Chapter 2
734 Words
By the time I was ready to leave, my shoulders felt weighed down by my jobless reality. I strode between the cubicles, no one willing to look me in the eye for fear that my current unemployed state might rub off on them. A security officer accompanied me to my vehicle. It felt as if I’d walked the green mile, no possible reprieve in sight. For a man at the age of forty-nine, this felt like a death sentence.
I drove my pre-owned SUV home, which was a condo I’d purchased eleven months ago after an amicable break-up with my boyfriend of two years. I’d wanted a new start, away from things that would remind me of him and all we’d done together. It wasn’t that we hated each other. Far from it. But we were better off as friends. I needed someone less like me, someone passionate and lively to be my other half. I’d finally learned that after numerous relationships with clones of myself.
But now, I had nothing to offer. I had savings, sure, and perhaps six months or so to find another position as an architect before I became desperate. Did I want that, though? Grudging as I might be, Helen could be right. Still, I couldn’t face any of that at the moment. I needed time to think.
I placed the half-full box that was the detritus of an unsatisfactory career in the hall closet. I didn’t need the reminder of my failure to be valued by an employer anywhere in sight. I took a quick shower, heated up leftover pasta, and watched TV for hours while drinking beer after beer. The perfect end to a lousy hump day.
When I awoke at six the next morning—my usual time—I had a hangover and fuzzy teeth. I stumbled to the bathroom to freshen up and empty a full bladder before weaving my way to the kitchen. It was Thursday, and I had nothing to do.
I emptied corn flakes into a bowl and poured almond milk over it. I preferred it to cow’s milk, sometimes, for the taste. As I lifted the spoon to my mouth, there was a knock on the door.
* * * *
Mrs. Patricia Lombard, the retired social worker down the hall, needed help with her kitchen sink again. She knew I was an early riser, and the plumbing issue was usually an easy fix, something I could do even before I left for the office at eight-thirty. Or rather, when I used to have a job. I told her to give me a minute and I’d be there. Perfect start to the rest of my life.
I finished breakfast and grabbed my toolbox before heading over to her place. Mrs. Lombard had five cats and bookshelves lined almost every wall. Cat hair was everywhere. Good thing I wasn’t allergic. While I fixed the leak, she told me about her grandson who would be coming to visit before he got bogged down with his Doctorate studies in Philosophy. Why would anyone want to study that? What the hell use was philosophy in real life, anyway? Admittedly, I couldn’t see the use in much of anything, right then.
This grandson, Hollis Lombard, was something of a genius, I was given to understand, and I heard all about his merits and brilliance as I worked. I’d be surprised if he couldn’t walk on water, the way she was hyping him up.
When I was done, she escorted me to the door. “You should come over for dinner on Friday night. It would give Hollis someone young to talk to.” I supposed in her eyes, I was a whippersnapper.
I grunted without really saying anything, and she patted my cheek with a “thank you” before I disappeared back to my condo. God, what was I getting myself into?
By the time Friday dawned, I was almost stir crazy. It was the longest time I’d ever spent at home with nothing to do. I’d done a lot of sitting on the balcony and staring at the birds flying around in the trees nearby. There was a park in the distance, and I’d been tempted to go out and get some fresh air, but I couldn’t face the public. Not yet.
That night, I dragged my feet over to my neighbor’s door and knocked. I hoped it would be quick because I had things to do. Like, vegetate in front of the TV with more beer.
The door opened, and I promptly forgot everything as I stared at the most fascinating features I’d ever beheld.
- Writer
