“When are you getting a check this week? The mortgage is due and the cell phone company has been calling and texting me about a payment that’s only two days late. Calling me at work, because they can, they have my number, they’re the cell phone company.”
“I’ll have a check tomorrow. I’m finishing the MacKinnon job today. Why do we have to start every day like this?”
“Because every morning just seems to get better and better, and you know full well this isn’t the first time. Remember the squirrel who was running across the beam over there?” She pointed to the wall in the sitting area near the wood stove. “The beam you exposed while you were working on the addition? And what about the mother raccoon and her babies in the fireplace? And how many times have we had bats in here? Remember the time you thought you chased the bat out and closed the bedroom door so I wouldn’t know what you were doing? I was trying to fall asleep, but heard a strange noise and turned on the light. I saw the bat and screamed bloody murder. Sometimes I think I’m living in a barn.”
“Come on, admit it. That was kind of funny. I thought the bat flew back downstairs. I didn’t know he was in there.”
She sighed. “Oh Ray. Remember you used to live in a barn when we first met? I guess I should’ve been paying attention to those subtle hints. Foreshadowing, right?”
Sophie sighed loudly, poured another cup of coffee and headed to the door. Ray grabbed her arm as she passed by. He tried to kiss her cheek but she ducked, his lips grazing the top of her head. Getting in the car, she pulled the sun visor down and looked in the mirror, running her fingers through her hair. “Shit, I still have shampoo in my hair.”
She slammed the visor back up, noticing Ray standing just outside the doorway. Waving with a sarcastic smile on her face, she backed out of the garage and heard a crunching sound, but kept backing out into the circular driveway. Shifting the car into forward, she noticed the mangled beach chair she just drove over. Ray watched her leave, shaking his head at the broken chair and looking overwhelmed. Pulling out onto the street, she checked the dashboard panel. Forty-five miles to empty and the clock read 7:45.
She thought to herself, “Late again, supposed to be at work in fifteen minutes with a forty-five minute drive ahead of me and I need gas. Well Sophie, you commute forty five minutes to work, you always need gas.”
Gas was up to $3.35 per gallon. A dialogue ran through her head. “When did it become okay for gas to be so expensive? Where are the patriots who threw tea in Boston Harbor now that we need them again? Oh right, they’re the Tea Party.” She scoffed out loud. “We’d still be part of England if people behaved like they do now. What did that guy I saw on TV say about Americans? Something like, in the U.S. people are afraid of their government but in France the government is afraid of the people? Someone needs to remind me why Americans hate the French.” She rummaged through her pocketbook on the passenger seat. “Damn, no cash.”
Pulling out a credit card, she looked at it in distress, hesitating. She shrugged her shoulders, got out of the car, slid the card through the machine and started to pump the gas. Squatting down to look in the side mirror, she tried to fluff her sticky hair.
* * *
Driving down the highway with the radio blaring, she passed a sign that read NH State Liquor Store/Lottery Tickets. She laughed out loud. “Lottery tickets. Yeah, that’s what I need, one chance in a billion of solving life’s problems. Better off just buying a case of wine.” She passed another sign. Entering Massachusetts. Driving another fifteen minutes, always in the far left lane and going eighty, she sang along to the radio. The clock on the dashboard now read 8:15.
Finally getting off the highway at her exit, she still had a way to go. She hit several green lights before she got stuck behind a school bus. Looking at the clock, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. One of her favorite songs came on the radio, a tune from a new band she liked. Turning up the volume, she started to sing along with Marcus Mumford. The sun sparkled behind a white barn at the farm on the top of the hill up ahead. A large field of sunflowers was planted along the side of the road, their happy yellow faces bobbing in the wind.
Sophie was singing at the top of her lungs as she approached the office parking lot. A large DETOUR sign re-routed her around the construction on the street she usually took. The clock read 8:25.
Approaching the intersection at the train crossing, the red stoplights started blinking, the bell clanging. The red and white gate began to lower as she waited, still singing. A few minutes later, the bells clanged again and the gate started to rise. She finally pulled into the parking lot, a half hour late. She sat in the car, continuing to sing, imagining herself at Bryce Canyon, on top of a large red rock with her arms up in the air, spinning around.
* * *
She cheerily said hello to several co-workers as she entered a large windowless room filled with cubicles, her smile turning to a frown. A constant hum came from the HVAC system joined by the ever-present clicking sound of people typing on their keyboards. It was now 8:35. She passed the cubicle next to hers. The computer was on, but no one was in there.
Two computer screens sat on her desk, angled strategically in a V, the left one facing the back of the cubicle so as not to be seen by anyone passing by. When she walked by other cubicles with the screens set up like this, she couldn’t help wondering what they were reading or watching on the screen facing the back wall.
Piles of paper covered the desk and the floor. A vase of wilted flowers sat on the desk. The corkboard on the wall displayed photos of Sophie, her family and friends. Sophie and Ray on a Caribbean island, drinks in hand. Prom pictures of her sons and their dates. Sophie and friends in New York City. The whole family at the Golden Gate Bridge. Pulling up email on her right screen and the New York Times on the left, she started answering emails.
And so the day begins, the day begins.... Susan, I am losing it on this one. This wire has bounced twice now. Can we get this guy to actually give us the correct information? Does he want his money or does he work because he loves his job? If so, lucky, lucky him. Do we have to start every day like this? I think I am going to get a few nips of Baileys and keep them in my bottom drawer. Put them in my coffee. When do the liquor stores open around here? Thanks, Boca Baby.
She hit send and turning to the New York Times, opened an Op-Ed piece by Paul Krugman, warning that austerity was not the solution to the recession. She could see at the bottom of her screen an email reply coming in from Susan.
Okay, you are seriously making me LOL. I have to stop laughing to check on this one. I’ll get back to you.
It was only nine o’clock. Hearing Dan return to the cubicle next to hers, she got up and went over to talk to him. “Hey, Dan. Where’s Tina?” Dan was thirty years old. Sophie thought he was handsome, the kind of guy she would be attracted to back in the day, with golden brown hair, blue eyes and a scruffy but neatly trimmed beard.
Dan looked up, took his head phones off, and smiled. He was slouched down in his chair, with his legs sprawled out underneath his desk, his head so low in the seat it was almost resting on the back of his chair. “Hey. She’s gonna be late, had to bring one of her kids to the dentist or something.”
“Phew. I was late this morning.”
“Me too. I missed the train by two minutes and had to drive in.”
“How about all that construction in town? It’s killing me.”
“I’m glad I take the train most days.”
“So what’s going on?”
“Big news. Broke off my engagement this weekend.”
“NO.”
“Yeah. It’s been a long time coming. I think I got cornered into the whole thing. Tracy wants the house, the kids, the whole package and I started asking myself, what the hell am I doing?”
“What about the wedding in the Bahamas? Didn’t you have all that stuff booked?”
“We were holding a date for this June and put a small deposit down, but we can get it back.
”
“That’s good. You know, I think you’re doing the right thing, Dan. I hear you talking about your friends and the things you want to do and I just get the impression you’re not ready to settle down. And trust me, marriage is tough. If you have any doubts, don’t do it until you’re ready, if ever. Because really, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Dan laughed. “I hear ya. I feel good about it. I know I made the right move.”
“Hey, don’t you guys live together? What’s gonna happen with that?”
“We’re still gonna live together. I’m just not ready for the final commitment.”
“Hmmm.” She contemplated that for a few seconds. “Well, good for you. See what happens. Anyway, I better get back to work before Tina gets here and I haven’t done a thing.”
Sophie went back in her cubicle. She had received another email from Susan.
Here’s the correct bank info. He sent the wrong info the last time. Can we try resending?
Sure, why not? Did he say anything about the first time he sent the info? That was wrong too. Oh well, maybe the third times a charm. But 3 strikes and he's out. Then I take the money and put it towards my B&B in the islands.
You’re not going anywhere. Running a B&B is too much work.
As compared to what?
Time passed slowly. Sophie worked on some spreadsheets while continuing to answer emails. When she looked up at the clock again it was one, her usual lunchtime. She stretched and got ready to go outside, stopping by Dan’s cubicle. “Hey Dan, is it raining out?”
“No, it’s sunny and really nice. Why do you think it’s raining? It was sunny when we got here.”
“I know, but once we’re in here it always feels like it’s raining.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Lack of natural light, I guess. But I just got back from lunch and I can attest to the fact that it is a beautiful day. Too bad I’m stuck here for the rest of the afternoon.”
“I hear you. Be back in half an hour.”
“Peace.”
Taking a short walk around town, she passed the parking lot and decided to sit in her car. She meant to get some exercise and take a much longer walk, but she was feeling down and just not up for it. She got in the car, rolled down the window and closed her eyes. The clock on the bank across the street read 1:10.
Even with the windows down, it was warm in the car. She closed her eyes and dozed off until the commuter train came by, waking her. She’d been sleeping for fifteen minutes. A snappy nap. The smiling conductor rested his arm out the window as the train pulled out of the station. One of the ticket takers was standing at an open door, surveying the passing scenery.
Sophie closed her eyes again, imagining herself on a train in a uniform, walking down the aisle, punching people’s tickets, chitchatting and laughing with the passengers. She passed between cars, reached the end of the train and leaned against the door. The breeze blew through her hair as she smiled and watched the scenery pass by. Suddenly she opened her eyes, quickly hopped out of the car and headed back to her cubicle.
Later that afternoon, Sophie was reading an article in the New York Times travel section on eco-tourism in Costa Rica while still handling emails.
Yes, I am sorry about that. I gave you the wrong bank code. Here’s the correct one.
She slit her eyes, staring at the computer screen. “Another one? Really? Can I bitch this guy out or will I lose my job? Why did you give me the wrong bank code? An honest mistake? You’re just a lazy ass? You’re stupid? What? Why?”
She replied, Thanks so much. I will resend that wire tomorrow after I correct your banking information. Once it’s sent you can expect it in 3-5 business days. Please let me know if you don’t receive it. Respectfully yours, Sophie Ryan.
Another email came in from London. The first account number was duff information. Here’s the correct account number.
Really losing it now, she muttered under her breath. “Duff? What the hell is that? Bullshit in England I guess, that’s what it must mean. God, there are even stupid assholes in England.”
She replied, Duff, well that’s a new one on me. No problem, I will correct your banking information and resend that wire tomorrow. Once it’s sent you can expect it in 3-5 business days. Please let me know if you don’t receive it. Respectfully yours, Sophie Ryan.
Time passed slowly. She started another project, coding a stack of invoices. Another email came in. She put her head in her hands for a minute, trying to compose herself.
Calling loudly over her shoulder, she said, “Hey Dan, listen to this. I just got this email and it says we put the checks in a drawer and just found them. Could you please reissue them as they are now stale.”
Dan shouted back incredulously. “Stale? Checks get stale?”
“Apparently, and get this. It was fifteen checks we sent them over seven years, and they just found them now. Do they know where their bank is? More importantly, do they know they have to bring the checks to the bank? Do they know what a bank is? Do they know what a check is?”
“This un-cashed check thing you have to deal with is really insane.”
“No. I’ll tell you what is insane. Me. That’s who’s insane.”
“I hear ya.”
A few minutes later Dan peeked in her cubicle. “Time to go. See ya tomorrow. Hang in there.”
“I can’t make any promises,” she replied.
* * *
It was starting to get dark as Sophie pulled into her garage. A strobe light flashed from the window in the addition. Sitting in the car for a while, she listened to the radio, looking up at the flashing strobe light. A bittersweet song was playing, Springsteen’s Tunnel of Love. She thought the lyrics might be an omen. This house was haunted.
Stopping in the yard, she looked up at a bright star near the crescent-shaped moon. “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. That’s probably Venus though, right? Or Mars, I don’t know. I always forget. Oh well. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”
Turning around, she searched the sky for another star, noticing a bright spot in the distance. “I wish I could learn to rise above all this bullshit, and live my life the way I dreamed I would, at that B&B in the Caribbean.” She blew a kiss towards the second star as it moved closer.
“Oh shoot, that’s a plane.”
THE SAD SOUND OF AN OBOE
She and Katie arrived in Oregon the week before Labor Day, just in time for Katie to move into the graduate dorms. She loved the relaxed vibe in Portland, so she decided to stay and try to find a job on a magazine or newspaper. Portland had the largest number of independent publishers in the country. After a few weeks of chasing that dream, she took a waitressing job at a vegan restaurant near the college and rented a bedroom in a rundown house on the outskirts of town with six other recent grads. They all worked as waitresses and bartenders while looking for a job that might have anything to do with what they studied in college.
Everyone worked late hours and got home and stayed up even later. They drank craft beers they couldn’t really afford, smoked ganja and discussed their favorite topics, such as getting off the grid and avoiding corporate work. Or was there really such a thing as true love, and if there was, could it really last a lifetime? So many of their parents were divorced, it was hard to imagine it lasting a decade, never mind a lifetime. They dreamed of becoming entrepreneurs, writers, artists or musicians.
Their favorite things to complain about were the ridiculous cost of college, the school loans they owed, and how the greedy bastards on Wall Street were destroying the economy just in time for them to graduate with their two hundred thousand dollar degrees in hand. They all shared the fear that if they didn’t get decent work soon they might have to move back in with their parents. Would it be better to do what they loved for little money while living at home? Or should they break down and take a job they didn’t want, so they could afford to continue to live on their own? No one knew the righ
t answer, and it wasn't on their radar that a global recession was only weeks away.
She rarely heard from Nick. He ignored her the first year, only sending brief birthday and Christmas wishes. That was okay, she didn’t think about him very often. At first, she was having too much fun on the road. She sometimes sent postcards from quirky places she visited like the Corn Palace in South Dakota, the Paul Bunyan statue in Minnesota and the Elvis wedding chapel in Vegas. Later, she regretted that last one. She thought she might be sending the wrong message.
Living in Portland, she was still having a lot of fun. She loved her new friends. The waitressing was okay. It left time for writing during the mornings. She sent a few stories to literary journals but hadn’t gotten anything published yet.
Nick sent his first text message in early September 2009, almost exactly a year after she arrived in Oregon. He wanted her to come back to Boston. He missed her. He sublet the extra room in his apartment to a guy he met at work who transferred from Australia, but that was temporary. He recently moved out. Would she please consider coming back and giving him another chance?
He didn’t say he loved her, but she knew on her part this wasn’t love either. What she was hoping was, if she moved back to Boston she might find a job in publishing, or possibly writing at a newspaper. Nick got a big raise. Already. He’d only been at the bank a little over a year and he was moving up the corporate ladder, just as he planned. He offered to pay two thirds of the rent. That could be better than waitressing or moving back home. She told herself she was being practical. After all, Lehman Brothers filed Chapter 11, the Dow Jones collapsed and everyone was scared. She didn’t really understand all of that, but she was running out of money, struggling to pay her bills. And who knew, maybe they could repair their relationship and fall in love all over again. That sometimes happened, didn’t it?
They continued to talk it over for a couple of months. She was hesitant about the whole idea, but in the end she packed up shortly before Thanksgiving and flew back to Boston. She’d been living with Nick for over a year now. Thousands of people were still out of work but somehow she found a job on the North Shore after being back for only two weeks. She worked in the editorial department of a large company. The commuter train brought her right to the office. Her reverse commute.
The Reverse Commute Page 3