"That goddamn rock!" I said.
"What?"
"In my shoe again! That goddamned rock!"
Marie and I walked through a quiet Wednesday downtown evening. The air was warm. Yellow street lamps shone gently against a deepening blue sky. All around the sounds of people living. And me, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, kicking my foot against the side of the library trying to dislodge the stone from under my toe.
"Have you taken the rock out since last time?" she asked.
"No!" I kicked again and the rock fell somewhere else in my shoe. I stepped down. It was under my heel. I kicked again and it went under the arch. That was tolerable.
"And I take it that means you aren't going to, right?"
"No. It's fine now. The goddamned thing." I began to walk again and Marie strode beside me.
"You want food?" she asked.
"No. I'm not hungry. I want to go home."
"Okay. I just figured, it's a nice night out and we could find a cafe, sit outside, have a salad or something..."
"If we find a cafe on the way home, then fine, but I am fucking beat."
"Why are you so grumpy?"
"I can't stand the thought of going to work in the morning."
"You and everyone else."
"No," I said. "You don't get it. I've worked jobs. I've hated jobs. I've felt the blue collar plight. This isn't it. This is some sort of fucking blue collar post-traumatic stress."
"It wouldn't be post-traumatic, because you're still working there."
"It's post-traumatic every fucking time I clock off for the day. Fucking thousand yard stare the whole drive home. I never even remember the drive."
"Oh," she said. "Fair enough, you want to stop off at a bar then? Get a beer or two? Relax for a bit?"
"I'd love to. I have to get up before the goddamned sunrise though and beer always makes me wake up in the middle of the night."
"Wine doesn't."
"No, but I'd sleep right through the alarm."
"Okay. I was just trying to make you feel better," she said.
"I know. I appreciate it."
We walked out of the main strip of town and didn't see anywhere for salads or outside seating or anything.
"I'm sorry I've been such a prick lately," I said.
"You haven't been, really."
"Well, I certainly feel like I have."
"Thanks, but I understand. Times are difficult. We've got next to no cash. Working a job you can't stand. I know. But, really, this is the first time I've thought you were even being grumpy in quite a while."
"Okay." I wished I had worn a jacket now that the air was beginning to cool. I owed money to a lot of people and I didn't have any and when I was a kid I heard of a man who killed himself over a debt to the IRS and back then I couldn't understand it. It frightened me that now I almost could. Over the winter I had been laid off from a decent paying job where my debt had been tolerable. I lived on unemployment for a bit, but after the garnishments each week, I was left with only enough to pay my portion of the bills and have five dollars extra. I took the first (and thus far only) job available. Forty plus hours a week (which is fine and good), landscaping, for ten dollars an hour. Now, after garnishments and bills I had twenty dollars to live on for the week. I had received a few threatening phone calls and letters and had myself in a bit of a panic. If they took any more money, I couldn't pay my bills. If I couldn't pay my bills, Marie would leave. Eventually, I'm sure. I couldn't find a better paying job, there were none available. I was stuck and left to the wind. I was scared and angry. Working all day in the sun, busting my ass and coming home each week with essentially nothing. I would watch the people around me work and save and smile and all I could do was keep waking up. Keep going to work. Keep drowning. I would lie in bed each night, hoping against hope for a solution. A savior. Anything. I would lie in bed each night and fear the morning. Listen to Marie breathe next to me. Listen to the sounds of quiet disappointment and loss in each breath. I was no man. No husband. No provider or supporter. I was trash. Hopeless, broke trash. I kicked a stone down the sidewalk and we turned the corner onto our street and Marie took my hand.
"I love you honey. Everything will be okay," she said.
"I love you too. Why do you say that?"
"I can see it on your face. Everything will be okay," she said again. "We've made it through worse."
"Yeah. I suppose."
A breeze wafted down the street and we walked up our driveway. To our apartment because I couldn't afford a house. We went inside and from the apartment below us I could smell something that might have been a roast cooking and heard my neighbor and someone else laughing. I went to the fridge and took out the wine that I had been trying to save for the weekend.
"Don't miss the alarm in the morning," Marie said.
"I won't."
I poured a tall glass and took the bottle with me as I went to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed and tried not to suffocate.
I couldn't understand how this had become my life.
"What?"
"In my shoe again! That goddamned rock!"
Marie and I walked through a quiet Wednesday downtown evening. The air was warm. Yellow street lamps shone gently against a deepening blue sky. All around the sounds of people living. And me, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, kicking my foot against the side of the library trying to dislodge the stone from under my toe.
"Have you taken the rock out since last time?" she asked.
"No!" I kicked again and the rock fell somewhere else in my shoe. I stepped down. It was under my heel. I kicked again and it went under the arch. That was tolerable.
"And I take it that means you aren't going to, right?"
"No. It's fine now. The goddamned thing." I began to walk again and Marie strode beside me.
"You want food?" she asked.
"No. I'm not hungry. I want to go home."
"Okay. I just figured, it's a nice night out and we could find a cafe, sit outside, have a salad or something..."
"If we find a cafe on the way home, then fine, but I am fucking beat."
"Why are you so grumpy?"
"I can't stand the thought of going to work in the morning."
"You and everyone else."
"No," I said. "You don't get it. I've worked jobs. I've hated jobs. I've felt the blue collar plight. This isn't it. This is some sort of fucking blue collar post-traumatic stress."
"It wouldn't be post-traumatic, because you're still working there."
"It's post-traumatic every fucking time I clock off for the day. Fucking thousand yard stare the whole drive home. I never even remember the drive."
"Oh," she said. "Fair enough, you want to stop off at a bar then? Get a beer or two? Relax for a bit?"
"I'd love to. I have to get up before the goddamned sunrise though and beer always makes me wake up in the middle of the night."
"Wine doesn't."
"No, but I'd sleep right through the alarm."
"Okay. I was just trying to make you feel better," she said.
"I know. I appreciate it."
We walked out of the main strip of town and didn't see anywhere for salads or outside seating or anything.
"I'm sorry I've been such a prick lately," I said.
"You haven't been, really."
"Well, I certainly feel like I have."
"Thanks, but I understand. Times are difficult. We've got next to no cash. Working a job you can't stand. I know. But, really, this is the first time I've thought you were even being grumpy in quite a while."
"Okay." I wished I had worn a jacket now that the air was beginning to cool. I owed money to a lot of people and I didn't have any and when I was a kid I heard of a man who killed himself over a debt to the IRS and back then I couldn't understand it. It frightened me that now I almost could. Over the winter I had been laid off from a decent paying job where my debt had been tolerable. I lived on unemployment for a bit, but after the garnishments each week, I was left with only enough to pay my portion of the bills and have five dollars extra. I took the first (and thus far only) job available. Forty plus hours a week (which is fine and good), landscaping, for ten dollars an hour. Now, after garnishments and bills I had twenty dollars to live on for the week. I had received a few threatening phone calls and letters and had myself in a bit of a panic. If they took any more money, I couldn't pay my bills. If I couldn't pay my bills, Marie would leave. Eventually, I'm sure. I couldn't find a better paying job, there were none available. I was stuck and left to the wind. I was scared and angry. Working all day in the sun, busting my ass and coming home each week with essentially nothing. I would watch the people around me work and save and smile and all I could do was keep waking up. Keep going to work. Keep drowning. I would lie in bed each night, hoping against hope for a solution. A savior. Anything. I would lie in bed each night and fear the morning. Listen to Marie breathe next to me. Listen to the sounds of quiet disappointment and loss in each breath. I was no man. No husband. No provider or supporter. I was trash. Hopeless, broke trash. I kicked a stone down the sidewalk and we turned the corner onto our street and Marie took my hand.
"I love you honey. Everything will be okay," she said.
"I love you too. Why do you say that?"
"I can see it on your face. Everything will be okay," she said again. "We've made it through worse."
"Yeah. I suppose."
A breeze wafted down the street and we walked up our driveway. To our apartment because I couldn't afford a house. We went inside and from the apartment below us I could smell something that might have been a roast cooking and heard my neighbor and someone else laughing. I went to the fridge and took out the wine that I had been trying to save for the weekend.
"Don't miss the alarm in the morning," Marie said.
"I won't."
I poured a tall glass and took the bottle with me as I went to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed and tried not to suffocate.
I couldn't understand how this had become my life.
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