You ever had a day when all your bad luck caught up with you at once?
For me, that was today.
It started at work. I'd missed a few more shifts than I should have, but it was hard balancing college, a job, and getting my dad's house ready to sell.
He died about a month ago. That was the real start of the bad luck, but I hadn't counted it as a bad thing, in itself.
Quite the opposite, in fact: good riddance.
Anyways, I knew it wasn't a good sign when my boss summoned me to his office about halfway through my shift.
"Elwood, have a seat," he said, gesturing at the stained chair in front of his desk.
I sat, not bothering to point out that I preferred 'Ellie,' for the hundredth time. I'd always hated my given name, but Mr. Walters refused to call me anything else. He probably thought 'Ellie' was a sissy name for a guy, but I didn't care. I'd never even bothered telling him I was genderqueer, too. I kind of wanted to keep my job.
"I assume you know why I've called you here," he said, lowering himself into his chair with the care of a man with chronic lower-back pain, and fixing me with a blood-shot stare.
My heart thudded in my chest. Being put on the spot always gave me anxiety.
"I know I've missed a few shifts recently," I said.
"If you can call six 'a few.'" He pushed a printed schedule across his desk. He'd highlighted my missed shifts in bright orange, with little crisscrossed gray lines through them. As if I didn't already know which days I worked.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Walters. It's just that my dad had so much stuff." I rub the side of my face, conscious of Mr. Walters's gaze as he focuses on my painted nails and silver rings, and of the disapproval in his expression.
"We're sorry for your loss, of course," he said.
He always said 'we,' as if he spoke for the whole company or something, even though he was only a midlevel manager.
"However..." He taps the highlighted page. "Six shifts in a month isn't something I can overlook."
"I have midterms, too," I pointed out. "I can't miss class."
He frowned, clearly unmoved. "The thing is, Elwood, the Company wants people it can depend on — people who see a future here. Do you see a future here?"
Sure. A hella depressing one. It's not like I'm majoring in design so I can take Mr. Walters's place someday.
"I always strive to do my best, Mr. Walters," I said, opting for a non-answer. "And I have a good customer service record."
His frown didn't budge. "Elwood, can you assure me you won't miss any more shifts for the next four months?" he asked.
I winced. There was no way.
"Actually, I—"
"Think carefully before you answer," he warned, wagging a finger at me. "We're all very sorry that your father passed away, and no doubt your 'studies' are important to you, but I need your assurance that you're invested here."
Sweat broke out beneath my arms, trickling down my sides beneath my cheap shirt. I've never been able to lie, outright.
"I can't promise that, Mr. Walters," I said. "I take my job seriously, but I have other obligations, at the moment. Is there some way I could make up the missed time? I can fill in for—"
He sighed loudly, lifting a hand and cutting me off. "I'm afraid not, Elwood. As much as I understand your position, my position is to defend the bottom line, and you're not holding it." He held out a hairy-knuckled hand. "I'll take your ID. Your services are no longer required."
❧
It didn't take long to clear out my desk, and none of my co-workers met my eyes as I walked toward the elevator for the last time.
They're not your friends, I reminded myself. You don't have friends, remember?
In the parking lot, I sat in my little Nissan Sentra, staring at the dashboard clock. It was only 5:15 PM, and I'd been scheduled to work until nine. Jamie wouldn't be expecting me so early.
I briefly considered driving around in some random pattern, or going to a café, or something, but all I wanted was to go home. I knew Jamie had his online gaming session that night, and liked to have the apartment to himself, but he'd understand.
At least, that's what I imagined.
Reality proved a little different.
Jamie and I had met at a Pride Club meeting and been 'together' for about six months. We shared an apartment — an affordable little place that was cramped, but cozy; just enough room for the two of us.
At twenty-two, Jamie was the first boyfriend I'd ever had, though neither of us had explicitly stated that fact. We lived together; we slept together; of course we were 'together.' Right?
At least, that's what I thought until I unlocked the apartment door, coming home at an unexpected hour, and found Jamie in bed with another man.
Another much more muscular, much older man, who apparently knew his way around a rope or two.
Amid the ensuing crisis of tears and shouting, the other man extricated himself with surprising grace. Soft-spoken and polite, he got dressed and left with a quiet apology, and I felt certain he'd had no idea he'd facilitated infidelity.
Neither, it seemed, did Jamie.
"What the fuck's your problem, Ellie?" he shouted. "Give me some goddamned warning if you're gonna come home early!"
"What!? How the fuck was I supposed to know you were cheating on me!?" I screamed. "And I'm supposed to give you fair warning?"
"Cheating? What the fuck are you on, bro? I'm not cheating on anybody."
"Jamie..."
He saw the shock and pain in my face, and laughed with surprise and incredulity.
"Holy shit. You really thought...? Oh my God." He covered his mouth as he continued to laugh. "El... Jesus, I'm sorry, but..."
My vision swam, and I steadied myself by leaning against the back of the couch.
"What am I, then?" I asked. "What am I to you, Jamie?"
"Um... you're my housemate? My friend?"
"Friend with benefits?" I whispered, holding his gaze.
He lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I thought you were cool with it," he said.
Right. Mea culpa, bro. No big deal.
❧
For the second time that day, I found myself sitting in my car, staring at the dashboard clock.
This time it said 7:04, and I had no idea what to do or where to go.
Well, I did, but I didn't like it.
I had my dad's old house, but that was the last place I wanted to spend the night, especially after a harrowing and traumatic day.
Still, the bed in his old spare room was a far more attractive prospect than the uncomfortable seat of my crappy car.
So, with the light fading fast from the world, I drove the twenty minutes up into the hills outside of town, and parked in front of his old Craftsman bungalow.
For a full ten minutes, I sat in my car, unable to summon the will to move.
The house held so many memories—so many ghosts—it took an effort of will to enter every time.
It was certainly not a place I'd consider a sanctuary, but at the moment it was all I had.
With a sense of weary resignation, I got out and gathered my things from the back seat.
I had no job, and now that Jamie had 'made things clear,' I was pretty sure that no one in the whole world would notice if I disappeared.
"Serves you right," I said, catching sight of my reflection as I shut the back door of my car. "Freak."
At five-nine, I was whippet-thin. My hair was a sandy, desaturated blond, and my eyes were a weird, colorless gray-green. Unremarkable, in other words. The only thing I liked about my appearance was that my features were oddly androgynous—rugged enough for a man, pretty enough for a girl, depending on what I wanted to accentuate.
But that's the in-between space I've always occupied; not really this, not really that. Not committed enough, and not worth committing to.
Sighing heavily, I locked my car and turned to walk up the narrow path towards my dad's front door. I still called it his, even though the bastard had been dead a month.
When I'd learned he'd left me everything, I'd been surprised, to say the least. As far as I knew, he hated me from the bottom of his soul, and regretted the very ejaculation that led to my existence.
Then, I'd taken stock, and realized that leaving me 'everything' wasn't a gift. It was just one more punishment. Between property taxes and utility bills, I couldn't afford to keep the house, but getting rid of it was proving difficult.
The place was in a pervasive state of disrepair, and nearly every room was stuffed with boxes.
Boxes full of the weirdest things.
There were ceremonial masks from cultures in the Americas and Africa; bags of strange herbs and mushrooms from who-the-fuck-knows-where, handwritten books in languages I couldn't read, and random crap I didn't know how to make heads or tails of.
It wasn't the sort of shit I could just drop off at the Goodwill—which isn't to say I hadn't tried.
Dealing with my dad's hoard was more stress than I needed, on top of school, a job, and a relationship I wasn't sure how to define.
Well, now that two out of those three things had been eliminated, maybe I could turn my full attention to this problem, and get it dealt with once and for all.
Yes, I determined, as I strode towards the front door, Tomorrow I'll rent one of those big garbage bins, toss all dad's things into it, and then have it hauled away to a land-fill somewhere. Then it can all rot in hell, along with him.
My spirits bolstered by this plan, I'd just inserted my key in the lock when something small, soft, and warm brushed against my legs.
Instinctively, I jumped back with a yelp, and then looked down to see a little black cat staring up at me with luminous yellow eyes. It was scrawny and underfed, and I wondered if it was a stray. My dad certainly didn't care for animals.
Being a sucker for a furry creature myself, however, I crouched and extended my hand.
"Hey, little buddy," I said. "Whatcha doin' here?"
The cat butted its head against my hand, purring loudly. It must be a neighbor's neglected pet, I thought; my dad was more the 'poison and traps,' than 'feed the strays' sort of guy.
"Hey, I don't have anything to give you," I said, straightening and unlocking the door. "Maybe tomorrow, though. I can pick up some—"
The cat slipped through the door as soon as it was open wide enough, bolting inside with its tail held high.
I stared after it, my eyes fixed on the dark entrance of my reclusive father's house, as unwelcome memories flitted through my brain.
Drawing a breath, I sighed, and stepped over the threshold as the sun set.
Inside, I shut the door after me and flicked on the lights, illuminating the little entryway. The floor was stone tiles, the walls hardwood paneling—all very masculine and dark. My mom had basically been a one-night stand, and as far as I knew, my dad never had a steady partner.
It showed. Some people can live alone and do just fine—myself, for example—but my dad clearly wasn't one of them. With no one to hold him accountable, he'd let a lot of things go—and now, by an accident of birth, it was my job to sort through and organize the mess.
I sighed, setting my keys in the bowl on the stand by the door. Despite my antipathy, it was lucky I had this place; otherwise I'd be sleeping in my car.
Then the cat meowed loudly from somewhere further in, and I smiled.
I'd lost my job, my 'partner,' and my home, but it looked like I'd gained a pet, a least.
I should have known bad luck always comes in packs of three.