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It's only been a few days since I lost my last tutoring gig. I haven't been back to the activist group headquarters, despite numerous messages from Henri and Miriam.
But there's a noticeable silence from Chris. Not that he's ever been in much contact with me. I still count the days since I last saw him. When we stood overlooking our compatriots in the fight for our jobs. When he touched me, sending a thrill through my body that's renewed whenever I think about him.
Even if he did message, it's not like I'd message him back. I refuse to message anyone back, not yet. I'm lying low. I'm licking my wounds. How can I face my friends and colleagues? How can they expect me to lead when I can't even keep down part-time employment.
Every morning that Austin is on shift, I lay in bed with wide eyes that stare, unseeing, at the ceiling. I clench my jaw and wonder what use am I to anyone if I can't teach. My thoughts repeat, cover the same ground, despair rolls through my mind, threatening to edge me into depression, backing off at the brink. Each time it approaches that edge, I reel it back – thinking there must be some way to solve this. Willing a solution to this problem.
One never comes.
Finally, I haul myself out of bed and wrap a blanket around myself against the draft that leaks through the window and door frames. I stay in pajamas and eat little more than cheese and bread. I log onto the iVerse, spending hours wandering aimlessly through virtual worlds, hoping to stumble onto an answer. Three days pass.
Then Austin is home for a few days. I wake to find him beside me in our cramped double bed. I sneak out of the room and into the shower. I need to seem myself again, even if I don't feel it. I don't want him to see how far I've fallen, to see that it's only now hit me that I'm redundant. I want the depth of my loss all to myself.
While I wait for him to wake up, I get dressed and clean, style my hair and make myself a proper breakfast. When he shuffles into view, rubbing his eyes, I make him a meal as well.
The day passes as most lazy days do between cups of coffee and each of us pursuing our own passions. Mostly this means our eyes are glazed over while we roost on the couch. I search for any news of the unions, the anti-automation movement, the I.I.U. program, or Robert Newhouse. When I refresh the old news for the thousandth time, I attempt to escape into a novel.
It works, until suddenly Austin shoots up from his seat. He's still looking at something I can't see. I watch him carefully. Every movement is shaky, uncertain. Then suddenly he takes off down the hall.
I hear him in the bedroom, pacing. Then he stops, the old mattress of our bed protesting as he sits on it. I go back to my book.
Barely a paragraph later, he reappears in the doorway of the living room. He's shaking so much, each hair on his head quivers. His face has gone pasty.
"Austin?" I sit up, immediately disappearing my virtual book. "What is it?"
"Andrea, I – I really fucked up." His enters the room and paces back and forth in front of the couch.
"What? I don't –"
"I don't know what to do. I fucked us over, Andrea. I –"
"Wait, hang on." I reach out to grab a hold of his hand, as his arm swings past. But he's going too fast. "What are you talking about?"
He shakes his head instead of replying. He stops and pulls at his auburn hair at the roots. His arms cover his face, so I can't see his expression as he lets out a low, pained groan.
I've never seen him like this. "Austin, you're scaring me. Please, come sit down. Whatever it is, I'm sure we can figure it out."
He drops his arms by his sides, his fists balled so tight I can see the curve and divot in each knuckle. He looks like he's about to argue, but slinks toward me instead. He slams back into the sofa cushions but won't look into my eyes.
I clasp one hand on his shoulder and gently rub until he finally takes a deep breath and begins.
"You know I've been putting away every spare dollar that we've saved, right?"
"Of course."
"It was part of the plan. You had your job, you'd get a pension eventually... and I'd work once school ends. Between all that, we were supposed to be okay. The extra was just...it was supposed to get us there faster, right?"
I nod. Austin always relished talking over finances. Planning them, obsessing over them. But we'd talked this all out many times before. I'm alert for a catch, hoping the conjecture didn't show on my face.
"These last few months, the markets have been crazy. So I took everything we'd saved and I invested. Andrea – we made thirty percent!"
"That's...amazing." Even as I say it a dread creeps through my mind.
"So I added a bit more, and then a bit more. And we made more. But then today..."
"How much did you lose?" I say it so he doesn't have to.
"The markets tanked," he drops his eyes again and his hand comes up to cradle his face. "Almost everything."
"Was it a lot? Like, dollar wise?"
He nods.
"Do I want to know?"
"No."
I take a moment to look around at our dingy, tiny apartment. We live simply, frugally. Like we're still students. Cheap coffee, cheap food. Hand-me-down furniture and appliances. That money could have been a creature comfort or two, but I can't honestly say that we've been missing it.
"But this has happened before, hasn't it?" I ask. "To the markets, I mean. Don't we just have to keep our investments? Don't we just keep our money in there and build it back up again?" I may not have much interest in the stock exchange, but I have been listening to him.
"Andrea, do you have any idea what's happening out there?" He springs up and is pacing again, his speed feverish. "Sure, some of the stocks I bought might bounce back, but some have been delisted. A lot have," he admits. "That's money we'll never get back!"
I was calm before, collected. We don't need money we don't miss. But now my face screws up. "And you couldn't have seen that coming? With everything you've seen me go through in trying to find another job?"
"It happened so fast, I went to sell but before I could –"
"How much was it, Austin?"
"What, I –"
"How much did you lose?"
"Almost everything. Nearly our entire savings."
Now it's my turn to bury my head in my hands. What are we going to do? What am I going to do?
My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as I lift it to look at him. "There goes our plan, I guess."
Austin joins me again on the couch. We sit in silence for a long time. I don't weep, I don't groan in pain like he did. I feel nothing – I feel numb.
"Andrea," he ventures after a silence that stretches out for long minutes. "Can I level with you? And you promise to be straight with me and with yourself?"
I look over my shoulder at him to where he leans against the back of the sofa. Then I shrug. "Sure, why not?"
"Do you think you'll ever get your job back?"
"I don't know, Austin. I hope so. I think so, eventually. I'm trying everything I can."
"I was thinking about it. A lot, actually. And I was thinking that maybe teaching, as a profession, won't exist anymore pretty soon," he says. "Maybe it's time for you to move on to something else."
"What do you mean, won't exist?" My mouth twists into a scowl. "They wouldn't let that happen – that can't happen."
"Andrea, who? Who won't let that happen?"
"The parents –" I realize my mistake halfway through saying it and change tactics. "The union."
"The one who had your back when you were fired from Crescent Street? The one you haven't heard from in months? That union?"
My scowl deepens.
"The other teachers who are clinging to their own jobs? The principals? The school board or department of education who are saving money? The parents who let you go from tutoring because the machines caught up to your skill level? Who, Andrea? Who?"
"So, what? What are you telling me, Austin? That my job will be as obsolete as a service industry job soon? Is that what you're saying?"
"Not soon, Andrea. It's already happened. It's here. We have to do something – we have to adjust."
"So I'm obsolete, am I? Is that what you're saying?"
"Of course not, you never could be. You're smart, Andrea, smarter than most people I've ever met. But now you have to put those smarts to use at something else, at some other job. What about programming those bots? I know you have the skill..."
My eyes snap to his. He really doesn't miss anything. I let the comment slide, focusing instead on what's burning me up inside and turning my vision red.
"You think I won't teach anymore? You really think just like that no human will ever teach school again? That they'd allow that to happen? So what, I'm just supposed to give up my dream job? Is that it? I can't believe you're not supporting me in this!"
"Andrea, I'm trying to –"
I've had enough. Enough of his words, enough of the arguments, enough of the bad news. My feet spring me from the couch and across the room before I think it.
"I don't know why you're hassling me, why you're not supporting me instead. Besides, I'm not the one who lost our entire savings."
"Aren't you?" He asks calmly. But I spin around to face him, ready to fight.
"What did you say to me?"
"By losing your job. You lost us years' worth of salary. And pension." He states it like the bald, banal fact that it is.
"Don't follow me." I turn and speed down the hall to our room, slamming the door behind me and throwing myself down on the bed.
To be continued in Chapter 25...
A/N:
Hello again and happy Friday!
Have you been on teacher tiktok lately? Have you seen young/new teachers complaining about how the current crop of students (mainly gen alpha/younger gen z I believe) are badly behaved and do not know how to read and write at their grade level?
Puts me in mind of the I.I.U. towards the beginning of this story, and how it mastered classroom management and (although not explicit in the story, is implied) eventually exceeded Andrea's skill level.
What do you think of that prospect? Scary, or nah?
Look for Chapter 25 next Friday!
In the meantime, be sure to connect with me via my socials:
TikTok: sawauthor
Mastodon: sawauthor (mastodonbooks.net instance)
All the best,
Stephanie