Overcoming

by H. R. Kitte-Rojas

  She wondered if he was married, or had a girlfriend. Then she wondered why she was wondering. She lifted the paperback to block the sun, then, opening it, read on.

  Shauna arrived at the call center the next day in jeans, sneakers and an extra-large T-shirt over her reinforced sports bra. After checking in with Donna, she wandered over to Field Operations and met with Matt Berger. He escorted her to the warehouse, where the technicians reported, ordered stock, checked out equipment and picked up their routes. There were two service counters, behind which worked the warehouse staff. A huge bin of cubbyholes dominated one wall, tech numbers labeling each compartment. There was one table and chair, for using the computer. The outside wall in this area was glass, as was the automatic door.

  "I'm gonna have you ride with that man right there," Berger said, and pointed straight at Miles Bowser. "Bowser! Come here for a minute."

  Miles ambled over, looking a bit stupefied to see Shauna here in his corner of the cable universe. Berger introduced them, not knowing they had met. Miles smiled politely, but awkwardly. He didn't offer his hand to shake.

  She felt a little awkward herself, following him first to the stock counter, then the equipment counter, then outside and into the main building to drop off his C.O.D.s at the Collections office, then back outside, across the vast parking lot to his work van. Miles walked fast, but caught himself when Shauna fell too far behind, apologized and waited for her to catch up.

  He opened the passenger door, mumbled something over his shoulder, then cleared off the seat and floor for her. He went through the jobs in his route, checking his map books for the streets he didn't know, then writing map coordinates on the work orders. When he started the engine, the radio blasted classic rock. He apologized and turned it way down.

  "It doesn't look like a heavy day," he said. "That's probably because of you."

  "What do you mean?" she asked, adjusting the seat belt.

  "I mean I think they took it easy on me, so you won't be horrified."

  "If it's horrifying, shouldn't I see the worst of it?" she asked, buckling in. "I thought empathy was part of the reason for tradeoffs."

  "I couldn't agree more," Miles said, put the van in gear and took off.

  The awkwardness lingered. She was uncomfortable with the strange work environment, to be sure, but that wasn't the whole problem. Miles seemed especially shy this morning.

  "You think Jason gained any empathy yesterday?" he asked.

  "A little bit," she said. "Not as much as I hoped." Jason had spent most of his effort trying to make the work look easy, and botched several calls while doing so. She was glad to see him go.

  "He probably wasn't the best guy to send. I'm sure most of us would have gained a lot of respect for what you go through."

  They rode on silently for a few miles.

  "So," she said cheerfully, hoping to break through the discomfort, "are you going to make me laugh so hard I pee my pants today, Miles?"

  "I wouldn't want to do that," he said. "It's not always easy to find a place to pee in the field. And it's even harder to change pants."

  She chuckled. He smiled, but it seemed like a sad smile.

  The first job was a change in service: add digital phone, which went without a hitch. But Shauna was impressed by how long it took and all the work involved.

  "You have to change all those connectors at every job?" Shauna asked him, afterward.

  "The fittings? We're supposed to. QC checks phone and internet jobs pretty close."

  "But that was just a change in service," she said. "With all that, it might as well be a reconnect."

  "I know, right?"

  "And the ground thingy?"

  "The ground wire and ground block," he said, nodding. "Berger says if we leave a job and all that isn't of the new type, we're fired."

  "What was up with all those phone wires?"

  "Most of that was to hook up the DigiMax," he said, after chugging down a bottle of water. "So on the port date, it will switch over from their current phone carrier to Avcom with no interruption in service--if the switch works the way it's supposed to."

  "We don't allot enough time for these jobs," she said.

  "You ain't seen nothin' yet, Shauna."

  He was right.

  The next job was a new connect, printed up as a reconnect. Miles had to dig a trench from the pedestal to the house; run a new drop and bury it--with all the tags and fittings that entailed; mount the plastic utility box outside the home, run the ground wire--with all the tags, burial, drilling and clipping that entailed; prep and put fittings on both ends of the home run and every outlet; connect everything together in the attic; plus run a dedicated outlet for the modem. Once that was finished he had to install the converters and modem--which required assembling jumpers from scratch for every piece of equipment, then waiting on hold fifteen minutes for Technical Support to activate the serial numbers; waiting another fifteen minutes on hold when the first modem turned out to be bad and he had to get another one provisioned; another twenty minutes on hold when it turned out the second modem hadn't been provisioned correctly; program the remotes to the TVs; configure the customer's software and browser; ensure all channels were coming in and the internet connection was flawless; educate the customer how to use her equipment; then fill out the work order and two other forms; having the customer sign and initial multiple items on each one; then collect the payment.

  "That was no reconnect," she said afterwards. "I wonder why it was generated as one."

  As he drove, Miles used a Wet Wipe to clean the insulation dust from his face and hands. "I have a suspicion: No offense, but I think you guys don't list them correctly because you'd have to allot more time for us to finish them."

  "Obviously you do need more time to finish them," she said, livid. She had seen Marcie changing job codes as she assembled a route, once, but hadn't understood the significance until now. "You can't just wave a magic wand to accomplish the extra work. May I see that work order?"

  He handed it over, and she jotted down the job number in her notebook.

  For the next hour, Miles was on the Nextel seemingly non-stop. He'd had to tell Dispatch he would be late to the next few jobs. Now Dispatch, Berger, and Rumkis took turns hounding him about it. Dispatch wanted an update every few minutes, while Berger and Rumkis wanted explanations of why he was running behind, and made Miles repeat himself several times, as if trying to catch him in a lie--like in a police interrogation.

  The next job was a properly entered new connect, but he was already way behind when he got there. The neighborhood was aerial, meaning Miles had to climb. The pole with the nearest tap was across the street. Miles strung the new aerial drop from there out to "the mid-span," then to the "bump" pole on the near side of the street, then to the side of the house. He had to collapse his ladder and carry it to each new location before setting it up again. Shauna asked if she could help, feeling bad that he was so far behind.

  "You wanna carry the ladder?" he asked, with a facetious tone.

  The fiberglass twenty-eight foot extension ladder looked heavy to her. "I'll try."

  He laughed and shook his head. "It's OK, Shauna. See where my spool of new cable is?"

  She saw the big, heavy-looking reel where it sat on a "cable caddy" way back by the house. "Yes."

  "It tends to get tangled up as I pull on it. Could you go over and make sure it unreels without mishaps?"

  "Sure," she said, and trotted over to the spool, eager to help. Sure enough, whenever he stopped pulling wire to tie off or something, the spool rocked backwards a bit and the cable slipped off to wrap around the end of the axle. She untangled it each time, for which Miles showed profuse gratitude, claiming she had saved him a lot of time walking back and forth to do it himself.

  The customer required three new outlets to be fished down interior walls. Miles climbed into the attic and, with Shauna guiding him via cellphone to the requested outlet locations, he found the spots, dri
lled through something up there, and dropped the lines down the inside of the wall.

  When he climbed down from the attic, Shauna was taken aback. He was soaked with sweat; plastered with dust and insulation from head to toe; his skin was flushed red and she could have sworn she saw wisps of steam radiating out of him. "Are you OK?" she asked.

  He coughed for a few seconds, then said, "I'm good. Thanks very much for helping--you made it go much quicker."

  Remembering where his cooler was in the van, she retrieved a cold bottle of water for him. He reacted as if she'd just handed him a thousand dollar bill.

  While he resumed working inside the house, she decided to take a look in the attic for herself. It was hot outside, and just as hot beside the stepladder, with the garage door open. But when she climbed the ladder and got near the open hatch, it felt as though a blast furnace door had opened in her face. She gritted her teeth and climbed inside, squatting to avoid banging her head on the roof. A lightbulb illuminated part of the attic. She peered deeper in, trying to spot the new wire he had run.

  Plywood was nailed to the ceiling beams in the area around the trapdoor. She scooted across it to get a better view. What she could see looked like an obstacle course of beams, rafters, AC ducting and PVC pipe. How could anyone possibly crawl through that mess?

  Sweat seeped from every pore in her body. She couldn't remember ever sweating like this. The heat was unbelievable and dust was causing her to cough. In the dim light, she saw something that looked familiar. A splitter--that's what they called it. Attached to it were three new cable wires with shiny new fittings--those must be the ones Miles ran. She moved closer for a better look. She slid one foot off the plywood and set it on the gray surface beyond. She shifted her weight forward.

  There was a crash which sounded terrific in her ears; she lost her balance and screamed. She looked down in horror at the jagged hole in the dry, powdery ceiling material, and her leg hanging through it into the laundry room below. She pulled her leg out.

  Miles appeared under the hole, followed by the customer--an overweight, balding Homer Simpson lookalike.

  "Shauna! Are you OK?"

  "I think so. I'm so sorry."

  "What is she doing up there?" Homer Simpson demanded.

  "It's my fault, sir," Miles said. "I sent her up there to get something for me. I apologize."

  "You apologize?" Homer echoed, indignantly. "You just tore a hole in my ceiling!"

  "Yes, sir," Miles said. "And we're very sorry. Avcom will have it repaired for you, of course."

  "You're damn right they will!"

  "Yes, sir. I'm gonna radio this in to my supervisor right now."

  "Bullshit! I'm calling Avcom myself. And I want your supervisor's name and extension so I can talk to him personally. And I want your names and whatever ID numbers Avcom knows you by." Homer jabbed his index finger toward Miles to punctuate every syllable, stopping only inches from his face.

  "OK, sir. Give me a minute to make sure my co-worker is alright, then I'll write down all that information for you."

  "Bullshit. I'm calling right now." Homer whirled and exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Miles tilted his face up, blinking his eyes at the falling dust. "Come on down, Shauna, if you're not hurt. You need any help?"

  "I'm coming," she said, backing up onto the plywood.

  Miles met her at the bottom of the ladder. He was pale, and trembling. "Um, what were you doing up there?"

  "I just wanted to see... Miles, I'm so sorry!" she blurted, and couldn't help the tears that leaked out.

  "Don't worry about it," he whispered. "But you should probably sit in the van so you don't have to hear this guy's mouth any more."

  Mortified, Shauna did as suggested. She watched Miles go backand-forth, finishing up the job, the Nextel glued to his ear the whole time.

  After her eternity of shame and suspense, Miles cleaned up the jobsite, packed his equipment back in the cargo hold, and slid into the driver's seat. He dropped into gear and nearly peeled the tires, accelerating so hard to get out of there.

  "Miles," she said, voice cracking, "please forgive me. That was so stupid. I had no business up there and now..."

  He flashed her a grin that appeared forced, and waved his hand dismissively back toward the house they just left. "You're forgiven. And don't mind that guy. He's probably been waiting for months to take his frustration out on somebody."

  "I don't want you getting in trouble, Miles. I'm going to call Matt Berger and tell--"

  "I already talked to Berger," he interrupted. "It's all taken care of. I haven't caused any property damage for a long time, so I'm still good."

  "Have you ever poked your foot through a ceiling?" she asked.

  "Oh yeah," he said, his grin more genuine now. "Sometimes it's so tight up there, and you get tangled up in all the booby traps, loose your balance and…crash!"

  "I didn't lose my balance or get tangled up. I was just stupid."

  "Stop calling yourself that," he said, glancing away from the road to furrow his brows at her. "We both know you're not stupid. And now you know, from first-hand experience, that ceilings are made of drywall. And drywall can't support the weight of a human."

  "You took the blame for it yourself?" she asked, feeling even more guilt.

  "It would get complicated otherwise. But I have good news."

  She raised her eyebrows.

  "One of our jobs cancelled, so we're that much closer to catching up." He looked genuinely chipper about this.

  "Do you get lunch breaks?" she asked. Her stomach had been rumbling for the last couple hours.

  He looked at the time display on his Nextel, and blanched. "Aw, shi...um, crud. I'm sorry, Shauna. Lost track of time. You shoulda' said something--it's almost two; you must be starving."

  Now she felt bad for asking. "You're already way behind, Miles. You don't have to stop--I was just wondering how you're supposed to find time to eat."

  "We're gonna take time," he declared, as if making an oath. "What do you like?"

  "A burger is fine," she said. "Or a salad."

  "There's a Wendy's real close," he said, braking and cranking the steering wheel to take a hard corner. A vehicle behind them honked. "Get bent, buddy!" he called over his shoulder. "We got two hungry people in here!"

  "We can do the drive-through," she said, as they turned into the parking lot. "It'll save time."

  "Naw," Miles replied, pulling into a parking space. "You'll want to wash up. I know I do."

  As guilty and small as she felt right then, she was relieved to know she'd be relatively clean in a few minutes. She unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the door.

  "Hold on," he said.

  She paused. He reached toward her, pulled a piece of insulation from her hair and flicked it into his trash bag.

  "Thanks," she said.

  He reached back toward her. This time he brushed something off her cheek. His big, rough hand was so gentle, yet charged with some mysterious energy, she was mesmerized by the touch.

  "Don't want you to suffer any more embarrassment today, if we can help it," he said, softly.

  Unconsciously, she rubbed the spot on her face where she could still feel the electric tingle. She watched him slide off his seat and down to the asphalt, shut the driver's door, and stroll toward Wendy's front entrance. Then he stopped and looked back, waiting for her.

  Shauna entered the ladies room and washed her skin in a trance. There was something about the gentle way he touched her, and spoke to her, just now...

  They stood in line and Shauna insisted not only that they order to go, but that she pay for her own meal. He finally consented. He appeared sad when he did so.

  Back in the van, with the engine and air conditioner running, Miles hesitated before shifting into gear. His countenance reminded her of that morning, when he acted so shy. "Listen, Shauna," he said, with a somber droop to his eyes, "I didn't mean to offend you."

  "Offe
nd me?" she asked, after gulping down a mouthful of fries.

  "I should keep my hands to myself," he said. "I just didn't want, y'know..."

  She forced a laugh, and pshawed. "You didn't offend me! I'm fine." He thought that tender touch had upset her? If he only knew.

  He studied her, wordlessly.

  "I'm glad I didn't walk in there with junk stuck to my face," she said, as if his hand on her cheek had been no big deal. "Really: no worries."

  He took off, and ate as he drove. "You mind if I ask you a personal question?" he asked, after wolfing down his burger and fries.

  "What?" Her heart raced. Why it did, she wasn't sure.

  "Where did you get your accent?"

  Her pulse stabilized as relief flooded over her. What had she been afraid he would ask? "My mother's from Guyana. She kind of balanced me against the rest of my environment."

  "Wow. Guyana--what's that like?"

  "I've never been there," she admitted. "But Mum has photos, and several plants in her house from the home country. Where were you brought up?"

  He pointed into the heart of the city. "Few miles from downtown."

  "Black neighborhood?"

  "Mostly. Why?"

  "Your own accent. It's...don't take this the wrong way, but it wasn't obvious on the phone you were white."

  He glanced over at her, then broke out laughing. "You thought I was black? Oh, okay." He nodded and laughed some more, like he suddenly understood something. "I see. Okay."

  "What's so funny?"

  "I guess we both made the same kind of assumption," he said, and shook his head. "I bet this doesn't happen often."

  "You assumed I was white?"

  Blushing, he failed to answer.

  She stuck her tongue out at him. "Should I be talkin', like, all ghetto and stuff, so peeps don't be gettin' it twisted no mo'?"

  He laughed hard at that.

  She threw a salt packet at him. "So I'm frontin'? Is that it? I don't sound black enough?"

  He sobered quickly, and wiped his eyes. "I'm not sayin' all that. But you do sound a lot different from the black girls I grew up around."