Twenty and Jobless

by R.S. Jackson

Twenty and jobless

  by R.S.JACKSON

  Copyright © 2014 by R.S.Jackson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed: rsjackson1899@hotmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One1

  Chapter Two4

  Chapter Three12

  Chapter Four16

  Chapter Five21

  Chapter Six28

  Chapter Seven37

  Chapter Eight42

  Chapter Nine48

  Chapter Ten55

  Chapter Eleven60

  Chapter Twelve67

  Chapter Thirteen70

  Chapter Fourteen73

  Chapter One

  People say a good education is the basic necessity to survive in life; a necessity that requires you to sacrifice twenty years of your life just for a piece of paper with letters scattered upon them.

  I drag myself out of bed and slouch into the computer chair. The digital clock, flashing away, reminding me that the alarm had broken months ago. Like I needed it anyway. Getting out of bed is an option; not a requirement.

  I kick the computer and it boots up into my emails. The familiar list of failure staring straight at me as always: You have been rejected. We are sorry to inform you that you have been unsuccessful in this round, we will keep your CV for future reference. Yeah right, more like sell my details on for a little extra cash.

  Rejection letter after rejection letter. It doesn't end. I don't know why I bother. It's not like I haven't got the skills though. The dusted book filled with various diplomas and degrees sits in front of my screen; taunting me, mocking the time I've wasted.

  I close the emails and open the job centre page. 'Thousands of new jobs added today!' the slogan teases. Looking through the list I casually apply for anything. Why not? It's not like a few more rejection letters are going to hurt now is it.

  My phone starts vibrating on the desk. It's a text message:

  Meet me at the bus stop babez. Got news 4 u. Claire.

  I smile. The one thing going right in my life is Claire. We've been together ever since year ten when I got beat up by her older brother. Sympathy is the best way to a girl's heart, at least in my experience.

  She's been amazing. Stuck with me through the struggle of getting a job. I got real lucky with Claire. Not many women would stay with a jobless man for so long. I'm almost twenty two already, but yet, I still feel like I'm still sixteen. Why does life go so fast? I'm just not ready yet.

  "Jaime," screams Mom. "Are you getting up today or what?"

  Yes, I still live at home. Urgh. Beats living on streets I tell myself everyday. Only just.

  I haul myself off the computer and kick the power switch, no need to shut it down, it only ever brings bad news, it doesn't deserve my sympathy.

  "Interview's at ten remember," she screams up the stairs. I swear she should of worked in a prison. No convict would disobey that voice. It's like a fog horn.

  "Yeah okay, I'm coming," I croak.

  Footsteps followed by the sound of the hand rail shaking tell me she's gone, well, at least long enough to complain to dad that is.

  I'm sure that's what they do while I'm upstairs, gossip about how useless I am.

  'Your brother's got a new job in London,' they remind me every evening. 'He's really trying to succeed, Jaime.'

  What do they think I'm doing all day? Twiddling my thumbs. I didn't choose to be like this, stuck at home with no hope of a future. No one picks that career.

  'When we were your age we'd just walk into a company and start the next day.' If only it were that simple.

  I grab my suit and throw it on, making sure to fasten my navy blue tie right to the top. Blue's the colour of business I'm told. Makes you look more employable. Hasn't worked so far.

  I flick the collar up on my suit jacket, enough to hide my face, and sprint down the stairs heading straight for the front door.

  "I'm off now, catch you later."

  "Wait," shouts Mom.

  She shuffles through the kitchen and cuts me off, her hair invaded with tin foil, red dye dripping from her forehead. I don't know why she's so obsessed with her hair colour. It changes every week depending on which celebrity appears on telly next.

  "Me and your father need to have a little talk with you," she says. "Nothing to worry about."

  Her eyes give her away, darting from one side to the other. It's going to be bad news. More than likely 'me' being the centre of that bad news.

  "Okay mom," I say, forcing a fake smile. "But later, I've got this interview in an hour."

  "Yes of course, I know that," she snaps. "Just make sure you're back by eight."

  Yeah right. She's just told me she wants to talk. I'll be back at ten; eleven at best.

  "Okay Mom," I lie. "See you later."

  I sidestep past her and dash through the door with a big sigh of relief. That was close. I couldn't have dealt with that this morning. The rejection letters have already kicked me down far enough. I don't need any more.

  My phone vibrates again:

  Where r u? Claire.

  One at a time Claire, one at a time. That's odd. She usually puts a kiss at the end of each text. She must be in a rush. I best pick up the pace.

  Chapter Two

  I arrive at the end of the street gasping for air. I seriously need to get into shape. The bus stop is only around the corner from my house and my ribs are killing me.

  I straighten my suit jacket and flick the collars back down. Okay, deep breaths. I casually stroll around the corner to see the bus stop and the graffiti ridden shelter beside it, my name imprinted on the side with red spray paint.

  Although it was nearly ten years ago I wrote that, I still can't help but smile and feel strangely proud of my design. Sad really. Twenty years and a bit of graffiti is my greatest creation. Bill Gates had co founded Microsoft by my age.

  Then she catches my eye, standing straight, perfect posture. Her curly blond locks bouncing as she twists her head from left to right. I don't know how I got so lucky.

  "Claire," I shout, waving my hand with a smile.

  She smiles back, but only for a second, her attention going back to her mobile.

  I dash down the road and place my hand on her shoulder, "Sorry I'm late, my mom..."

  "I need to talk to you."

  Her eyes dart from left to right. This isn't going to be good.

  "Okay, what's up?"

  She flicks between a smile and a frown, biting her lip while looking behind her. "Hmmm, well, you see," she stutters. "I got a promotion yesterday."

  My eyes widen, "Oh my god, you're joking. That's amazing." I lunge forward and go for a hug only for her to block me off with her hands outstretched.

  "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy?"

  "I am, I am, it's just..."

  "Just what? Tell me Claire, is something wrong?"

  She starts to fidget, pulling her fingers between the straps of her handbag. "It's in London."

  "Oh..." My heart sinks. I know where this is going now, but I feel like I have to play it dumb anyway, hoping that I’ve got the wrong idea; praying that I have.
>
  "That's good, right?" I say. "Better money and stuff."

  "Yeah, the money's good, but, I'm going to have to move there, Jaime."

  "You don't have to move there. You could travel on the train, it's only what, two or three hours away?"

  I can hear how stupid I sound right now, desperately trying to cling onto the last thing I have.

  "They're going to pay for a flat for me to live in. Part of the company bonuses," she says, hands waving beside her head like she's just won the lottery.

  "Oh, right. That sounds good, yeah." I shove my hands into my pockets and start rocking on my heels, "Maybe I can come with you or visit or something, you know."

  I want to stop, honest. I feel so stupid right now.

  She glances at her phone, then back at me, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. You'd think she'd only known me a couple of days.

  "I think it would be best if we had a, kind of, break from us, you know?"

  "Oh right, yeah, I understand," I say. I really don't understand at all. "It's probably for the best." It's not for the best. I'll be nothing without her.

  "We had some good times, Jaime," she smiles while patting me on the shoulder.

  A loud growl of an engine comes thundering down the street, changing gear while still revving. I look up and a black sports car comes skidding around the corner, flashing its lights and beeping its horn.

  The car races towards us and slides to a halt beside my foot, flicking the contents of the gutter onto my leg. About sums the day up so far.

  The tinted windows roll down to reveal a douche bag inside. Do you know how I know he was a douche bag. His long, slick brown hair combed back towards his neck with thick, black aviator glasses perched on his stupid nose.

  "Hey babe, you ready?" he smiles, big pearly white teeth sticking out from his lips. I've only met him for a couple of seconds and I already hate him.

  "Yeah, I'm coming," she smiles from ear to ear. "Bye, Jaime."

  She waves and jumps into the car with a giggle.

  "Yeah, I'll see you..." But before I can finish my words, the douche revs up his engine and grins.

  "Catch you later, dude." He races off down the street and spins around the corner, the sound of the engine fading off into the distance.

  What the hell just happened? Why didn't I say anything? Why did she? My heart sinks along with my body, sharp thud of the pavement stopping me from going any further. I should of pleaded with her. She's all I have. Dammit!

  I slap my hands against my face and scream into my palms. Idiot. This is all your fault you hopeless...

  "Hey," says a soft voice.

  I peer through the gaps of my fingers to see a girl sitting beside me. Her long eyelashes flickering up and down.

  "Are you okay?" she asks.

  "Yeah, great," I lie.

  She slides my finger across to see my eye. "That's better," she smiles. "I can see you now."

  Her glowing, peach cheeks push up towards her eyes, "You don't remember me do you?"

  Messy brown hair tied up into a lazy ponytail, held together with a strand of her own hair. No. Nothing. She's right. I haven’t got a clue who she is.

  "Yeah, erm, from school," I guess, still hiding behind my fingers.

  She giggles, her green eyes tearing up, "Lucky guess."

  She stops laughing and folds her arms, pushing her top lip up, "What class?"

  She's got me again. I haven’t got a clue. She looks clever. Must of been in something I was good at. A set one class possibly?

  "Science?" I hesitate.

  "Two lucky guesses."

  She wasn't wrong.

  "So what's my name then?"

  I pull my hands away from my face. Scruffy green anorak, black tights and two oversized boots on her feet. No necklace or symbol in sight.

  "Jessica..." I watch her head tilt to the side and her eyebrow raise. "I mean, not Jessica, she sat behind you." Lies all lies. "Your name is..."

  "Katie," she says.

  "Yeah, Katie, that's right."

  She giggles as my cheeks flush bright red. “You look just like a tomato."

  I pull my collar up on my suit to hide my face. I'm such an idiot. Why do I lie so much?

  I feel her soft hand hold mine, "It's okay. We all go through rough patches."

  A loud horn beeps making me jump.

  "Get off the road," mouths the fat bus driver through his windscreen.

  I stumble to my feet and he flicks open the doors, "What's wrong with you, eh? You trying to get run over or what?"

  Good question. I've been asking myself that ever since I left school.

  "Erm, sorry, I fell." Lies lies lies. I can't stop myself.

  I root through my pockets and empty the contents into the tray: Two pound coins, a few tufts of tissue, and an old green sweet.

  "Return from Town centre please."

  The bus driver chuckles, his double chin bobbing up and down. "You wish son. A single is £1.98."

  I take a quick glance to my right, the packed bus all staring at me.

  "Hurry up hobo," shouts a voice from the crowd of school kids at the back.

  Skivers. It's nearly quarter to ten. I shouldn't be getting abuse at this time of day.

  "Single then," I mumble.

  He squashes his podgy fingers against the till and a ticket streams out of the machine, "Next!"

  I drag my feet towards the seat at the front and look at my ticket. One way to town centre. Looks like I'm walking home today. Typical.

  I slam my head against the window and close my eyes. I should of said something to Claire. I just let her go. Maybe it was my fault. I feel my heart sink again. I miss her.

  "Yeah, ha-ha, I know that's so funny right."

  I open my eyes and tilt my head to the left. A woman is sat on the opposite side, her face plastered with make-up: bright red lipstick and those pencil thin eyebrows that look like they've been tattooed on to her face. When did someone decide that was a good look?

  "I know right, he is like definitely going to his," she shouts down the phone, her curly hair bouncing in sync with her massive hooped earrings. "He's cheating, like, cheating. Yeah. I know right."

  The side of my face starts to burn. I look behind the woman to see Katie staring at me with a wide smile on her face. She pulls up her hand and discreetly waves.

  I smile back. I still don't remember her. Science class. Katie. Nothing. I'm not the best with faces but I’m sure I would of remembered hers.

  She holds up her finger and points to the woman in front then starts rummaging through her bag. She pulls out a phone from inside and puts it to her ear and begins imitating every move the woman makes.

  I smirk and try my best to cover my mouth.

  "He his like, definitely not getting with him again," says the woman.

  She crosses her leopard print leggings over from one side to the other while Katie mimics, flailing her arms around as she does so.

  "Kaylee, that bitch behind you is taking the piss out of you!"

  I look up to see what looks like the twin of the woman opposite: Curly hair, red lips, tight zebra leggings, more jewellery on her hands than Mr T.

  The woman spins around and glares a Katie, "This bitch? Have you got a problem?" she shouts.

  Katie's eyes widen, "I'm sorry I-I-I"

  The other woman marches down the gangway, slapping me in the face with the straps of her handbag as she does.

  "Why you taking the piss out her, huh, bitch?"

  Katie's face turns bright red, her hands tugging on the end of her ponytail.

  "I-I I'm really sorry," she says over and over.

  "Slap that whore," says the woman in front.

  "Fight fight fight," chant the kids at the back.

  This is getting out of hand. I stand up and slide my way past the angry curls, "She didn't mean to offend you, she just..."

  Before I can get another word out of my mouth, a hand flashe
s by and slaps me in the face.

  "What the hell's going on back there!" shouts the driver.

  The bus skids to a halt, knocking me forward and banging my head on the seat rail.

  The fat driver jumps off his seat and waddles over to me, his face scrunched up like a bull dog, "Who was it? Huh? Come on?"

  The curly bunch both point at me.

  "Get off my bus!"

  I try to stutter for words but the driver just lowers his brow.

  "Now!"

  This day couldn't get any worse. I drag my feet past the crowd and hop off the bus to the chanting of 'see you later loser' coming from behind. Stupid kids.

  I start walking forward and watch the bus fly by, the curly bunch pleasantly signalling me as they pass. Needless to say; I returned the kindness.

  The street sign ahead tells me I'm just over a mile away from the town centre. That's what I get for helping someone out. I wish I had a car. I wish I had a job to buy a car. I wish Claire was here.

  "Thank you," whispers a voice.

  I look over my shoulder to see Katie walking beside me, playing with her ponytail.

  I rub my face, "I didn't do anything, curly bunch did most of the handy work."

  She giggles which makes me smile. Her long eyelashes curling up towards her eyebrows, flickering up and down effortlessly.

  "Are those real?"

  "My eyes? No, I stole them," she grins.

  "No,” I laugh. “I mean your eyelashes."

  "Yeah, they're all mine," she says. "No assembly required here."

  I smile. Why don't I remember her.

  "So...why are you all dressed up?"

  I look at my suit covered in splattered mud, "Well, I wouldn't say I was dressed up...Interview! Shit, what time is it?"

  "Five to ten, why?"

  "I'm late!"

  I sprint off down the road. I can still make it.

  Chapter Three

  I arrive at the town centre, sweat pouring down my forehead. Where was I going again? Shit.

  I stuff my hand in my pocket and pull out the scrunched up bit of paper inside. 'Johnson and brothers 10pm'. I look up. It's right in front of me. Finally some luck.

  The door opens by itself and I approach the receptionist, "I'm here...for...the...interview," I pant.

  She chews on her gum a few times before pointing her long nails towards a row of seats filled with several other miserable candidates, all who might I add are dressed exactly the same as me: blue tie, black suit and highly polished shoes.

  How am I supposed to get an edge on everyone else when they were using the same techniques as me? I might as well of dressed in bright red with a big hire me sign dangled around my neck. At least I'd stand out more.