Another Monday Morning
You wait until she hangs up the phone again. Under the shoulderpads of her suit, she slumps, and she waits a long time before straightening herself, as if the weight of the day was a physical burden.
Then you place your hand on her shoulder. "Excuse me," you say, "I think I can help you."
When she wheels around, her expression is of undisguised hatred and disgust. She looks like a harpy, ready to tear your eyes out. Then she composes herself, her face resuming the look of calm dignity she wears so often. It's like makeup, to her, even though she doesn't have much to be dignified about right now.
"Yes?", she says, "What was it you wanted?" It's obviously taking a great effort for her not to yell at you right now.
"Look, I just wanted to say, if you need a place to stay... well, all I wanted to do is get back at my boss, not you or the kids." You feel guilt rising up in you like floodwater as you speak, clenching your chest and throat. "You weren't the one I meant to hurt, and I guess I realized that too late. I can't take it back, not right now, but I can help you... help you make your life work again. Maybe help you so you're not so dependant..."
Her expression is unreadable, but your feelings are running hot and strong in you right now, a peculiar mixture of guilt and hatred. This woman is dignified, polite, and had no life at all outside of her husband and her children. She probably hasn't held a job since she was in school, and the years of happy marriage has given her precious few skills that are workplace-ready. Your ex-boss should have known. He shouldn't have penned this woman up as he did. A person needs hardship to grow; if cut free, she would squirm, suffocate and die on the cruel edges and clumped fat of the world.
How would her dignity fare as she cuts coupons to pay for her kids meals? Would she get any thinner, not eating so she can pay the water bills?
She takes a second, and you can almost read the thoughts as they pass by her eyes. Every now and again her expression flickers, as if a thought has struck the inside of her skull, a thought she cannot speak. She's obviously intelligent - even more of a waste.
Then she smiles. "I think... I think that would be best. Thank you... thank you very much." Her hand leaves the receiver, and she steps out of the phone booth. "It's not often, when a girl has to make a new start that she's given... given such a place to begin from."
You step beside her, and begin walking to the car - your new car. When you get there, you open the door and say...
Then you place your hand on her shoulder. "Excuse me," you say, "I think I can help you."
When she wheels around, her expression is of undisguised hatred and disgust. She looks like a harpy, ready to tear your eyes out. Then she composes herself, her face resuming the look of calm dignity she wears so often. It's like makeup, to her, even though she doesn't have much to be dignified about right now.
"Yes?", she says, "What was it you wanted?" It's obviously taking a great effort for her not to yell at you right now.
"Look, I just wanted to say, if you need a place to stay... well, all I wanted to do is get back at my boss, not you or the kids." You feel guilt rising up in you like floodwater as you speak, clenching your chest and throat. "You weren't the one I meant to hurt, and I guess I realized that too late. I can't take it back, not right now, but I can help you... help you make your life work again. Maybe help you so you're not so dependant..."
Her expression is unreadable, but your feelings are running hot and strong in you right now, a peculiar mixture of guilt and hatred. This woman is dignified, polite, and had no life at all outside of her husband and her children. She probably hasn't held a job since she was in school, and the years of happy marriage has given her precious few skills that are workplace-ready. Your ex-boss should have known. He shouldn't have penned this woman up as he did. A person needs hardship to grow; if cut free, she would squirm, suffocate and die on the cruel edges and clumped fat of the world.
How would her dignity fare as she cuts coupons to pay for her kids meals? Would she get any thinner, not eating so she can pay the water bills?
She takes a second, and you can almost read the thoughts as they pass by her eyes. Every now and again her expression flickers, as if a thought has struck the inside of her skull, a thought she cannot speak. She's obviously intelligent - even more of a waste.
Then she smiles. "I think... I think that would be best. Thank you... thank you very much." Her hand leaves the receiver, and she steps out of the phone booth. "It's not often, when a girl has to make a new start that she's given... given such a place to begin from."
You step beside her, and begin walking to the car - your new car. When you get there, you open the door and say...