Wrong Call

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Jason Randhurst was jubilant as he stepped out of the elevator of the Dumont Towers building.  He had just left an interview for the top securities investment company in the country. He could hardly believe after almost a year of looking for a job that he would have an interview go so well.  Every other interview he had ended up with an unexpected rejection.  This interview sounded certain that he would be getting the job of a lifetime.

He stepped onto the brightly sun-drenched city sidewalk when his cell phone rang.    Reaching into his pocket and pulling the phone out he realized it was not his phone.   In the excitement of the interview he must have grabbed the interviewer’s phone. When he looked at the caller ID he noticed the call was from Frank Randhurst, his father.

Oh good, Jason thought. Dad wants to know how the interview went.  Then he stood in a confused state staring at the phone.  How would Dad know I have this phone? he thought as he reluctantly answered it.

“Hello” he said in a quizzical sounding voice.

“Hey there Howard this is Frank,” he heard his Father’s domineering voice on the other end.  “I hope you will follow through as I told you to and give that position to my son. You know what I told you. I know everything you did and I will keep quiet if you give my boy that job.  No job and I go to the authorities and tell everything,” Frank said in a self-important voice.

Jason was horrified as he listen to his Father speak.  What was his Father doing?  It wasn’t he, Jason Randhurst who had impressed Howard Southwick, CEO of the Dumont Securities Company with his brilliant resume?  Was his Father blackmailing Mr. Southwick?

“Like I told you, your secretary who you think is so loyal to you isn’t.  She let me in on how for the last ten years you have been embezzling from the company,” Howard said with a sinister snicker. 

“You know I want my boy to work at the top company.  Every other place he has interviewed at I submitted an anonymous devastating reference.  Your company is where I want him to be, you will give him the position and at a mammoth salary.  You understand this, do you not?”

Jason stood stunned listen to the threatening words his father was delivering.  What should he do?

“So Howard,” Frank said in an arrogant way, “what do you have to say?”

“Hello Dad.” 

© Copyright 2014  Eileen A Partak

Holding Memories

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“If it’s any consolation for you, she died instantly.”  The words of the police officer played over in Rex Bernard’s head.  It was their tenth anniversary. They had plans to meet for dinner to celebrate.  It was bad enough the accident occurred on their anniversary but they had a ridiculous argument that morning over where to dine. He insisted she drive and meet him at the restaurant near his office.  Her argument was she didn’t like driving in unfamiliar areas, but she finally agreed.  Jill got lost.   She impetuously drove along the foreign streets trying to find the restaurant and missed the stop sign. A truck hit the side of her car.  She died instantly.

It was his first day back to the office since Jill’s death the month before. All the sympathetic stares and well-meaning words had exhausted him.  He couldn’t wait to return home to rest.  But he was reluctant to enter the empty house. It felt so cold and lonely since Jill was gone. A light rain dotted the sidewalk as he made his way to the door. He hesitated a moment before turning the key, not sure if it was the rain or tears that moistened his face.

Flipping on the light he saw something glistening on the kitchen table.  Feeling a sudden wave of vertigo he grabbed the doorframe to steady himself.   There on the kitchen table sat a gold frame holding a picture of him and Jill taken the night he proposed.  Rex picked it up looking at the image of the happy couple gazing at each other with eyes silently speaking love. He clutched the picture to his chest and wept.  He was puzzled at how the picture appeared on the kitchen table - and why?

The next night, still insisting on blocking happiness from his life, he was hit with another surprise.  Small pink roses sat on the kitchen table – the kind that made up Jill’s wedding bouquet.  Rex sat down at the table picking up the bouquet breathing in the delicate scent.  He caressed the soft fresh flowers thinking of their wedding day, picturing how beautiful Jill was and how happy they had been.  Again he sat weeping, blaming himself for her death and wondering how and why the flowers appeared.

Rex hurried home from work the next night to see what surprise awaited him.  On the kitchen table sat an opened cookbook.  He picked it up, “BBQ Meat Balls” he chuckled as he fingered the pages stained with BBQ sauce.  The first meal she made after they had gotten married. He laughed thinking of that night, picturing Jill and the kitchen splattered with the sauce.  He remembered how he wiped her cheek and kissed her sauce-splattered nose.  These memories were replacing the pain-filled places in his heart with joy.  But again he resisted the warmth of memories. Instead he embraced pain and regret as the sentinel to keep happiness from entering his devastated heart.

Nothing showed up for several weeks, until one night something sparkled brightly on the table.  Rex could not believe what he saw; there it was Jill’s wedding ring.   Hoping to ease his pain he had buried the ring with her. To keep it, he thought, would cause too much grief. Now all this was too much for him to handle.  Who was playing this trick on him? How were these items appearing? 

Later that night Rex was awaken by a dazzling light cascading over the bedroom walls.  There in the light blue radiance, looking beautiful like a princess stood Jill.  She reached her arms out toward him and in a soft voice said, “Rex don’t be tortured by my death.  Death is just another step in our existence.  I did not leave you. I only died and moved from this life to experience the beauty of the next.   One day we will be together again.  Be happy. Don’t waste life with regrets and sadness. Fill you heart with happiness and memories of the love we shared.  I left those memories for you, to remind you our time together was precious.  Keep the memories close. Remember me but enjoy and live the life you have now.”  She then blew him a kiss and disappeared. 

Rex sat in the dark room feeling a loving warmth embrace him.  He would hold these loving memories his wife gave him in his heart for all time. 

Observing the Coffee Shop People... And a Little Love and Passion - Entry 2

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This started as a writing exercise as I sat at the coffee shop observing people for character development.

Reading over it one day I  decided to write a short story based on the characters.  I kept it in the form of a journal.

November 5….

Haven’t written or studied writing for a week.   The process does make me think young.   It does put me in an emotional slump if I don’t write…so write! 

Make room for writing. Make room for studying how to write and make room for research.  Bought study books and some sort of writing software today.  What am I looking for now, a new career as a writer or a new hobby?  Looking for something, maybe answers.  All these years of working all these years of living, there must be some answer to something I want to know.  But what do I want to know?

Who will be my character study today?  There, the Coffee Shop Couple –

They are young, but been together for a while, probably were high school sweethearts before marrying.  He is very good looking and in good shape.  She seems to have been pretty once, maybe the “Prom Queen”. Years have put pounds on her, so many she is on her way to being handicapped, has trouble walking. 

They sit and read, they must make the coffee shop/book store a regular habit.  I should talk I think I’m a regular now.  They comment on their reading but are pretty much in their own “cell”.  Him especially.  She makes comments he faintly listens, but he still loves her, kisses her when she needs his help getting off the chair. But he is missing something, he lives comfortable but needs a more charged emotional, physical life, it shows on his face and in his eyes. 

How does it happen?  How does love move into such drudgery?   Shouldn’t we always care, shouldn’t we always try.  What makes passion and desire take a nap with the one we thought would keep it alive?  Do we live too long?  Make too many personality changes so we out grow people, move on from what we felt and thought was our life dream.  Do our social rules stop us from letting our human side live as it was meant to live?

Make note: examine humans, their daily social routine and desires, both controlled and non-controlled.  Get more coffee...

© Copyright 2013   Eileen A Partak

The Retirement Party

I hear everyone chattering as they go down the hall to the lunchroom. They are giving me a farewell potluck, a retirement party. Like it's really for me, they just like a reason to eat.  My last day of work, the day I have been counting down for this past decade. It’s finally here.

I can’t believe the company president is here today to go over something with me.  At five o'clock I'm gone. I don't care what happens. Why can't my replacement deal with it? When has he ever been available for me? So many times I’ve needed to discuss something, needed his signature,  he never showed up. Now, today, my last day, he decides to show up, and at lunchtime.  I certainly hope there will be food left for me when I can get away. I am sure no one even noticed I'm not there.  This is the price you pay for having the top secretarial position in the company.  The way I could silence a room by just walking in. Always being left out of the parties. Not being part of the weekly donut day.  Everyone jealous, thinking they can do this job better. I can’t wait to see what happens to my replacement.  Waiting for the day she calls me because she can’t find something, or doesn’t understand the database that I have been trying to teach her for the last year.  Oh, and no one understands how difficult it is to cover for the boss.The lies you have to tell.  Well, my lying days, my days of stress, are all over. I will never look back on this place.  If I had the opportunity to tell them just what I think, what an ear full that would be.

Finally I can get away to the lunchroom.  Some of my coworkers have eaten and are already leaving. Someone asked what was the reason for the lunch, but whatever the reason they want to do it again soon. All the Italian beef is gone. A little potato salad is left sticking to the side of the bowl. The only thing left is a whole bowl of untouched macaroni salad, which I totally hate.   

The boss hands me an envelope. My retirement bonus.  I open the envelope, trying not too look too excited, and slowly take a peek. One hundred dollars! After twenty years service, that is it? And they even took taxes out!

I've heard retirement day is the day you find out how everyone really felt about you. All their true emotions can not be contained on this day. I wait for someone to get up and tell the funny little stories I've heard at other retirement luncheons. The stories about how the person exploded the copy machine toner in their face. How they accidentally erased all the billing files. How when they started the job, they waited a week to ask where the washroom was because they didn't have to go until then.

The buzz of the crowd quiets down as they finish their cake.  My replacement requests everyone's attention. Okay this is it.  This is when everyone opens their heart with the stories and emotions they have for me. This is where I am now the center of the day, the special person who has touched them all in some way. The good wishes for my future as a retired person they bestow upon me. 

But instead of a "roast" and heartfelt feelings from my fellow workers, she asks that I reflect on my years of service, what working here and what everyone has meant to me. Finally the first time in twenty years my words are important, they want to hear what I have to say.

Okay folks...

Brace yourselves...

Here it comes...

How I feel about you...

I’m going out with a bang!







Ó 2012 Eileen A Partak

No Parking

I asked Mom again if I heard correctly. “Sure why not you’re off school I’ll take you to get your drivers license.” This was the day, crossing the bridge from being a kid to having a drivers license, so cool!  So what if I only got a C in drivers-ed, it was still passing. Okay, I couldn’t parallel park but most parking was in lots anyway.  Sure I missed class when they used the driving simulator but big deal I drove the real car.  Sure the instructor slammed on the brakes at the yield right-of-way sign; but the other car was coming from the left not right. 

The whole trip I went over everything I learned in class, everything Dad had told me.   Remember to buckle the seat belt, adjust the mirror, look behind you when backing up.  Then there is the trick they play when they tell you to park as if you are parking on a hill for the day.  My friend Sara flunked because she didn’t take the key out of the ignition.  Of course she would take it if she was really parking for the day, but the DMV officer flunked here. I pray that they don’t have me parallel park; please no parking.

The DMV was very crowded, no school so every mom had the same idea. Every kid promising, ‘I can always run to the store for you, or I can pick Jimmy up from school for you.’  Yeah sure, just give me that car. No more school bus just cruising through life now.  Starting to shake as I watch the red numbers flash across the neon board, 365 only three more.  I see my friend Ben coming back from the test. He didn’t pass.  I’m doomed Ben got an A in class.  The DMV officer pats him on the back telling him to try again next week.

Red lights blind me as 368 flashes on the big neon board. That’s me. I get up slowly and feel like I’m walking to my own execution.  Mom gives me that ‘you’ll do fine, but we can always try again next week’ look.  The short round DVM officer meets me at the door.  Without looking up from his clip-board, where my whole life story is imprinted on the application, he asks in his ‘I’ve asked this one hundred times this week’ tone “where is the car?”  I take him to the green Toyota, and again without looking up he looks at the tires, guess to make sure we didn’t drive here on four flats.  When he finally looks up from the car, the expression on his face looks like any human, he doesn’t really look like a monster. But I’m still petrified.

“Is this Fred’s car?”

“Yes sir,” assuming he means Dad, who is named Fred, and this, is his car.

“He’s your father?  Does he think you can drive?”

“I think so sir.”

“Well, then if he thinks so, I do too.”

"Yes!" I exclaim. "No parking!"

Ó 2012 Eileen A Partak