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bewize"I have a problem."
Without a doubt, that is the most common greeting I get from people when I answer the phone. It is usually followed by news of a car accident, or the decision to seek a divorce, or tales of catastrophe. "Please, help me."
When I made the decision to become an attorney, I did not consider the constant drain those words would be on my soul. "My husband hits me." "My wife had knee surgery and died because the doctor didn't do something right." "I don't want to press charges, even though… well, I don't want to press charges." "I was stupid and drank too much."
These words chip at me, eating away at my foundation like acid rain. It's a toll that must be paid when to make a living dealing with human misery.
"Can you help me?"
Those words hit like a sledge hammer, shaking my bones like an earthquake and tearing a bloody swath through my brain as I bite down hard on the truth. "I cannot."
"I can try," I settle for another truth, one that has less shine and rings more like a bell swaddled in cotton than the clanging tones that the unspoken truth would have set loose on the world, on my world.
This is my world.
****************
"God-damnit!" The oath slips past my lips, my eyes darting around as soon as it does looking for little ears that will hear and little lips that will repeat. "I mean, crap."
I literally mean crap. The cat has been sick. Again.
Pushing aside my disgust, I go and fetch paper towels, carpet cleaner, the trash can.
"RACH!" There's the owner of the little ears and mouth I was worried about. He comes barreling into the room, toddler arms and legs and enthusiasm and promptly trips over the boot that I left in the way when I finally got home from work last night at 11.
My eyes burn with tired, but I shove it aside to pick up the baby, wishing for a moment that someone could set me on my feet with as much ease. "Where's your daddy, baby? Aren't you going to school today?"
"School!" It's shouted with as much enthusiasm as my name and he tears off in search of his next great adventure, leaving me with a pile of cat sick to clean up and the sinking realization that I'm running late.
"Are you going to be home tonight?" My friend asks, sounding as tired as I feel, as she scoops up the baby and hands him to her husband.
I feel a stab of guilt slice through me as I think again how much it must put her out to have agreed to let me live with her and her husband and son while I got my business off the ground.
"I don't know. I have to work late."
"You'll burn yourself out and make yourself sick. Again."
"I know."
This is my world.
****************
My cell phone has 11 messages on it. That fact isn't unusual, but it causes a knot of dread to settle in my stomach. How many people have I missed? How many calls do I need to return? Can they wait until I finish the project I'm working on?
My email beeps, insistently, and I finally give into the urge and flip over to see that I have three new messages, two of them marked URGENT. I grit my teeth and remind myself that busy is better than the alternative, especially when there are bills demanding to be paid.
As I click on the first message, my office phone rings and I pick it up. "I've got a problem." Only this time, it's not a client. It's my partner and for the first time in the decade I've known him, he sounds like he's close to tears. "My brother… it's bad."
"Where are you?"
He tells me and he's right. It is bad. I don't know whether I should cry for him or shake my head in disbelief.
"I need you to…"
"Yes. Anything."
"Just don't let anything else fall apart right now."
If only it were that simple.
This is my world.
****************
"Rach." It's my roommate and she sounds even worse than I feel. "I've got a problem. There was an incident at the hospital and a patient is dead. I can't leave. Is there any chance you can pick up the baby from daycare? Please?"
I glance at the clock. It's after 5 and the daycare is across town. In traffic. I can make it, but I have to leave now. "Yes."
I hit save on the document I'm working on, but don't bother to close down the computer. I glance at my calendar – the movers are coming tomorrow morning to give us an estimate on the cost of switching our office from the second to the third floor, a move that must be completed by Christmas. My partner won't be able to be there and that will kill a good two hours of my morning. I'm never going to finish the project I'm working on and my client will kill me. Of course, at this rate, I won't be alive long enough for that to happen.
By the time I get to the daycare, I'm a mass of nerves. Of course, it's raining. Of course, there was an accident. Of course, I'm praying that I can make it from the interstate to the daycare, a distance of about five miles, in three minutes so that I'm not late. Legend has it that the daycare will call DFACS and charge us a million dollars if we're late. I can't handle that today.
I sheepishly make my way inside to pick up the baby, the head of the daycare rolling her eyes pointedly at the clock. It takes more energy than anyone can appreciate not to tell her to fuck herself and instead I force an apology through my lips instead. Her eyes tighten and I have the feeling that she heard the unspoken message loud and clear.
Sighing, I go to fetch my godson.
This is my world.
****************
"Shit!" I yell, jerking the steering wheel violently to avoid the car that nearly sideswiped us off the road. The guy behind the wheel shoots me a dirty look and I return it with a one-fingered salute.
From the car seat behind me I hear, "Ohhh, shit."
"Shit!" This time, there is real feeling in my voice. That's great, just great.
"Shit!"
This is my world.
****************
It's dark by the time I get home. I finagle a parking spot in the small lot behind the condominium building where we all live. I'm still resisting the urge to beat my forehead on the steering wheel until I'm unconscious and I can feel hot tears stinging my eyes.
It's only Monday.
I go around the car to pick up the baby, setting him on his feet so he can walk the short distance to the house. Our neighbors must be home already, because they've already turned on the twinkle lights lining their balcony and their Christmas tree is lit up in the window.
Uncharitably, I think about how tacky it looks and keep walking for a moment before I realize that the baby isn't with me any longer. I turn back to see what's going on and he's staring up at the twinkle lights in complete awe.
"Wow," he says, his voice barely a whisper. I smile. I can't help it and I go over to where he's standing and crouch behind him.
"What is it?" I ask, my voice softer than it has been all day.
"Wow," he says again, reaching up with one hand to pat my head absently. Then he points at their window. "Tree!"
"Yeah, it's a Christmas tree," I agree. "Isn't it pretty?"
"Pretty," he agrees, patting my head again. For a long moment, we stay there like that that and something very strange happens. The twinkle lights actually twinkle. Our breath puffs out white in the dim light of the parking lot and the noise of the day fades, carried away on the fading whistle of a train as it barrels away and for a moment, I'm caught up in the magic that fills the air this time of year if you stop long enough to see it.
"Maybe the train is taking toys to Santa's workshop," I say softly and the baby looks at me. He has no idea who Santa is and he has no idea that the holidays can cause more stress than they cause happiness. All he knows is that he is home, safe and sound. That I am with him and he loves me.
And, from a balcony in the parking lot, twinkle lights softly spill magic and beauty into the world.
This is not my world. It's his.
But for a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of it and I know that the memory of that moment will resonate through me, echoing in the still moments, shining in the dark ones, and shoring me up every time I would otherwise break.
This entry was written for Topic 6: Not of Your World at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
therealljidol. I assume voting will take place later this week. Everyone should check out all the good entries!
Without a doubt, that is the most common greeting I get from people when I answer the phone. It is usually followed by news of a car accident, or the decision to seek a divorce, or tales of catastrophe. "Please, help me."
When I made the decision to become an attorney, I did not consider the constant drain those words would be on my soul. "My husband hits me." "My wife had knee surgery and died because the doctor didn't do something right." "I don't want to press charges, even though… well, I don't want to press charges." "I was stupid and drank too much."
These words chip at me, eating away at my foundation like acid rain. It's a toll that must be paid when to make a living dealing with human misery.
"Can you help me?"
Those words hit like a sledge hammer, shaking my bones like an earthquake and tearing a bloody swath through my brain as I bite down hard on the truth. "I cannot."
"I can try," I settle for another truth, one that has less shine and rings more like a bell swaddled in cotton than the clanging tones that the unspoken truth would have set loose on the world, on my world.
This is my world.
"God-damnit!" The oath slips past my lips, my eyes darting around as soon as it does looking for little ears that will hear and little lips that will repeat. "I mean, crap."
I literally mean crap. The cat has been sick. Again.
Pushing aside my disgust, I go and fetch paper towels, carpet cleaner, the trash can.
"RACH!" There's the owner of the little ears and mouth I was worried about. He comes barreling into the room, toddler arms and legs and enthusiasm and promptly trips over the boot that I left in the way when I finally got home from work last night at 11.
My eyes burn with tired, but I shove it aside to pick up the baby, wishing for a moment that someone could set me on my feet with as much ease. "Where's your daddy, baby? Aren't you going to school today?"
"School!" It's shouted with as much enthusiasm as my name and he tears off in search of his next great adventure, leaving me with a pile of cat sick to clean up and the sinking realization that I'm running late.
"Are you going to be home tonight?" My friend asks, sounding as tired as I feel, as she scoops up the baby and hands him to her husband.
I feel a stab of guilt slice through me as I think again how much it must put her out to have agreed to let me live with her and her husband and son while I got my business off the ground.
"I don't know. I have to work late."
"You'll burn yourself out and make yourself sick. Again."
"I know."
This is my world.
My cell phone has 11 messages on it. That fact isn't unusual, but it causes a knot of dread to settle in my stomach. How many people have I missed? How many calls do I need to return? Can they wait until I finish the project I'm working on?
My email beeps, insistently, and I finally give into the urge and flip over to see that I have three new messages, two of them marked URGENT. I grit my teeth and remind myself that busy is better than the alternative, especially when there are bills demanding to be paid.
As I click on the first message, my office phone rings and I pick it up. "I've got a problem." Only this time, it's not a client. It's my partner and for the first time in the decade I've known him, he sounds like he's close to tears. "My brother… it's bad."
"Where are you?"
He tells me and he's right. It is bad. I don't know whether I should cry for him or shake my head in disbelief.
"I need you to…"
"Yes. Anything."
"Just don't let anything else fall apart right now."
If only it were that simple.
This is my world.
"Rach." It's my roommate and she sounds even worse than I feel. "I've got a problem. There was an incident at the hospital and a patient is dead. I can't leave. Is there any chance you can pick up the baby from daycare? Please?"
I glance at the clock. It's after 5 and the daycare is across town. In traffic. I can make it, but I have to leave now. "Yes."
I hit save on the document I'm working on, but don't bother to close down the computer. I glance at my calendar – the movers are coming tomorrow morning to give us an estimate on the cost of switching our office from the second to the third floor, a move that must be completed by Christmas. My partner won't be able to be there and that will kill a good two hours of my morning. I'm never going to finish the project I'm working on and my client will kill me. Of course, at this rate, I won't be alive long enough for that to happen.
By the time I get to the daycare, I'm a mass of nerves. Of course, it's raining. Of course, there was an accident. Of course, I'm praying that I can make it from the interstate to the daycare, a distance of about five miles, in three minutes so that I'm not late. Legend has it that the daycare will call DFACS and charge us a million dollars if we're late. I can't handle that today.
I sheepishly make my way inside to pick up the baby, the head of the daycare rolling her eyes pointedly at the clock. It takes more energy than anyone can appreciate not to tell her to fuck herself and instead I force an apology through my lips instead. Her eyes tighten and I have the feeling that she heard the unspoken message loud and clear.
Sighing, I go to fetch my godson.
This is my world.
"Shit!" I yell, jerking the steering wheel violently to avoid the car that nearly sideswiped us off the road. The guy behind the wheel shoots me a dirty look and I return it with a one-fingered salute.
From the car seat behind me I hear, "Ohhh, shit."
"Shit!" This time, there is real feeling in my voice. That's great, just great.
"Shit!"
This is my world.
It's dark by the time I get home. I finagle a parking spot in the small lot behind the condominium building where we all live. I'm still resisting the urge to beat my forehead on the steering wheel until I'm unconscious and I can feel hot tears stinging my eyes.
It's only Monday.
I go around the car to pick up the baby, setting him on his feet so he can walk the short distance to the house. Our neighbors must be home already, because they've already turned on the twinkle lights lining their balcony and their Christmas tree is lit up in the window.
Uncharitably, I think about how tacky it looks and keep walking for a moment before I realize that the baby isn't with me any longer. I turn back to see what's going on and he's staring up at the twinkle lights in complete awe.
"Wow," he says, his voice barely a whisper. I smile. I can't help it and I go over to where he's standing and crouch behind him.
"What is it?" I ask, my voice softer than it has been all day.
"Wow," he says again, reaching up with one hand to pat my head absently. Then he points at their window. "Tree!"
"Yeah, it's a Christmas tree," I agree. "Isn't it pretty?"
"Pretty," he agrees, patting my head again. For a long moment, we stay there like that that and something very strange happens. The twinkle lights actually twinkle. Our breath puffs out white in the dim light of the parking lot and the noise of the day fades, carried away on the fading whistle of a train as it barrels away and for a moment, I'm caught up in the magic that fills the air this time of year if you stop long enough to see it.
"Maybe the train is taking toys to Santa's workshop," I say softly and the baby looks at me. He has no idea who Santa is and he has no idea that the holidays can cause more stress than they cause happiness. All he knows is that he is home, safe and sound. That I am with him and he loves me.
And, from a balcony in the parking lot, twinkle lights softly spill magic and beauty into the world.
This is not my world. It's his.
But for a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of it and I know that the memory of that moment will resonate through me, echoing in the still moments, shining in the dark ones, and shoring me up every time I would otherwise break.
This entry was written for Topic 6: Not of Your World at
therealljidol. I assume voting will take place later this week. Everyone should check out all the good entries!
no subject
Date: 2010-12-12 02:30 am (UTC)