This is in no way meant to be an example of literary genius. It is sophmoric at most. It's unfucused and awkward. I've never taken a writing class. It's an exercise. An attempt. I think there are moments but nothing fabulous. That said...Please criticize. I need help!
She sat staring at the computer screen, like she did everyday. Trying not to think about the bills, the car, the clogged sink, the broken furnace and the cat barf. Except now, she had to find a job.
~
Things were whipping into a frenzy. The election was coming to an end. She’s been on pins and needles for almost two years. Finally, America was taking a stand, or so she hoped. Hope. She laughed at herself for being so passionate. It was nothing new, but one can’t take oneself too seriously. She knew from years of depression and heartache not to take herself too seriously. She survived several suicide attempts and countless hours of raging self hatred. Nope. Can’t take yourself too seriously.
Sidled up to some of her best friends on the back porch of a typical Tucson block home, she watched the results trickle in. She drank deeply from bottle after bottle of beer and sipped hypnotically on shots of whiskey and vodka. Her nerves were on high frequency. When HE was announced the winner she squealed and cried like a baby pig. The moment was so intense she felt as if she could swirl into a vortex of energy and light up into the sky.
It’s done. He won. Giddy hugs and wistful smiles swept through her days. No sight of the impending hangover, sweet though it may be. It was neither swift nor apparent. Little by little chips and cracks appeared. She seemed immune, above the fray. Then the sink clogged. Not metaphorically, literally. She was not a fan of washing dishes in the bathtub. Hiring a plumber meant taking time from work to deal with a personal problem. Not exactly kosher with the boss. So after two weeks of Liquid Fire and plunging it became quite obvious that it was not going to clear. Broken but hardly defeated, she called the plumber. $250 later the sink drained like a champ.
Still working at a furious pace to appear needed, she went to work cheerful and ready to go. Her daughter began to have a series of ailments all including a fever. She fought to stay healthy but she succumbed to many of the viruses. Missed work. A lot of missed work. That was forgiven but the economy would hear nothing of it. The office must downsize. Everyone must take a mandatory day off. It actually made her life easier except for the financial worry that slowly began to tie her muscles into ship worthy knots.
Late one evening she received a phone call from her husband. He’s been working in El Paso on and off for weeks. This required him to commute from Tucson to Texas on a regular basis with four employees and a twelve foot trailer in tow. He is coating the bowels of an ancient yet still operating coppermine with carbon fiber. He’s lucky to get the work. He told her he was stranded on the side of the road outside Las Cruces waiting for a tow truck. The transmission blew in his new diesel flatbed. Great. She thought. Fortunately it’s under warranty, but the set back is costing money.
Money.
The knots tighten.
Work was getting slower. Her time got cut another day. Two days off, three days on. She wrote copy for an advertising agency. Their sole clients are shopping malls or the property managers that own them nationwide. It’s their niche, incentive driven advertising targeting trade area residences to boost sales and foot traffic. It’s not as simple as it sounds. There’s radio, print, television, direct mail and in mall collaterals – posters, signs etc. It’s seasonally driven. After one of the best years the agency has ever had, 2009 is shaping up to be the worst. Budgets are slashed. Only a few malls did any Valentine’s Day promotions. A fair amount did Spring and Mother’s Day but summer is coming like a ghost town. Her husband calls from his shop. The old Mercedes, the one he’s having repainted, its transmission – pfft. He’s got a plan to get a rebuilt transmission from a Mercedes shop in Indiana.
She crumbles at her desk.
A few tears escape.
The temperatures are beautiful this time of year so the furnace that just broke isn’t an emergency.
Cold snap.
She lay under the covers praying that he wouldn’t go up in flames or worse an explosion wouldn’t occur. He lit match after match trying to ignite the gas before a damper automatically closed. Victory! Heat, glorious heat. She learned how to light the furnace the next day. Outside their cozy home a nation of brilliant fools tinkered with the economy, war and other grand issues. Her guy was doing a dandy job considering, but not everyone is of like mind. Her enthusiasm has not waivered, her support is perhaps more cautious, but what the hell can you do in three months?
Have you ever heard the sound of a shoe dropping? It sounds like this: " Laid off. " Like millions of other Americans she had become another statistic. It’s not her fault. She did nothing wrong. They want her back. Why is she so devastated? She packed her office into one box, that’s it. A box. She wants to crawl into the box too, but she finds she’s already there. Photos of her husband and daughter, books, little tiddly bits she’d collected and displayed on her desk.
A door hadn’t closed, she’d been pushed out the window. She’s started to enjoy the sensation of falling. She’s embracing it. She could land anywhere, just not yet.