3. Jeremy #2
I pop one earbud in and set my favorite playlist going. It clashes terribly with what’s blaring from the workshop radio, but, if I focus hard enough, I can tune the other out. Music is the soul’s language; the only way to not take life too seriously. That shit will give a man wrinkles.
And hair loss.
I work half an hour past knock off time, just to show that I’m not shirking, putting tools away, cleaning the impact wrenches and balancing machines, and sweeping the oil-stained floors before putting the big roller doors down.
One hand in my pocket, I slip through the office where the admin staff are still at work, just to say goodbye.
Mr Kalone spots me through his open doorway and snaps his fingers.
“I’m just on my way out,” I say with a smile, walking into his space.
It’s piled high with document towers, unopened deliveries, and several takeaway food containers.
“Here,” he says, passing me an envelope.
“What’s this?” I ask.
Instead of answering, he chucks his chin, which I interpret as an order to open it. Did someone send my mail here or what?
The tab tears under my thick fingers and the letter seems stickier than normal, the folds clinging together and resisting opening. When I finally flap the top part open, the big, bold words hit me straight in the gut.
Termination Notice. Effective immediately.
I sputter. “You can’t—"
Mr Kalone’s brows jump, and he holds my gaze, not an ounce of shame in him. Right, he can, because technically I’m a casual employee. Next month I was gonna be put on contract. Not anymore, apparently.
Well fuck me.
I stand, feet glued to the floor with my heart sinking lower. Is a man supposed to beg at a time like this? Implore a manager to keep me on at a place that doesn’t want me? That would be a life’s theme song played in a minor key. Something in my chest rebels at the idea—as it always has.
“Well, it was fun while it lasted.” I salute him with the letter and turn to go.
“Work isn’t supposed to be fun, you moron. That’s why you’ll never amount to anything.”
His words sting like a viper striking my back, but not because of the name calling. Anyone can tell from the way Nick Kalone’s going bald at an alarming rate that he’s not living a happy life. It’s the other, nameless unease within me that hurts.
And the fact the bastard waited for me to work a full day before firing me.
I pause in the doorway and turn back. My former boss stiffens, as if suddenly realizing I’m a foot taller than him. But I’d never hurt a fly.
“I hope you have a good life, sir,” I say, before waving once and taking myself right out of there.
Heap coals on their heads or something. He’s not worth me tying myself in knots over.
My truck rumbles in welcome as I flip the ignition. “Just you and me again, baby,” I mutter, stroking the faded dash.
Ominous clouds mass overhead and a chill steals into my skin as I drive, spreading through my body and diving deep into my heart. Another failure. Another story about the time I worked somewhere and couldn’t keep the position.
“So, what am I meant to do?” I grumble as I pull up at the stop lights.
The world keeps telling me to squeeze myself into a hole I’m the wrong shape for. Where’s the passion, the living larger than life? We live in Texas, for fuck’s sake, where everything’s supposed to be bigger.
The lights go green. Huffing under my breath to expel the creeping disappointment, I drop the accelerator.
A shadow looms in my window. Shiny chrome grill, a flash of bright red.
The world crunches in around me and spins, a tornado of debris engulfing me.
Metal shrieks as it bends and glass fragments shower my face.
The seatbelt yanks across my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs.
A second, louder crash booms in my ears.
But the light was green. I know I saw green.
That thought keeps tumbling through my brain as the world rights itself. Well, almost, just tilted instead of spinning. The truck’s nose points up, frozen in time. I ended up on the barrier.
Wheezing, I unclick my seatbelt and heave on my door.
Metal creaks in protest as I force it out into the open sky before climbing up to the opening.
I half-fall, half clamber out onto the road.
Emergency lights flash everywhere and cars further back in the line honk, not realizing the entire intersection’s a metal hailstorm.
A van lies on its side nearby, wheels spinning. Half the cab’s buckled in like a giant fist punched it. My stomach sinks as I turn to look behind me. The same fist crumpled the passenger side of my baby.
“Glory,” I mutter, shaking my head.
Maybe now’s the moment to be grateful I’m alive, but the emergency isn't over yet. On stumbling feet, I race toward the van, and the sedan piled up in its ass. Bread and plastic bakers’ trays spill out over the second car, bizarrely out of place in the middle of the road.
“Hey!” I call, choking on my words. “You all right?”
The van door swings open, and a man falls to the pavement, moaning. Alive and semi-mobile, at least. I lean one hand on the white van’s sides, the metal oddly hot. What about the sedan?
A man helps a woman out of the secondary wreck, and she’s shaking and crying.
I swing back, the whole scene now laid out before me. An odd ringing buzzes in my ears as I run a hand through my sweat-gelled hair, and my words from a minute ago roll through the noise like a backtrack. Just you and me now, baby.
No, just me.
My favorite hat sits in the middle of the intersection, crumbled and covered in window glass. Tremors run up through my thighs as I stumble over to pick it up. I brush the shards off, but rubber and grease marks stain the brown leather and half the brim caves in, dangling like a broken branch.
My legs give way and I drop on my ass right there on the asphalt. Spots of rain plink on my skin as the heavens open. Maybe black cats are unlucky after all.
I look up to let the droplets fall on my face. No job, no car. And a twin brother who avoids me like the plague.
What the fuck am I going to do now?