window from the brilliant moon.
"I love you, too," I smiled, taking my hand and resting it against his chin. We were both asleep before we had a chance to think anything more.
The next morning was nothing special. I awoke well before Charlie and got ready for work. The shower was as typical, far too hot to be enjoyed but nonetheless invigorating. My breakfast was also typical, a bagel with cream cheese and a helping of organic green tea. I remember the tea only; I always remember my tea. For as long as memory served me, I have been able to remember the sweet aroma and taste of a good strong cup of tea.
My commute was normal; a little slow in the typical congestion points but largely problem free. I remember it being well enough to serve an arrival to the office parking lot with near twenty minutes to spare and finding it less full than usual, especially up front where everyone normally battled for a spot. It's curious what little details you can remember on days you can never let yourself forget.
Into the office, I knew immediately that something was wrong, but I didn't know what nor did I speculate. But for years, Alice sat comfortably and adorably behind the front desk and greeted me exuberantly as I entered. I couldn't even remember, despite real effort, the last day she was out sick or on vacation. She was a true workaholic that loved her job and saw no reason to leave it. And yet today she was conspicuously absent.
I walked passed her desk and the long row of cubicles and into my small office against the far wall. There, inside, sat my immediate superior, named Ben. He was thankfully not in my chair, which showed at least what respect he may have had for me, despite his constant teasing against my lifestyle. He always found himself hilarious, and I laughed along with him to avoid any friction.
I regret that now.
"Please have a seat, John." He motioned toward my desk; odd, I thought, for a visitor. He didn't even greet me.
"Is everything okay, Ben?"
"Unfortunately, no, it's not," was his only response as I took my seat, adjusting my jacket and folding my hands across the top of my desk.
"What's the problem?" I finally asked. He grunted as he also adjusted his jacket and fidgeted in his seat.
"As you surely know, the company has been in some trouble for a few months now."
"I know that contracts have been down, yes."
"And we've lost many of our oldest clients."
"I know."
"It's been rather challenging, to say the least. You know, of course, of our first round of layoffs."
"I do. It's been a very bumpy year."
"It's been a little more than just 'bumpy,' John."
I nodded. "I'm sure everything will turn around."
"I certainly hope so. Unfortunately, a lot more of us won't be here to see that turnaround, I'm afraid."
"Oh?" Were they planning more layoffs?
"I'm afraid so."
"Who else is getting laid off?"
I felt myself start to sweat as Ben shifted again in his seat, visibly uncomfortable; my chairs were not uncomfortable. "Well," and he loudly coughed. "The board members voted to cut back on some of our management staff. While they know it will be tough on those who remain to pick up the extra work, they say it's necessary for the survival of the company. And I'm afraid you're one of the those being let go."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm so sorry, John."
I remember my skin feeling cold. My heart most assuredly skipped a beat or two, or more, and there was now a torrent of sweat along my brow. He spoke so coldly, matter-of-fact, unemotional, detached. I couldn't tell if he was deflecting or genuinely uncaring. "Excuse me?" I repeated myself. It was all I could say. I didn't really need any clarification; I certainly didn't want to hear him say it again. But again he did.
"I'm afraid you've been let go, John. I'm sorry."
"Effective when?"
"Immediately."
I sat up in my chair and rested my arms on the desk. "You want me to leave right now?"
Ben sighed and cupped his hands under his chin, rubbing his facial stubble that was suspiciously thick. "I don't like this, John. I've been sick over it for days-"
"Days?" And I realized all at once that this was not an emergency decision. They must have had meetings for some time to have been able to avoid suspicion, to make a decision, and still have several days worth of time to "be sick" over the outcome. I imagine he probably knew of this even before the first set of layoffs. Perhaps they were hoping for an improvement? Were they expecting something that I wasn't providing? Who else was being laid off?
I peered out the sliver of a window beside my door and into the office space and around the wall where the office managers were and took notice that a lot of them were still occupied, the men and women typing away and sipping their coffee; carefree, it seemed. "Who else is being let go?"
"You know I can't tell you that, John."
I pointed to the door. "It seems as though everyone else is still here, working." My voice was shaken, confused and a little angry. Ben must have taken notice, because he adjusted his tie despite it not being in any way out of place.
"You're the first one I've told."
"But there are more?"
"Yes. You aren't going to be the last."
"Is the entire unit being let go?"
"No."
"Then who are you keeping?"
"John..." His tone was pleading with me to stop asking questions, but I was compelled to press on, to know more, to understand what was happening. I don't know what I was trying to accomplish, and in hindsight I probably should have just stood up and walked out. But I couldn't help myself, I needed to know everything.
"Ben, you have to be straight with me; this is my life you're talking about here, this is not just a job to me. I have a family; a daughter. This is my life," I repeated.
"And I understand that, but you're not the only man with a family I have to talk to today, John." He kept saying my name, which irritated me.
There were three managers with children, I knew.
"Who else?"
"John, please!"
"When was this decision made?"
A pause and a cough: "On Monday."
"And you waited until today to tell me?" It was Friday. They always waited until Friday. I remembered thinking back to the last person I had to let go myself; his name was Jason. He was smart and energetic and very young, only a year out of college. He was devastated when I told him. My heart broke as I remember being just as cold and clinical as Ben was now as I spoke with him.
"We didn't want an incident."
An incident? What incident would they expect from me? Did they think so little of me? I was then truly angry.
"What incident did you expect out of me, Ben? I have never been anything but the consummate professional in all my years here!"
"Yes, you have been."
"I think a little respect might have been warranted."
"John," he breathed. "It wasn't my decision, John. I'm a messenger, okay? I'm just a messanger."
And my eyes fell to my desk. The room fell silent, still, pregnant. Ben didn't adjust his jacket or his tie or shuffle in his seat this time. He only sat there, staring at me, waiting for me, watching me. Finally I lifted my head and smiled, as forcibly and fake as I could muster. "Talk to me about severance?"
"Four weeks."
I gently closed my eyes. Four weeks was a paltry compensation. Me and Charlie had very little savings and could probably not live more than two months on the combination given our current lifestyle. I felt my hands start to shake as I reached to my forehead to wipe away a small bead of sweat that was making its way down my cheek. "I need more than that," I whispered.
"It's not really negotiable," he answered as he adjusted his position once again. I had made him quite uncomfortable suddenly, which oddly made me pleased.
"Four weeks pay is not enough, Ben."
"We can't give you more, John. I wanted to, believe me. I lobbied for more, not just for you, but for everyone, but the board was adamant that we just don't have the capital to afford anything more than that." I banged the table and rotated away from my desk. "There are some less senior managers that aren't getting any. Consider yourself lucky."
I swiveled back to face him. "Lucky?"
A quick, awkward pause, "yes, lucky."
"I'll remember that."
"I will write you an excellent recommendation, I can promise that, John." My name, repeated so many times. I was starting to hate the very sound of it.
"Yeah."
It was all I could say; I had no more words. Ben sat still for another moment before rising and opening my office door. And there he paused, stared intently at the doorknob, never looked back in my direction. "You have until the end of the day." And he sighed and put his hands to his hips. "I'm truly very sorry, John."
"I know."
And he left.
And alone I sat, my comfortable chair facing a vacant office that no longer belonged to me with no work to do and no where to go and nothing to say. My mind was a mess, unfocused, my thoughts a blur. I had no idea what to do. So, for at least a little while, I just sat there. I let everyone still in the office, most of which undoubtedly knew what was happening to me long before I did, watch me remain motionless and dazed. I'm sure some of them felt sorry for me, but many more probably didn't care much. Some may have felt fear for their own job security, and I'm sure some started to update their resume before the day was out, just to be safe. But everyone, regardless, continued about their day. Outside my own mind, nothing in my world had changed much.
Everything carried on without me.
When I gathered the energy to stand, I collected my things and left the office for the final time without so much as a goodbye to anyone. Ben looked up from his work as I walked across the floor but didn't rise to meet me. He just watched. Out the door and into the parking lot, the warm and sunny world seemed strangely cruel.
I didn't go home.
I went to a bar.
I knew I was making a mistake, but I didn't care.
"Give me something strong," I asked the bartender before I even took my seat. I needed something, anything, to kill the stress and the shaking. I needed to calm, the night promised to be a horror.
"How strong are we talking?" The bartender had a thick accent; it made him a little difficult to understand.
"How strong do you have?"
He stepped back and looked me up and down, a wry smile forming. "Rough day?"
"Very rough."
He squinted, pursed his lips. "Lay off?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well," he started, "when someone comes in here at ten in the morning wearing a suit and asking for something stiff to drink, it's either a funeral or a layoff. And you don't seem quite sad enough for it to be a funeral."
I smiled; I don't know why, there was nothing worth smiling about. "Yeah. It was a layoff."
"I'm sorry, man."
"You had nothing to do with it."
"What's your usual drink? It'll be on the house."
"I don't drink."
"Oh," and a frown and a long pause. He must have been thinking of what best to make for me, because eventually, without saying another word, he just disappeared beneath the counter and emerged with a glass filled with something gold colored and pungent, sitting motionless in a small glass. I grabbed the glass and gulped half the liquid down in one smooth motion; the burn was vicious and even now memorable. My gasp was involuntary and violent.
"Feel good?"
"Absolutely," as I slammed the glass down on the table.
Continues... |
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