Harley
We were broke, not cute artistic broke but the broke that made your parents sigh and your friend's wince before saying,
"It's fine, you'll be back on your feet in no time.".
I hadn't planned it but being unemployed in your thirties was like a marker for either a midlife crisis or being an utterly talentless and unmotivated failure. Honestly, I felt like both. The day I quit it felt like the heavens had opened and life was in colour for a moment but that was before my husband looked at me like I was a buffoon, and before I got a rejection letter from McDonalds.
The whistling of the kettle broke my melancholy thoughts or was it the feeling on my necktie cutting off circulation to my brain - either was fine.
"Someone looks utterly delicious" my husband remarked wrapping his arms around my waist a familiar warmth enveloping me, my white dress shirt crinkling under his touch.
I never much appreciated how he spoke so obscenely in front of our daughter who had discovered the importance of headphones in that moment. Maybe I was a prude? The puritan catholic teachings never quite left my bones,
"Is it too much? It was the only thing on sale, and you know I haven't worn a suit since graduation." 10 years ago, that depressing fact was omitted from the conversation and my brain with great effort.
Wriggling out of his grasp I moved behind the island table and felt the wooden kitchen floor creak as I grabbed three mugs from the overhead cream cabinets. There were two separate rows of cups mine, neatly in a row all cream coloured with strips of pastel colours horizontally. The second was a dump of wildly coloured movie themed mugs that were called cups some as big as bowls. I gave up grabbing three and just got my own.
Dressed in a police uniform, his ginger hair haphazardly brushed Derek stood slightly below me with a lazy smile, it made me feel like I was the only one getting these overdue bill notices.
"You look great, very professional." he remarked taking out some bowls and pouring cereal before placing it in front of our daughter, lifting her headphones off her similarly auburn hair. So much sugar, I put the boiling water into my mug and sipped it burning my tongue.
"Yeah, dad very professional," Summer remarked easily shoving a spoonful of cereal into her mouth before adverting her eyes back to her lifeline - her phone. I've never been as bothered as other parents about the "youths" seeming addiction to their phones we were all either addicted to something or dead inside. I preferred her being the latter.
"See you look great," Derek said downing the last of his cereal
shit I just finished the dishes,
shrugging on his jacket "I'll take summer to school and see you after my shift later tonight." Grabbing the keys in the basket and his badge before grabbing his empty waist band.
He used to keep his gun in the house, but that fact had made me ill and I'd forced him to banish it outside in a small, locked hutch or his glove box anywhere away from us, and our perfect little world.
Of course, Derek had tried to remind me that, it was even more dangerous that an assailant could find the gun outside or in the car and attack us while we're unarmed but I didn't care – so the gun stays at the station now.
They both left in an unrushed manner, it made me relived that Summer hadn't inherited my neurotic nature as I scrubbed my cup and bowls putting them into the dishwasher, the table tops cleared and wiped with all-purpose cleaner. Floor mopped with a dash of bleach and then shined to perfection. At least the second-floor kitchen and coach area looked passable.
The smell of bleach and lemon calming my nerves a tad.
I'd already showered twice today, and it wasn't 9am yet, once when I woke up and after I'd gotten a blow job from Derek, to be fair I should've returned the favour, but it seemed too messy, and he hadn't insisted.
He never did.
Time would not allow for another to wash off the sweat I had worked up so instead I headed downstairs and into the master bathroom. Turning on the faucet sink and grabbing a face towel I rubbed at my skin – my neck, face and chest. All whipped down until my skin was red. Then, I felt fine.
Looking in the mirror a last time I was still pleasantly surprised by how good I looked the days of sleep deprivation losing against my ounce of Colombian heritage.
The walk to penguin employment was a short one if you walked briskly but I hated sweating, so I left an hour early for my 10:30am appointment to leave room for meandering.
Winter had fully arrived, and it made my cheeks stiff and my legs ache, was I at the age where my knees knew when it was raining? Admittedly no but the fact that it was around the corner was looming. The fallen autumn leaves littered on the pavement created my path down the residential streets large loft buildings like our own and trees cased in metal cages in front of them with a busy road to my right.
I'd never been one to walk with my head down, so I saw the mothers with prams with bundles of blankets I assumed where their babies, and the old couples that clutched each other and managed to walk slower than me. These sights decorated my view as the winter air blew past my ears a soft whistling softly on my walk.
Eventually I reached a one story building with a sign stacked into the dying grass at the front. The building was as bleak on the outside as it was inside, cold tile and grey wallpaper. A waiting room that rivalled a hospital in sterility but without the cleanliness. What felt like crowds of people were squashed into the room, some homeless people that slouched on the floor in the corner nodding off, or women barely dressed arguing at the windows about their missing payments. After waiting a ridiculous amount of time in a lopsided line breathing in what smelt like vomit I was finally at the front. Going up to the glass window where a middle-aged woman sat pink cat eyed glasses contrasted on her tan skin framing her hollowed out eyes. I checked in,
"Hi, I have an appointment for 10:30" she didn't look up all she did was tilt her head slightly to the side and click on her computer exactly 4 times.
"Name?" God was she rude.
"Harley Davis" I'd taken my husbands name even though he stressed it wasn't necessity, at the time it was an ode to my grandmother that I could keep some traditions that mattered to her, but by the time I was married she was already dead in the ground. All it really resulted in was my father whispering to my mother during the reception that he "always knew I was the bitch", very sophisticated for a tenured professor if you ask me.
"Room 102 down the aisle to the left".
That was all it took for me to take a thankless departure down the dingy hallway with peeling paint and now carpeted floors that I doubted had been vacuumed since the places opening.
The door was already ajar, but I still knocked.
A bright slightly high pitched voice rang through.
"Come on in!", the owner of the voice was a stumpy looking man perched on a desk where his feet couldn't reach the floor. A dark black beard with streaks of white littered around and a shiny bald head, the man looked up and smiled brightly.
"Hi I have a 10:30 appointment for Harley Davis." I hated how stern I sounded as I saw the man's face waver for a moment.
"Mr Davis is so nice to meet you come take a seat!" the brightness in his voice persisted contrasting his small office littered with stacks of books and papers around him like a small city scape. He sat on a worn leather chair its back going past his head. The window directly behind him letting in the gloomy winter sun shine through.
I took a seat opposite him on a sofa chair closer to the ground than I would've liked making my tall frame crouch slightly.
"So back on the job market, how exciting!" this was going to be painful.
"I've had a look at your file and I'm very impressed, a masters in theology and sociology we have a brainiac on our hands." the nameless munchkin waved his hands wildly as he spoke and somehow managed to pronounce both words wrong.
"I've had a look around and there are a few teaching jobs in the local area - "
"I'm not going to go into teaching Mr - ", I cut him off curtly leaving a pause for him to fill in the blank. A silent moment passed.
"Oh sorry I'm Carl" Carl is particularly slow it seems.
"Mr Carl, I'd rather be on the streets than teach." He looked at me for a moment his mouth agape then he begun shuffling through his files frantically and then it dawned on me.
That's all he'd prepared. A tried to stifle a sigh... I failed.
"Well I'll be honest we don't have any other roles that would suit your amazing qualifications but we do have some more exciting jobs that just came in?" his teeth were crooked.
"Sure" I know I sounded like an asshole but why was he asking me this was meant to be where he helped me not seeking validation about his job.
"Alright a position just opened up at Ferenic Inc, exciting right? Well I think it is! The role is full time and the pay is... there, so that's something?"
"What will I be doing at Feneric Inc." I knew the name I mean who didn't in the tristate area it was one of the biggest companies that got its money from energy and all types at that, renewable and gas. The still somehow specialised in everything, cars, appliances even being the biggest contributors to private universities and schools. They were a literal powerhouse in the business sector. So it'd be a lie to say my interest wasn't at least slightly piqued.
"You'll be working as a sanitationofficer" I tried not to rip Carl's throat out for trying to deceive me from the big words he thought he was saying.
"A cleaner" At this point I had lifted my glasses with my right hand and was massaging the bridge of my nose.
"There's so much room for job growth and the Feneric group is big on bonuses and promotions!" here he goes again with the peacock hands.
"And to put it bluntly we don't have anything else." That made my blood run colder than usual the hard fact that I had put myself into the situation where this was it for me, even Carl had a better job.
"When do I start?"