The Refusal-Final Draft

The Refusal

Mitch

A flightless bird chirped incessantly in the darkened room, shattering the peaceful silence. Mitch lay motionless in his bed, trying to orient himself and understand what kind of creature could be making such an invasive noise. It took more than the customary heartbeats to determine that the sound was not a confused, morning lark, but his Android whose alarm was now chirping with increasing urgency.

Mitch groaned as he heaved his body over the side of the bed, reaching for his cell phone, before making his way to the bathroom to take a hot shower.  Moving his fingers ever so slightly as he gazed towards the ceiling, he calculated how many hours it would be before his day would be over and he could sit in a Jacuzzi sipping a glass of bourbon. He sighed heavily, flipping through the messages on his phone, as he waited for the water to warm.   He already had four texts regarding his trip to Arizona this morning. He tossed the phone onto a folded towel on the granite vanity.

He had spent every summer of his childhood in the mountains of Arizona, but hadn’t been back since college. His parents had owned a tiny cabin in Pinetop, just a few hours from Phoenix. As a child, he had never thought of it as uncomfortable or cramped, although the cabin itself couldn’t have been more than 900 square feet. Still, they managed to fill it with aunts, uncles, cousins, and even for a summer or two, a friend from the neighborhood who had tagged along. They slept in beds lining the walls, shared one tiny bathroom, and bathed only once every few days. They had spent their summers catching snakes by the river, fishing for rainbow trout, climbing trees, and building forts. His mother would fry the trout they had caught during the day and they would eat on the patio swings on the front porch while listening to pine trees whisper to each other in the evening breeze. 

On his last trip to Arizona last year, he hadn’t even thought of Pinetop, even though he could have easily driven to the property on his day off. 

After his father passed away, his mother kept it in the family for years, hoping to make it into a family summer home.  After her passing several years later, Mitch and his wife, Brandi, thought they would someday remodel and sell it to pay off an overpriced renovation to their Jersey home. What to do with the cabin was an ongoing argument, but was often pushed aside, like so many other problems that sat in the corner of their lives, noticed, but neglected. 

The steam from the shower had now begun to billow around the mirror as Mitch stepped into the stream.  He always liked the water hotter than most people could stand. When he walked out of the bathroom, his pale skin was often blotchy and red. It was as if the water was hot enough, maybe it could sanitize his life.

After his shower, he reached for the towel as he carefully blotted his heated flesh. His jaw clenched involuntarily as he saw the Xanax bottle on the vanity, with the lid still slightly ajar.  He was now using double the prescribed amount just to get through the day.  Three coffees in the morning, Xanax during the day, and a few drinks at night: it was the cold recipe for survival at the bank.

Once his hands were dry, he checked his phone again. He already had another message from Rekcus Bank, discussing a recent increase in sales quota. The pressure to survive at the bank was showing in the thinly veiled self-congratulatory emails that were being sent in an increasing frequency.

Mitch finished dressing before walking numbly to the kitchen for his first brew which he had programmed to be ready when he set his alarm.  He reached for his Celebrating 50 Years of Greatness mug that Rekcus had given him at a holiday party last year. With the collapse of the economy and the housing market in the toilet, assets were dripping off the page, like the coffee he had just spilled on the polished granite countertop.  His wife, Brandi, sauntered into the room just as Mitch limply dabbed at the mess.

"God damn it, Mitch," she said more as a statement than a complaint.
He knew it was best to say nothing, especially since there were only a few minutes left until he needed to head into the office.

"When are you going to be home?" she asked, looking at the stainless steel coffee maker with disgust.

"I have to be in the office in 30 minutes, have a quick meeting, and then I'll be home in a few days," he said, throwing the paper towels into the stainless steel trash can.

"Which is?" she asked looking at him with wide eyes, underneath a swatch of bleached bang. "What-day-are-you-coming-home?" she asked, accentuating one word at a time, staring at him with unblinking, tinted eyelashes.

"Friday".

He was coming home Thursday. Screw her, he thought moving into the unused dining room for his briefcase.  

“John called,” she said while examining a chipped nail.

John was their tireless accountant who had been reviewing their accounts before Mitch and Brandi had come to the conclusion that they could no longer afford to keep working with him.

A few months ago, the idea of working with John, who promised a plan that would turn their financial lives around, was an appealing, almost hopeful, concept.  Money was pouring out of their accounts faster than Mitch could fill them.  Since Brandi did not work, the crushing responsibility of keeping their lives not only just afloat, but up to the standards set by their peers, fell completely on Mitch.  After filing some late tax returns and setting them up on a payment plan, they had come to the conclusion that John’s expertise advice was no longer something they would be able to afford.  If things didn’t change, and change soon, they would have no other choice other than to file for bankruptcy.

“Did he say what he wanted?” Mitch asked. “I don’t know…I’m sure he wants money for some account,” she said tiredly.

Mitch did a quick mental inventory of their current account balances: the mortgage, the credit cards with combined balances over $50,000, two car loans, one for the Audi, and the other for the BMW. There was $18,000 left in Jessica’s college fund, and medical bills and other personal bills, which all totaled over $80,000. 

Although Mitch was a senior executive at the bank, their lifestyle, this image they were trying so hard to desperately maintain, had bankrupted not only their lives, but had left their spirits hollow. 

Mitch and Brandi both knew that bankruptcy was probable, even though they had yet to communicate it to each other. Communication had been another casualty of their lives.

A tall, blonde, and lanky young woman came storming into the kitchen.
"Where's Dad?" she demanded breathlessly.
Brandi motioned silently toward the living room.
Mitch watched his 26 year-old daughter charge toward him as he checked his files to make sure he had everything that he would need for the meetings later today.
"Hey, Daddy," Jessica asked sweetly, quickly changing her tone.  She always called him Daddy when she was about to ask for money.
"Schmitz is coming to the barn next week. I want to make sure that I can train with him. Leonardo’s having a lot of trouble with his flying changes."

Jessica rode in the sport of dressage, and Schmitz was a former United States Olympic coach. He also came with a $250 an hour price tag. This fee, added to board for Leonardo, shoeing, lessons, tack, feed, medical care, and various other items that Jessica deemed to be a necessity, made Leonardo’s care exceed the living expenses of anyone in the family, even Brandi’s. 

Mitch pulled a checkbook from his briefcase, and without hesitation, wrote a check so that Leonardo would have flawless flying changes.
Whatever the hell those were.

Brandi
After Mitch left for the office, Brandi poured herself another cup of coffee as she stared blankly out of the kitchen window. She hadn’t seen her boyfriend, Brad, in a week; the growing worry that he was seeing other women when he wasn’t in bed with her was starting to gnaw a pit in her stomach.  Theirs was a relationship built on lies, uncertainty, and mistrust.
Especially during the last few years, her relationship with Mitch had disintegrated to the point that it probably wouldn’t have mattered if she had told him that she had Brad over when he was at work or gone on business. She could probably have told Mitch that she was going to screw Brad later that day, and he would have probably have nodded, kissed her on the cheek, and left for the office. It felt now that they were more like roommates than husband and wife.

She had converted the downstairs guest room into her own suite over the last two years, right around the time she started seeing Brad. She had even called in an interior designer, creating her own private sanctuary, complete with Egyptian cotton sheets, a silk comforter, and a tufted chaise.  It even had a large, stand-alone claw-footed antique steel tub in the attached bathroom, which was perfect for romantic baths with Brad on cold fall days.  Like her life, her private suite hid in beauty an ugliness that lay just beneath the surface.

Unlike her husband, she was able to connect with Brad in every way, both in and out of bed.  They had been able to confide in each other in ways she never had talking with Mitch.  They spent hours on the phone, texting messages to each other, or planning their next time together. Besides the amazing sex, he understood her.

Brandi thought back to earlier in the morning when she snapped at Mitch over the spilt coffee. She didn’t understand why her patience had become so short with him.  They truly had loved each other once, when they were young and in college.  Back then, Mitch was full of dreams and had tremendous excitement for the future. His energy for life was not only magnetic and motivating, but it was contagious to anyone around him.

Sometimes they would lay in the back of his old van, smoking a joint, dreaming of what next adventure they could embark on, sharing dreams of grandeur, drunk on their own limitless futures.  Back then, life’s gifts and opportunities were endless. They shared a passion for life, unencumbered by careers, pursuit of material wealth, or the desire to please others.

"When are you coming home?" Brandi remembered asking, frustrated when he only stared at her blankly.

"When-are-you-coming-home?" she had snapped, frustrated at her own bitchiness, but also at Mitch's lack of response.

She had softened when she learned she had until Friday to spend with Brad.  She needed a break and having a few days alone in the house would help.

Mitch had silently walked into the dining room to get his briefcase without saying a word.

Jessica
After her father had given her a check for $1,200 to cover Leo’s board and the upcoming clinic, Jessica grabbed her black Coach bag, which she kept on a hook by the door, ran outside, and slid onto the leather seats of her red Mustang convertible. She wanted to leave before her father either changed his mind or gave her another lecture about her grades. Jessica drove lightly over the winding tree-lined suburban roads that led to the stables, heavy metal blasting from the stereo.

After pushing open the heavy, wrought iron gate to the stables, she found her favorite parking space, shifted her Mustang into first gear and killed the engine. She walked confidently to the expansive first barn with glossy mahogany stable doors and brass name plates for each inhabitant. She found Leo as she did every morning, dozing quietly in the corner of the large stall.

Not wanting to startle the horse as she approached from behind, Jessica called quietly to the large bay, “Hey, boy”. Leo shifted his weight, turning slowly to greet her, a low rumble of greeting coming deep from his chest. Jessica pulled a heavy leather halter over his muzzle and let him out of his stall to the tacking area where she could groom him before her morning ride. 

She began to methodically brush him, while he stood impatiently in the crossties. With every stroke, the gelding turned and nipped the air behind him in a mock bite.  Jessica half-heartedly smacked him with the back of her brush.
"Knock it off!" she scolded the muscled gelding, as he turned and looked at her wearily through his left eye.

Dressage was the equine version of ballet, and Leonardo had demonstrated tremendous promise.  It was a promise which would take a team of trainers, equine chiropractors and massage therapists, farriers specializing in corrective shoeing, coaches, and veterinarians to coax out of his delicate frame.  

Schmitz would be coming next week, and she'd need the extra coaching if Leo was going to qualify for the State Championships.
The problem was that Daddy hadn't been too eager to pay for more training when her last semester’s college grades arrived in the mail. He didn’t understand the urgency of getting through to the Championships before she could focus on school.

She had been forced to tread lightly when asking for money for the clinic. He had been grouchy ever since he found out that he had to go to Arizona to fire a bunch of stiffs. But she still needed the money for the clinic. And board for next month. As Jessica leaned down to pick the gelding’s hooves, she realized he was once again due to be shod.  

John

John dialed the home number for Mitch and Brandi, two of his newest clients. Mitch had been referred to him through friends. On their first meeting, without Brandi present, he explained that their spending was out of control.  He had a spoiled 26 year old daughter, who was not attending her community college classes and spent most of her day riding her dressage horse or staying out late, partying with friends.

They lived an extravagant lifestyle, filled with luxury cars, designer clothes, expensive hobbies, and exotic vacations.  The problem was that since Mitch was the only one in the family pulling in any income, their expenses far exceeded Mitch’s salary.  The amount of debt that they carried was not insurmountable, as they had quite a bit of equity in their homes. The problem was one of spending. If they stayed on this path, they would eventually find themselves in bankruptcy court. On their first meeting, he could see the worry and exhaustion etched into Mitch’s haggard face. The deep lines and furrows seemed to indicate much more advanced age than the birth date listed on the financial paperwork.

On that first (and only) meeting, Mitch told him that he didn’t know how much longer he could keep working over 60 hours a week. In addition, his company was experiencing layoffs and budget cuts. If he lost his job, he wasn’t sure he would be able to find a position in another company with a comparable salary. They had discussed his debt, concerns for the future, and assets, which were few.

After some careful discussion, John suggested they could sell the house and use the equity to buy a much more affordable home. John also suggested that they could sell Leonardo, have Jessica and Brandi get jobs, and purchase more affordable sedans. This option would allow them a chance to start a new life, debt free.  However, it also meant that the lifestyle which now defined them would be a thing of the past.

Mitch calmly listened to John, before finally responding, “Brandi will never agree to sell the house,” as he gathered his paperwork, promising to follow up later with a phone call.

Mitch

Jessica was now a 26 year-old sophomore in college. Barely a sophomore, since she had failed most of her classes, which needed to be repeated, with tutoring. She claimed that riding took so much of her time, that little energy was left to write research papers, or even to attend remedial math classes.  Brandi had stopped working when Jessica was born, and lived vicariously through their daughter, via his checkbook. He also knew Brandi was seeing other men. Two, in fact.
Brad, and less frequently, Justin.  They seemed like such young names for a woman who was in her late forties.  She hid it well, though, through a series of hair bleaches, mini-facelifts, Pilates, and a general lack of stress.  It seemed as if her only constant and nagging worry seemed to be if Mitch would someday lose his job.
He wondered if Brandi was insulted that he had not even bothered to acknowledge her blatant affairs. Did she assume he was too busy, or too dense, to notice the late phone calls, dinners with girlfriends at expensive and private restaurants, and the constant attention to her appearance?
The truth was he had stopped caring long ago. He knew her affairs had started soon after Jessica was born but didn’t feel invested enough in the relationship to do anything about it.

It was probably his fault, really, spending so much time at work so that they could afford Brandi to stay at home, and dress Jessica in designer layettes.
She must have remodeled the nursery five times in the first two years.
He knew she was unhappy, yet they found comfort in designer clothes, expensive restaurants, and exotic trips to numb the pain until it wasn’t noticeable.

Mitch latched his briefcase closed, and wordlessly left home for the office. Today was going to be hell. When he arrived in Arizona, he and the team would be announcing a massive layoff. His job had been to determine how many years of their lives equated to a severance package, dental and medical benefits.  Days spent impressing the boss, spending extra hours at the office, or quietly and graciously foregoing vacation time would not be calculated into these equations. Their professional lives were being reduced to a cold and sterile spreadsheet. 

Mitch drove to work, while NPR reiterated the current economic gloom. The unemployment rate was higher than it had been in many years, and many people were losing their homes to foreclosure. First-time unemployment claims were also up. The Dow was down. The gloomy economic news seemed to match the gray mist that enveloped the BMW as Mitch barreled down the highway. When they first bought their house when Jessica was born, they never imagined the economy would turn down this drastically. During the years before that, they eagerly took on more debt when their home equity was up and Mitch’s future at the bank seemed limitless.

They used the extra money to do some home renovations (another room make-over for Brandi included), bought Leonardo (with a five-figure price tag), and even took vacations to Hawaii, Bali, Greece, and Brazil.  And then the economy collapsed, leaving in its path a trail of red ink.

Soon, they found themselves deeply underwater in every imaginable sense. Even though they were one of the few lucky ones who still had some equity in their home, mainly due to its massive size and trendy neighborhood, they were drowning in newly charged credit cards, equestrian and college expenses, and an extravagant lifestyle that Mitch's job could barely support.  It was exhausting, and the strain of it was beginning to pull at the very fabric of Mitch’s being. In the last few years, his blood pressure was up, as well as his weight, and about the only thing that he looked forward to was a weekend of drinking with some co-workers on the golf course, or going to Happy Hour after a brutally long day. He and Brandi had become business partners, and not even good ones at that.

Mitch pulled into the same garage that connected to the office buildings at Rekcus Bank, as he had done for the past 24 years. His parking spot had black tracks from his worn tires where he had pulled in five or more days a week with few breaks in between. Mitch walked robotically into his office, dropping his briefcase on his desk.

Sally, his middle-aged secretary, came into the doorway holding a 44 oz. Coke in her hand.

Despite the massive shot of caffeine, she was sipping through the wide, striped straw, Sally unenthusiastically said, "Mr. Johnson wants to see you in his office as soon as you get in."

"OK, tell him I'll be there in a few minutes," Mitch answered. Sally shuffled off, her flip flops clopping behind her.

Johnson was a walking stereotype. He was a 55 year old smoker who had been forced to attend more sexual harassment courses than anyone else in company history. It was rumored that HR paid out tidy sums of money to several young secretaries to ignore Johnson’s obnoxious behavior. He had been told repeatedly not to smoke or curse in the office. Mandates which had fallen on deaf ears.

"Sit down, Mitch" Johnson barked, while chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. "HR won't let me light these damn things in the office," he said while fingering the silver lighter on his desk.  "Here's the deal, Mitch. What you've got to do in Arizona will be problematic, but it's going to need to be done. We've got men over there waiting to start the layoffs, but it's going to be up to you to meet with the managers to pull the trigger."

Mitch listened to Johnson explain the mass volume of casualties. When all was said and done, there would be 500 layoffs in Arizona alone. After his trip to Arizona, Johnson would be sending him to Utah a few weeks later to repeat the process.  

Johnson proceeded to detail the gory specifics; all while chewing on his unlit cigar and spraying the room with profanity.  It was going to be difficult work, having to let this many employees go, most of whom had families.

Mitch wearily left his offices with promises to remain in contact as developments arose. As he left Johnson’s office, he heard a quiet, "God Damn it" and a flick of the lighter.

His flight was to leave in three hours. He'd need that much time to get to the airport and get through security, he thought, as he felt a dull pit in his stomach. He felt like the executioner heading to death row, a slimy, sickening feeling. He would need to get a ginger ale once on the plane.

Mitch flipped his cell phone over, quickly checking the time.  He wanted to leave his car home, grab his bag, and take a cab to the airport so he could save a few bucks on the parking fees.  Before pulling out of his parking space, he called Discount Cab, and ordered a taxi to be waiting back at his house in 20 minutes.  Rekcus would cover the cost of the cab, but wouldn’t pay for the long-term parking at the airport.  At this point, every penny would count.

Mitch drove numbly back home. The realization that they could not continue their lives this way continued to haunt him.  At a red light, Mitch swallowed a Xanax, chasing it with the last of his black coffee from his chrome travel mug. It would take about 20 minutes before he could feel his muscles relax and feel a small amount of the tension leave his body. Life had become overwhelming.  The finances, Brandi’s affairs, working at Rekcus, the increasing demands due to the faltering economy, worries about Jessica, and a life devoid of any meaning or intimacy had made his life unbearable. Even sex with Brandi had become mechanical.  This wasn’t an issue, as sex had become as routine as showering, shaving, or going to work each day.  It was just something that needed to be done to maintain the status quo. But as the years rolled on, the loss of connection became more and more difficult to ignore. 

Mitch flicked the garage door opener as he approached his driveway.  He noticed an old Civic, with peeling paint, was parked along the curb. He had never seen this car in the neighborhood before. He didn’t know which was more disturbing, his realization the car likely belonged to Brandi’s boyfriend or that he didn’t care.

He entered the kitchen, setting his keys and coffee cup on the counter, walking to the Cuisinart for another hot cup. He could hear scrambling and urgent, hushed voices, coming from Jessica’s downstairs suite. Hearing the door to the suite quietly closing, Brandi suddenly appeared in the kitchen with messy hair and her robe hastily tied around her small frame.

“What are you doing home?” she asked breathlessly, trying to sound as unconcerned as possible.

“I’m dropping the car off so I don’t have to pay for the parking,” Mitch answered without emotion.

“Oh, OK,” Brandi said as he reached towards her, placing his hand on the curve of her back and kissing her lightly on the cheek. She stood there dumbfounded and unmoving from her spot on the polished kitchen floor.

“Have a safe trip,” she said softly returning to her private suite where her lover no doubt was hiding. Mitch could smell him on her, a mixture of sweat, Axe body spray, and sunscreen, and like everything else in this house, with the exception of Jessica, he just felt indifferent to it.  Mitch looked out the window, and noticed that the green cab was waiting outside. He left the house before shutting the door gently behind him.  He found it odd that he was leaving them quietly out of respect. He walked to the cab, passing Brad’s car, noticing the Club Tattoo sticker in the back of the aged Civic.  As he walked by, Mitch poured the rest of his hot coffee over its surface, not because he cared that the car’s owner was in his wife’s arms, but because he felt nothing.

Mitch rode the 45 minute trip to the airport in silence.  He no longer had the fresh sense of panic that he had when he first discovered that Brandi was having an affair, or later when he realized that they were in financially desperate straits, or even when Jessica began failing her community college classes. Jessica was lost. She did not understand how to manage money; she no longer valued work and what it took to create a meaningful life. She was lost in her small world of privilege.

No, the real panic had set in when Mitch realized that he was not only unhappy, but had forgotten how to be happy.  In college, he had loved literature, and had hoped to be a book editor someday.  He even spent hours writing poems dedicated to various girlfriends throughout the years. He had still memorized the poem that had become the mantra for his life in college.

I stand barefoot on a sandy beach floor under a painted striped sky. 
I feel the earth beneath my feet and remember how it felt many years ago. 
I strip the hat from my head and let the sun shine through my hair.
I cast my coat aside and run into the wind the way we once played together when I was free.
And this is who I am.
I dig my toes into the sand and lift my eyes into the bright, orange sun, throwing my glasses to the sky.
And this is who I am.
The more I caste away, the more I become.
For just today, it is not what I have that defines me.
I feel, I hear, I see, 
and this is who I am.

He thought about his life then, when he was free. 

“The more I cast away, the more I become”. 

He had had so little in college, yet he found himself inspired to create and dream. He was happy. He had no debt, very few bills, and lived his life with adventure, freedom, and was unencumbered with the desire to impress others.  He lived off Ramen noodles, slept on sofas, rode his bike to classes, and was creative, passionate, and wild.  It was as if he had shed the skin society had told him he must wear, finding underneath it a creative life which held limitless potential.

All of that all changed when he met Brandi.  At first, she too valued the same simple things in life. They dreamt about travel and freedom, and had even discussed living in a RV and roaming all over the States, Canada, and Mexico.  On impulse, they married in Vegas. They were young and life was waiting. 

However, as soon as they married, Brandi began to ask about his work.  She had found a job in customer service, and pressured Mitch to find his own job so they could buy a home, better cars, and more impressive lifestyles.  They couldn’t live in a van forever, she had reasoned.  Eventually, the freedom they had craved was replaced with a crushing career, bills, and responsibilities. Mitch didn’t think he would even recognize the young man from his youth and was shamed by who he had now become.

Mitch slowly made his way to his gate for his 1:00 flight, passing the other tired business class travelers.  Once on the plane, he found an aisle seat as close to the exit as possible.  This would allow him to get off quickly, check into his hotel, and go over the information he would need for tomorrow’s meeting. He felt so heavy that he wondered how the plane would become airborne with him inside, crushed by his responsibilities.

Once he was pressed into his business class seat and the plane was in the air, he saw the stewardess begin to make her way down the aisle taking the drink orders.  Mitch thought about ordering a whiskey, but remembered the Xanax he had taken earlier. He would wait until he was back at the hotel room for that. He needed something to settle the sickness he felt in his stomach, as the stewardess approached for his order.

"Ginger ale, please".

"Ok, that will be $8, sir".
"$8 for a soda, I thought they were complimentary?" Mitch asked in disbelief.
The stewardess looked at him blankly, with unblinking eyes.

“Oh, she laughed, “We haven’t had complimentary soda for over a year,” she said lightheartedly. 

“OK, what still is complimentary?” Mitch asked.

“Tap water?” she answered.

"Fine," he said, reaching for his credit card in his wallet. “I’ll take the ginger ale,” he answered dejectedly.

He'd need a settled stomach once they landed. He would have just enough time to check into the Hometown Suites, get some sleep, and be ready for a long day at the Arizona headquarters.  

Mitch mechanically checked into the hotel. Thoughts of relaxing for an hour at the gym, or even in the hot tub after the long flight had long lost its appeal.   After placing his single bag inside the room, which contained a comfortable-looking king-sized bed, he wandered into the hotel bar for the long-awaited bourbon.

He took it out onto the bar-side patio, which framed a gorgeous Arizona sunset. Normally, this would have been the relaxation he needed to unwind after the flight. The bourbon in his hand failed to work its magic this evening and left a strange metallic taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was the drink or his relaxed state. He tossed the remainder into a planter and headed up to his room.

The room felt cold. The desert night air could be chilly, even at this time of year. Mitch took another too-hot shower and slid between the cool sheets.

After a mostly sleepless night, despite the Posturepedic mattress, Mitch was up early to pack. He wanted to get to the office early and get this over with. These types of mass layoffs were never easy, but the full gravity of the task felt crushing this morning. Mitch quietly walked into the lobby, the way one might walk into a funeral, and found the coffee in a far corner. After getting a mug to go, he called a cab and made his way to the bank where the layoffs would occur. 

Once he arrived, he was met by a man who appeared to be in his 20's, sporting spiky bleached blonde hair.  He waited for Mitch outside the office doors of the enormous glass and brass building.  Mitch carried his briefcase in one hand, with his bag flung over his left shoulder.  It had long been a habit to never leave anything in his room while on these types of trips.

“Hiya, there, Mitch, I'm Brad," he said, extending a hand. Mitch tensed, remembering the other Brad who frequented his wife’s bed. 
"I'm going to get you inside, and go over some data and documents with you before the meetings. We have a lot of layoffs to announce this afternoon,” he said energetically, as he bounced along the walkway. “We want to make the announcement before most of the employees leave at five.”  His eyes were shiny with excitement. 

To him, the unaccustomed power seemed to make him eager to flex his muscles at the office, while Mitch guessed he was likely impotent in most other areas in his life. Not that he was in a spot to pass judgement. Mitch lumbered beside him, heavy with the upcoming task.
Brad grew more breathless as he described the layoffs, talking more rapidly, in a high-pitched voice.

They would be laying off the most seasoned employees who were still under the old pension system. The bank would keep the newer, younger employers after their benefits package had been decimated. Brad explained all of this as he eyes danced in the bright Arizona morning light.  

Mitch began to feel a pain deep in his right temple as Brad held open the door to the office.  He needed air, and he needed it badly. He wasn't ready.

The air suddenly felt thick and heavy, as sweat began to pool around his too-tight collar.  He wondered if it was too late to duck into the office bathroom and take a Xanax.  His breath felt tight in his chest, and his tie was rubbing against his Adam’s apple. 

"Hey, um, Brad, give me a few minutes. I'm going to go around the corner and grab a quick smoke before we go in," he said, stumbling over his words as he already turned away from the building.

"Sure thing, Mitch. I'll tell the crew that you are here, and you will be ready to begin in a few minutes,” Brad said before bouncing ahead, grinning broadly.

Mitch turned and walked back toward the parking lot, his footsteps uneven and rushed.  He would go back in a few minutes, once he got his mind settled. He could get some water and get some fresh air once he got away from the building.

Brad's enthusiasm was making him ill. So much excitement when he was about ready to detonate the worlds of 500 Arizona families.
Mitch continued walking in the Arizona fall sunshine, looking for a place to sit and rest. He found himself in a massive parking lot without a bench or sitting area in sight.

He only needed ten minutes, he thought, as his legs carried him toward the main thoroughfare. The Arizona sun was brilliant, as it bounced off every reflective surface: cars, road signs, and surrounding buildings.  He felt blinded by the light as he intensified his steps, looking for a shady resting spot.

They wouldn't miss him if he needed an extra twenty minutes, thirty tops, he thought as he walked along the busy street. The mental break would do everyone good, he reasoned.

The pain in his right temple seemed to be intensifying with each step as he walked quickly along the busy street. Dusty cars raced to seemingly nowhere in the glaring light. 

He had been gone over fifteen minutes now, and still hadn’t found a place to stop, but now his gait had slowed to a more relaxed stroll, as he continued to walk. The street was now tree-lined.

His cell phone began to ring from inside his jacket. He reached for his pocket, noting the Caller ID.  It was from the office in Arizona.
He hit the ignore button, as he continued to walk down the sidewalk.
He had no plan. He was not thinking, but only reacting, feeling his mind powering down from the strain of indecision.

The phone began to ring again as Mitch approached a dusty homeless man sitting on the curb. Mitch could feel his chest tighten as his anxiety built.  The homeless man looked to be one of the cities, "recent homeless", still dressed in clean jeans, and wearing a fresh haircut.  His sign read, "I need a job. Will work for food. No job too small. God Bless." The man stood, looking humiliated on the corner. A stack of dirty resumes lay on the concrete next to him.  Mitch instinctively reached for his wallet, while avoiding the temptation to answer his cell. He silently handed the man a $20.
"God bless you" was all the man said.

Mitch walked a few more yards down the sidewalk to the garbage can on the corner, brief case still in hand. His phone was continuing to ring incessantly. He could feel his heart beat heavily in his chest.  With each heartbeat, the pain in his right temple intensified.  He felt his breathing become faster, but much shallower.  If he had any hope of getting back into the office, he would need another Xanax and more time to pull his thoughts together. 

He began to panic, wondering what kind of lie he could manufacture, to explain his now 30-minute absence. He wondered if they would believe he got lost while out for a smoke, or became ill and needed to find a bathroom.  He could feel his crushing world close in around him, as he recounted the conversations from yesterday. 

“Daddy, Schmitz is coming this week and Leonardo needs shoeing.” 

“God Damn It, Mitch!  When are you coming home?” 

He remembered pouring scalding coffee over the peeling black surface of Brad’s Civic.

Mitch wondered if he were having a heart attack or maybe a nervous breakdown.  A trip to the emergency room would certainly explain his absence, be something forgivable, and certainly less embarrassing than getting lost or needing a bathroom. 

As he walked faster, he felt himself growing more unsteady.  He wondered if he would faint.

“God bless you, man,” the words echoed in his mind.

Mitch suddenly froze mid-step, standing stupidly on the cracked sidewalk. He stood looking down onto the ground, his eyes averting the blinding sun. He felt paralyzed in his tracks, knowing that this exact moment in time was defining.  He could walk back to the office and live the life of the living dead or he could make a break, not knowing what the future held, or even what he would do in the next few hours. 

That thought, the naked idea of freedom, danger, risk, and uncertainty, suddenly calmed Mitch.  He made the decision to no longer carry his crushing load. 

To refuse.

Mitch walked slowly to a steel garbage can, on the edge of the road. He placed his briefcase on top of the dirty lid, taking out a few pens and a credit card, before dumping the rest into the trash. He tossed his phone inside the empty briefcase, along with a few of his cherished glass pens, putting the rest in his pocket. He placed his satchel on top of the briefcase, unzipped it, and removed the khakis and the cream-colored generic, but professionally accepted, polo shirt.

Mitch walked quickly back to the man. “Here, I thought you might be able to use this for your job search.” 

The man reached for the briefcase and clothing, skeptically popped open the case, finding inside the glass pens and cell. 

“I thought you could use the phone in case anyone needs to call you back for an interview.”

The man wordlessly placed the briefcase and folded clothing down onto the grass and gently laid his resumes inside, before putting the cell into his pocket.

“Hey, man, thank you.  Thank you so much.  Things have just been…ever since I got laid off last year, I haven’t been able to find work.”

“Maybe this will help to start to turn things around,” Mitch offered as he reached for the man’s shoulder, patting it firmly before turning away.

“Wait!” the man called back to Mitch. He turned to see that the man was reaching toward him with a piece of paper.” My resume.  If you know of anyone, man.  Anyone at all.” Mitch politely accepted the paper from the man. In large, awkwardly bolded letters, “Jim Dawson” was written at the top of the resume.

“Carpenter”.

“I’m really not in this field, but if I know of anyone, I will let you know.”

“You know my number,” Jim said, as Mitch slowly turned again, heading away from the dazzling light reflecting from Arizona offices.

His walking felt lighter now, as he heard his phone ringing again from Jim’s pocket. “Hello?” he heard him answer.  “Who’s Mitch?”

Brandi

Later that afternoon, Brandi received one of the strangest calls in her life, one which would have alarmed most wives. The man had told her that Mitch had arrived for the meeting in Arizona, had gone outside to take a smoke, but had never returned. She also said when they called his cell, someone by the name of Jim was now answering and he was giving a somewhat unbelievable story that Mitch had simply handed him the phone and walked away.

"Mitch doesn't smoke" Brandi exhaled, with irritation. 

“Has Mitch been upset or had any other signs of depression?” the woman form Human Resources pressed.

“No, umm…not that I know of,” Brandi stammered. 

“Has he given you any indication that he might want to leave his position, or does he have any friends or family in Arizona that he might be visiting,” she continued to press.

“He has an old cabin about four hours outside of Phoenix, but it’s not inhabitable,” Brandi explained, feeling her patience begin to evaporate.

“Look,” she finally responded, exasperated, “Mitch isn’t going to go off himself, if that’s what you are implying. He probably had some sort of emergency and is dealing with. I really think you all are overreacting,” she said casually. 

“Is this the wife of Mitch Florence,” the woman continued. “Don’t you think if he were having a family emergency he would have contacted you?  You are his wife.” Brandi paused for a moment, offended that this stranger seemed to making a derogatory comment on her marriage.

“No,” she finally answered, “If you must know, he probably wouldn’t call me if there was an emergency.”

“We pulled his emergency contact information. He has a Jessica listed as his contract.  Would this be his daughter?” she asked more gently.

“Yes, Jessica is our daughter,” Brandi finally answered. “She is at the barn riding now, but you can probably reach her on her cell. I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything.”

“Will you let us know if you hear from him?” the HR director asked, her voice tinged with sympathy.

“Of course,” Brandi answered.

Brandi hung up the phone, knowing immediately that her marriage was over.
HR had explained that they would call the police, suspecting foul play, if Mitch hadn't made it back by the end of the day. They suggested that a man named Jim might have some sort of involvement in his disappearance, when he answered Mitch’s phone.

“Who is Jim?” Brandi wondered in disgust.  She wanted this time to be about Brad, not spent wondering about where her husband may be at this moment.  Her disgust begun to mix with irritation as her anxiety began to build.   Normally, Mitch left for the office and arrived home with precision that it was easy for Brandi to time when Brad could come over.  

However, this morning, for some reason, Mitch had decided to leave his car at home and take a cab. She felt her muscles tense when she realized Brad had parked outside of the house. Maybe he had heard Brad or had grown suspicious after seeing his car. Brandi collapsed into the over-stuffed couch thinking of this for a few moments. It would explain why Mitch left unexpectedly. Maybe he was leaving her. It didn’t matter at this point. She had Brad now and he was the one who made her happy. He understood her in ways Mitch didn’t. If he had left, she was ready to let him go.

 Mitch
Mitch walked around Phoenix until he found a cool, grassy park that had large Eucalyptus trees and comfortable benches where he could stop and pull his thoughts together.

Once he had calmed, he walked along the road next to the park until he found a Rekcus branch, where he kept most of his accounts, what was left of them anyway. Between Brandi and Jessica, not to mention horse training expenses, college, and the house, the balances were lower than they had been in years. Mitch walked into the bright lobby, noting the shiny glass walls, made with some sort of strange, synthetic glossy material. A large water fountain cascaded down one wall. Behind the security glass was a line of polished bank clerks.
A well-dressed man, with a firm hand-shake, met him in the waiting area. “How can I help you today?” he asked, leading Mitch to an enclosed glass office.

Mitch left the bank feeling a simultaneous mix of terror and a freedom that he hadn't felt in years. He left Jessica's $18,000 college fund intact, hoping she would somehow get around to passing enough courses to graduate. For Brandi, he closed all of the credit cards and left just enough money in the checking account to cover basic living expenses until she could find a job.

Brandi could keep the house, the car, the lifestyle, and the lies, he reasoned. He knew she'd still have Brad, and strangely, he found that comforting. Her life would go on, barely skipping a beat, or noticing his absence.

While meeting with the bank manager, liquidating his accounts, and explaining his choice for needing the balance in cash, he thought about where he’d go once he left the bank.  It was funny, he thought, his immediate reaction had not been the tiny cabin in the mountains of Pinetop where he had spent his summers.  He briefly thought about renting an apartment or getting a hotel.  He could get a new job, he reasoned, after he officially resigned from Rekcus, assuming that they hadn’t fired him before sunset.  However, he realized that would simply be buying back the old life that he had just fled. 

His thoughts drifted to the tiny, dilapidated one-bedroom cabin in the woods.  He hadn’t been back to the cabin in years, and the only recollection he had about the tiny home was when the property taxes were due.  Mitch thought he could use it as a summer get-away someday, knowing a small cabin in the woods would never suit Brandi or her lifestyle.

Mitch doubted it was currently habitable since it was located at the end of a dirt road. Living there would be the ultimate renunciation of the life he had led.

He left the bank, carrying three fat envelopes full of cash zipped away carefully in his bag, which he held tightly around his shoulders.  He walked back to the park where he could sit under the trees. 

He would need a ride to Pinetop, because he currently had no transportation. He imagined a life where his days were spent tending to a garden in the summertime, splitting logs for the wood-burning fireplace, or climbing on top of the tiny cabin to make repairs to the leaky roof. He imagined reading books, classics, which he never seemed to have time to read. He would have minimal expenses and could spend his time however he wished.

Mitch felt his eyes begin to fill with tears as he realized that the old excitement for life was beginning to stir within him. It was a feeling that he thought had died decades earlier. 

Feeling a newfound sense of optimism and energy, Mitch stood up from the bench and walked again in the direction of the bank, until he found just what almost all suburbs of a major metropolitan city contained: an old used car dealership, complete with a lot full of old trucks.

He walked onto the cracking asphalt, urgently scanning the small lot for an older four by four he could buy in cash.  It was getting late, and it would be at least a four hour drive to get to the old cabin.  It had been years since he had seen the place, and he wondered if he would still be able to find it in the darkness.  He was beginning to regret giving away his phone and GPS.

A man in his 50’s, with an enormous belly and spindly legs walked out onto the lot, hand extended.  “I’m Tony,” he puffed, winded from the rapid walk across the lot. “How can I help you today?” he said breathlessly.

“I’m looking for a late model Ford or Chevy, 4x4” Mitch answered.

“Those tend to go pretty quick, but we do have something in the back with some higher mileage,” Tony said, leading him to a 1990 blue Chevy that seemed to be hidden away from some higher priced and newer trucks.  It had a tow package, cracked dashboard, ripped vinyl upholstery and 256,000 miles.  It was perfect at only $3,500 cash. 

After signing a few forms and peeling some bills off this money wad, Mitch was driving down the 60, headed toward Pinetop, hoping to make it to the cabin before sunset. Before he left, he had called Dorie, the owner of the barn where Jessica rode her horses, to make the appropriate arrangements.

Mitch felt the air began to cool as he drove from the city, into the bosom of the mountains.  He wondered what had happened with Brad at the Arizona offices.  He was sure he was either fired by now, or else they had a search team out looking for him.  He continued to drive in peaceful silence.  It felt strange not to have his phone ringing constantly.  He found himself mindlessly reaching for his phone a few times, before remembering he had left it with Jim back in the city.

Mitch drove silently, as he left his world behind him.  He didn’t even bother to turn on the old truck’s radio.

He worried for Jessica and was committed to helping her get on her feet, but it was time that she began to learn some life lessons.  She was turning into her mother, and Mitch needed to do something before it was too late.  He also knew that if he didn’t make this break in life now, there would be no turning back later.  He would die at his keyboard someday while his wife was banging the pool boy. 

Mitch drove the rest of the four hour drive peacefully, slowly feeling the pain in his head slip away.  Getting to Pinetop through the small town of Show Low was fairly simple.  Finding the property after the sun had set was another matter.  He quickly found the turn off from the main road, but couldn’t find the dirt road which would take him to the tiny cabin. He passed it the entrance half a dozen times before he finally found it; it was covered with a large thorny bush.  After moving it aside, he drove the truck down the heavily pot-holed dirt road. The old truck bobbed along the uneven dirt road until he reached the end of the trail. 

Mitch involuntarily drew a breath when he saw the cabin.  It was completely covered with weeds, debris, and it appeared that someone had used the large lot to dump trash.  It was difficult to see much on the unlit property, with only the headlamps from the truck to illuminate a large space, it looked as though the property would take months to renovate. 

Mitch crawled out of the cab, stretching his back.  He killed the engine, but kept the lights on the property as he walked cautiously to the house.  A large dead bush covered one window.  As he pulled it aside, something scurried across the floor from inside the cabin.  Mitch jumped back as something hissed behind him.  He turned to see the green glow of two spheres looking back at him. 

Raccoons. 

Damn.  Spending the night in the cabin was obviously not going to be an option tonight, and it was too late to head back in town. 

Mitch stumbled back to the safety of the truck.  He sat in the cab for a few moments, thinking of which would be the less miserable of the two situations. 

If he was going to leave behind the trappings of an old life, this was the perfect time to begin, he thought, as he settled into the truck’s old bench seat and covered himself with his work blazer.

Brandi
Brandi heaved her body off the couch. She needed to get to the gym and blow off some nervous energy.  She still hadn’t heard from Mitch and she was beginning to get nervous.

Brad was still at home, but he knew their routine cold. He was to shower and quickly leave before Jessica came home from the barn or school, which would be soon. He had his own key, and knew to set the alarm, lock the door, and leave undetected through the side-door of her downstairs suite.

Brandi arrived at the clubhouse, found a vacant machine in the corner, and began running hard on the treadmill, blasting her IPod, powering through miles. She played fast, angry music as she tried to push the negativity from her mind. She finally slapped the large red emergency stop button, bringing the machine to a sudden stop. Brandi stood on the belt for a few moments, letting the sweat run down her face, smearing her mascara and foundation. She wiped her face with the gym towel before stretching her muscles. She needed to sit in the hot tub for awhile before she could go home. The gym also had an indoor, heated pool she could use to cool down.

After changing into a black Speedo that she used to swim laps, Brandi instead found herself floating leisurely in the pool. The echo of the water splashing bounced off the high interior walls. It was a hollow sound, but strangely comforting.

Beginning to feel cold and needing to warm up, she sloshed from the pool into the Jacuzzi, feeling goose bumps ripple across her flesh. She gently lowered herself into the warm, bubbling water.

Brandi’s head rested comfortably on the edge of the hot tub. She thought about Mitch’s trip. What if he was having an affair? She was increasingly becoming dizzy with uneasiness. Her entire life, all she had known was having a man in her life, someone to care for her.  Before Mitch, it was a long string of boyfriends. She wondered briefly what life might be like as a single, middle-aged woman. The thought brought up a sense of panic. She lowered herself deeper into the hot water, hoping to soak away a fundamental sense of insecurity.

After leaving the hot tub, Brandi sat in the steam room before walking back to her locker to shower. She was beginning to feel a bit overheated, as she dried her hair with a rough gym towel and pulled a clean pair of tight gym shorts onto her tired body.

She stopped by the cafe to buy a large drink and an energy bar before heading home.  She snatched her usual snack and flavored water out of the cooler before smacking it onto the counter along with her credit card, while checking her phone for any texts from Mitch or Brad.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry," said the teenager behind the counter, holding the credit card loosely in his fingers. “Do you have another card you'd like to use today?"
“What?” Brandi snapped. “No, I don't have another credit card I want to use today. Use this one.”
“Umm..., it was declined,” the teenager stammered.
“What?” Brandi asked, snapping her head up from a text from Brad.
“Declined, ma'am.”

“That's fucking impossible. Run it again,” Brandi snipped, looking off to the side to avoid the awkwardness of the situation.
“Ma'am, do you have another card you'd like to use?”  The teen asked timidly after swiping the card for a third time.
She was going to kill Mitch. She was going to absolutely fucking kill him if he had cut off her cards.
Once in her car, she snatched her cell phone out of her bag and furiously pounded the numbers on the back of the card to the credit card company.
“Say one for English”, the automated voice said blandly.
“O-n-e.”
“Say one for balances and account information. Say two for lost or stolen cards, say three for special credit card protection regarding your account,” the automated voice continued on, obviously unperturbed by the urgency of the situation. 
“One, damn it” Brandi snapped.
“Thank you. Please hold for your credit card protection specialist”, the automated voice said, in a seemingly happier tone.
Pacifying hold music played into the phone.
Jessica hit the zero button repeatedly until the music stopped.
“I'm sorry you are having trouble,” the voice mocked.

“Please call back when you have the information available.”
Click.
Brandi repeatedly slammed the cell phone against the steering column until she felt in snap in her hands.
She was going to kill Mitch. She was absolutely fucking going to kill him.

Jessica
Jessica got Leonardo out of the stall before clipping the massive gelding into the crossties. He reached back to nip the air behind her and she curried his coat. She had a lesson in 45 minutes, just enough time to tack and warm him up. She also wanted to give her coach the check for the clinic later this month.
As she curried the gelding’s glossy bay coat, her coach, Dorie, walked down the barn aisle, the heels of her tall riding boots clipping sharply on the concrete floor.

“Jessica,” she said, “please put Leonardo away, and come see me in the office,” she said sharply before heading toward her air conditioned office. Jessica quickly finished grooming Leonardo before placing him back into his stall.  She found Dorie sitting at her large, antique desk, pouring over a pile of bills, hay invoices, time cards for the farm workers, and vet bills.

“Sit”, she demanded. “I got a rather interesting call from your father today,” she said, without looking up from the pile of invoices.
“He asked me if I would be willing to take you on as a working student, seeing as there will be no further checks coming from him.”

Jessica took in a painful, involuntary gasp. “Is this a joke?”

“I'm afraid not. Normally, I do not accept working students like this, but your father has been an excellent client at our academy for many years. I told him we'd start you with cleaning and chores around the barn. You may move up to teaching the new students at the academy as you progress,” she said, boring deeply into Jessica’s eyes.

“But, when am I going to find time?” Jessica croaked.  “I am in school, I am a student. I don't have time to ride, go to school, and…and...”
“And?” demanded Dorie. “And, what? Your father has told me that you are failing all of your classes and rarely attend class. What exactly is it that you do all day?”

Jessica sat dumbly looking at Dorie, who had now picked up the phone, muttering about an error on the hay invoice, and was beginning to dial some numbers.  

“I'll see you tomorrow at 6 am, Jessica. Go. Now.”

Jessica sat at the desk for a few more moments before rushing out the door, slamming it behind her.
She was fucking going to kill her father. She'd call his cell the second she got in the car.

Mitch

Mitch sat up from the bench of his new truck, his back cold and stiff from sleeping in the unheated cab.  It was strange how he felt more energized after a night sleeping in a truck than he had sleeping in his own bed at home. He looked at the neglected cabin sitting peacefully in the misty forest light.  Fortunately, the raccoons seemed to have vanished.  He needed to go into town for supplies.  Making this place livable with a suit and dress shoes wasn’t going to work.  He’d also need food and something to de-raccoon the property.

The old truck needed some coaxing before it was willing to turn over on this early fall morning.  Mitch had forgotten how much cooler the air was in the mountains of Arizona.  It was a misconception to many living back east that Arizona could not be cold, a fact he himself had already forgotten.  However, sleeping in the truck on this late September day was a firm reminder of the harshness of the state’s climate. 

He slowly crawled out of his truck and walked along the short path to the cabin.  He would apply the organizational skills that he had learned in the corporate world to his new life.  He would begin by ridding the property of raccoons, weeds, trash, and make a warm place for him to sleep tonight. 

As he drove down the old country road into town, memories flooded his mind.  A small pond to the right of the first turn off was a reminder of the time he caught his first rainbow trout, with his father by his side, at the age of six.  Later he passed a meadow where he used to catch garter snakes and chase his sister with them dangling from his hand.  He finally drove into the edge of town, passing small shops along the way. The town was beginning to stir on this early fall day as he pulled into a parking space outside the front entrance of a general store. This store was the hub of the town as it sold everything from used tires to ice cream.  Coming home felt like taking off a too-tight suit and slipping back into a pair of favorite sweats and sneakers. 

Store keepers were unlocking doors, flipping door signs from “Closed” to “Open”, or sweeping the front walk. Many were middle aged or older, having lived much or all their lives in this sleepy town. 

Ahead was a pale yellow diner with white lace curtains in its windows.  A Chevy and an old Dodge Ram were already in its small parking lot.  Another truck pulled out of the feed store, heavy with bales of hay and bags of feed for livestock.  Seeing the bales of hay from the back of the old trucks reminded him again of Jessica.  His cabin had horse rights, he remembered, wondering if there was any way that he could convince Jessica to visit him, especially if he lured her with a place to keep Leo.  However, he thought again to the trainers, full care boarding, and full staff of veterinarians and farriers, and remembered how she would scoff at such a simple property.  He would call her first after he bought his supplies for the day.  She would be furious, but this was for the best, and he hoped she would also eventually come to this realization.  It was time she found her way in this world, including a way to support herself and not constantly rely upon a man to care for her, even if it were her own enabling father.

He was glad the town had a store where he could buy some basics for the day. It was one of the larger buildings in the small town, but still tiny by city standards.  It was a forest green building, with beige shutters framing the picturesque storefront windows.  Outside, a teenaged boy was stocking a cord of firewood from a delivery truck which idled to the side of the building. He could see the store only seemed to age through the years, but had not modernized.  An old soda machine still had Coke bottles for sale and the aisles were lined with rakes, hoes, hoses, fertilizer, seeds, toilet paper, and soap.  There was always such an odd assortment at these types of hardware stores. Tic Tacs next to Super Glue, next to toilet plungers, next to PVC piping.

He grabbed a cart, and began piling jeans, heavy work boots, socks, flannel shirts, razors, toothbrushes, canned food, a can opener, rakes, hoes, hammer and nails, and an a shovel inside the cart.  Money was going to be limited until he could find a way to generate an income, but with the weather turning, these were far from luxuries.

Walking through the wide aisles, he saw a man in a red vest. He pushed his cart toward him.

“Excuse me, I have a question.”  The man slowly turned and looked at Mitch.

“I am moving into a cabin that hasn’t been lived in for years, and it seems to be filled with raccoons.  Do you have anything that could help to remove them…like bait or something?”

The man stared at him blankly.  “Bait for raccoons?” he repeated back.

“My cabin is filled with them.  I don’t necessarily want to harm them, but just make them leave.”

The man rocked back on his heels and placed his hand on his chin, contemplating this briefly.  “Well, you really don’t need no bait for raccoons.  We don’t carry nothing like that,” he drawled.  “If you just go inside and start working around, they’ll leave.  They generally don’t like people much, so they run off.”

 “And don’t leave any trash or food out to attract them. Trash cans need to be locked tightly,” he added as an afterthought.

Mitch looked at the man appreciatively. He did seem to be someone that had seen his share of raccoons. 
“Ok, thanks,” Mitch said, “I’ll give that a shot.”

“You’re not from here, are you?” the man asked.

“No, I just moved back to my mother’s old cabin.  It’s been empty for years, and it seems to be filled with a lot of pests.”

“OK, well, then, good luck,” he added, watching Mitch as he pushed the enormous cart to the one and only antique cash register.  Mitch paid with cash and loaded up the truck. He went back inside for change for the outside pay phone.  He loved the thought of the old pay phone, even though he hadn’t used one in probably two decades.  After putting in three dollars’ worth of quarters painstakingly in, one at a time, he dialed Jessica’s cell.  She was probably already at the barn.  He wondered how she was handling the news that she would now be working for her riding expenses. He had worried about her for years, and didn’t want her to wind up like her mother, dependent on men for her future.  When she didn’t answer, he left her a message, telling her that he’d try again tomorrow. He told her where he was staying and pulled in a painful breath before dialing Brandi.  She answered the phone after the first ring.

“Where the hell are you?” she demanded in a shrill voice. 

“Pinetop.  I’ve moved into mom’s old cabin.” 

Silence.

“Johnson was about ready to call the police, you know.” 

For a moment, her voice softened slightly and she sounded worried.  Mitch wondered for a split second if he had made a mistake.  Maybe she did care. “Johnson said that they see these kinds of things all the times these days, workers just walking off the job.  I told him to let you go, and not to bother calling the police. Damn it, Mitch,” she screeched.  “When are you coming home?”

“I’m not.”

“What. Do. You. Mean. You’re not?” she asked in a cold, low, deadly tone. 

“I’m not coming home, Brandi.  I’m going to fix up the cabin in Arizona and live here.  I want to fix it up so that Jessica has a nice place to visit.”

“Well, I guess you’ll be happy to know that Jessica is dropping her classes.  She is going to have to work at the barn day and night now to pay for Leo,” she snapped.

“I spoke with Dorie,” Mitch said calmly.  “She arranged for Jessica to work five hours a day, giving her enough time to work on her classes, which I doubt she is passing anyway.”

“Why should she have to work for her riding?” she screeched. “You know this is the last year that she can qualify for the state championships.  This is it, you idiot. Now or never!” she screamed into the phone.

“I agree,” Mitch responded calmly, “It is now or never for Jessica. Brandi, Jessica hasn’t been passing her classes, and has only learned how to live in a world where she doesn’t belong. She has no marketable skills, other than how to land a husband who will care for her, like I’ve cared for you all these years. Don’t you want more for her?  She is smart, Brandi, and you know that. Yet, we have not created expectations of greatness for her. We have not required her to show us what she is capable of.  She isn’t a baby any longer, and we are holding her back.  It’s time to let her go and to force her into finding a life for herself.” 

Brandi was silent on the phone for several long moments as she digested the truth that she had known for the past five years. 

Despite this, knowing what Mitch was saying was truth, Brandi ended the call by hanging up the phone, vowing to send divorce papers to Pinetop as soon as was humanly possible.  Mitch had assured her that she could have the money; he had everything he needed in Pinetop.  He needed to go, he needed to de-raccoon the cabin, clear away the weeds, and find a place inside to sleep. 

As he filled his lungs with the cool, mountain air, he slowly walked back to his truck, noticing three women and a man setting up for the next day’s farmer’s market.  He remembered them as a kid.  Farmers would bring in produce from surrounding areas to sell at the market, alongside local honey, baked goods, and an assortment of homemade items. 

Mitch remembered the acre-and-a-half lot, and began to wonder how he could grow produce and sell it at the market for what little money he needed.  He could hunt and grow his own food, use firewood for heating, and write poetry.  It was the life he never realized he always wanted. 

Mitch pulled back into the cabin’s front yard, feeling exhausted, yet energized, and excited to begin work on the cabin.  He wanted to map out areas for the garden in addition to his long list of chores he had planned for today. Taking some trash to the dump and creating a safe sleeping space were top priorities.

But first, he needed to chase out the raccoons.

Once back at the cabin, Mitch found a long hoe.  He carefully opened the locked door, using the key he still kept on his key ring. He remembered the store clerk’s advice that raccoons would leave when faced with human contact.  Standing on the kitchen table was a large raccoon, eating some trash that it had brought in through the broken window.  The raccoon didn’t bother to glance in Mitch’s direction as he entered the small room.  Mitch wondered if he had been seen. 

Raising his hands over his head, he yelled loudly at the raccoon.  The animal continued to eat the trash. 

Lowering his arms, Mitch thought back to the advice at the General Store. 

“Heeeahhh!” he yelled again.  No response. 

Mitch lunged at the animal, expecting it to flee through the broken window.

After a few pauses between chewing, the raccoon turned back slowly, before hissing lazily at Mitch.

Brandi

Brandi hung up the phone feeling hollow.  Mitch had agreed to leave her the equity in the home. Despite this, money would be tight.  She’d need Brad to move in as soon as possible to help pay the bills and start pulling some of his own weight, she reasoned.  She hadn’t lived her life without a man in the house, and she wasn’t going to start now.  Life was just too expensive to live alone. She had been paying many of Brad’s bills for years, and had been waiting for the right opportunity for their relationship to be taken to the next level.  She just didn’t think it would be this soon. 

Apparently Jessica would be working at the barn and would be paying for Leo’s board and numerous expenses. There also wouldn’t be much need for the money Mitch had saved for Jessica’s college expenses. 

Brandi slumped forward in her chair, tapping a pen on the table before picking up her cell.  There had to be some way to access Jessica’s college fund.   

Jessica

Jessica walked in stunned silence out of Dorie’s office. At 26, she knew that she couldn’t live forever off her father’s income.  She had always imagined that one of the men she had been dating would eventually marry her and she would continue the lifestyle like many of the ladies at the barn, while their husbands ran businesses.

But to Jessica, the barn always had so much more meaning. In a world that lacked structure, she was able to train a 1,350 pound animal, something that required tremendous confidence, when she often had none. It also required ambition to wake up early on cold winter mornings or when it was summer and the air was thick with humidity and stable flies. Riding gave her confidence.  She was more than daddy’s little girl who needed someone to care for her. Riding taught her to believe that if she could ride and train a horse with skill and grace, then maybe she could care for herself someday.

However, she never imagined having to work as a laborer.

Her first day at the barn as a farm worker was a nightmare.  Dorie had instructed her to arrive at six AM to help the men clean the stalls, check the automatic waterers, give hay to each horse, and grain to most. She arrived at the barn wearing her $200 riding breeches and riding boots.  The workers wordlessly scoffed at her as they handed her a pick to get started on the stalls. 

She was furious at her father.  How could he just leave like this and cut her off?  She’d show him, she reasoned, and drop out of school.  She hated her classes anyway.  It was at the barn where she was truly happy.  Thinking back on it, it was really the only time she felt happy. 

After a half a day of stall cleaning, she pulled Leo out of his stall and clipped him into the cross ties.  At least she could ride before it was too late.

“Jessica, what are you doing?” Dorie asked, her boots clacking down the concrete aisle.

“I’m going to ride Leo before I go home,” Jessica answered.

“Not until you tack up Corby.  I need him ready in fifteen minutes.  Then you can help do the evening feed.”

Jessica silently led Leo back to his stall.  She was dropping her classes tomorrow. 

Bill

Bill would never forget the day a man dressed in a wrinkled business suit came into his store early in the morning looking for raccoon bait.  He knew all the regulars by now after working here over the past twenty years.  Mrs. Buchanan liked the Frog Top fertilizer for her rose bushes because she was convinced they made her blossoms last the longest.  Jones always came in for ammunition outside of hunting season, no questions asked, and Pete always seemed to need plumbing materials: plungers, plumbing snakes, or new valves.  He didn’t ask too many questions about the purchases, but over the years friendships were formed while talking at the register. 

“Maybe we will we get some early snow this year...”, or “Maybe a summer monsoon this evening...”  “Did I hear about the black bear they caught coming into town?  Had to tranq it and move it to another location.  Hopefully, it will stay there or the sheriff will have to shoot it.” 

Occasionally, an out of towner would come through looking for booze, toilet paper, or directions.  They never stayed too long to chat. 

Then one day the Mrs. Florence’s son, Mitch, came in.  He didn’t seem to remember Bill, as it had been years since he had been back into town.  When Mitch’s dad died, his mother had been left to care for the property herself.  Bill asked if Mitch would be returning.  She would always pull pictures out of her large, leather purse of her granddaughter and son, Jessica and Mitch, with shaking hands. 

“Mitch has an important job with the bank,” she would beam.  “And Jessica is a star horseback rider.”

She never complained or criticized their absence.  The tasks of mowing her lawn, paying the bills, or running errands were left to her church group and a few caring neighbors. 

When she died, Mitch never even came to close up the property.  Instead, he hired liquidators to come in and sell everything at the estate sale.  Bill wondered what happened to the prized family pictures of Mitch and Jessica that she so proudly kept in her purse. 

Jim

Jim lay on the hard park bench on the chilly fall Arizona day.  Already it was beginning to be cold at night and early mornings, but today had a blustery fall feel in the air.  He lay under several thick inches of newspapers covering his thin blanket.  Placed carefully on the bench next to him was a polished leather briefcase, and inside of that was an uncharged cell phone.  He had gone to the library to update his resume with the new cell phone number, but since he didn’t have a charger, he kept it turned off, only turning it back on once a day to check for any messages.

Jim slowly rolled over, pushing his stiff legs off to the side of the hard bench.  His back had deep impressions of the metal crisscrossing over his spine.  He leaned over and slowly touched his toes, hoping to loosen the muscles that were beginning to seize along his spine.

He carefully reached for the briefcase, pushed the two shiny brass buttons and opened the case.  He powered up the phone before quickly hitting the messages button in order to save as much energy as possible.

“Hi Jim, this is Bob from Silverdale Construction.  Hey, umm, we came across your application and resume, and we’d like to schedule an interview this afternoon if possible.”

Jim bolted upright, reaching for a pen and pad of paper inside the case.

He was to meet at 2 o’clock this afternoon.  It would be just enough time to try to clean up and get on that side of town.

With fingers embedded deeply with grime, he scratched down the phone number and address before folding his blanket and placing it into his backpack.  He gathered the newspapers, crumpled them, and threw them away in a nearby garage can.

He glanced at the time on the cell before carefully turning it back off and replacing it in the briefcase.  He would need to hurry to catch the bus to make his connection.

Later that day, dressed in too-short kakis and a polo buttoned up tightly against his throat, using the often-forgotten top button, Jim nervously opened the door to the office which had advertised for carpenters. 

Two years ago, he had just started to get his life back on line after his divorce.  He had been seeing his seven-year old daughter every other weekend, taking her to parks, movies, and even out to dinner from time to time.  He had taught her to ride her bike and how to swim in their community pool.  He had even managed to scrape enough money together to move out of the old trailer and into a two bedroom apartment so Julia would have her own room when she came over on the weekends.   

It was a Friday, and Jim could still remember the silence in the office that day when he was pulled off the job site to speak to the construction manager.

Seven other men, still dirty and stained from a long day on the job, stood awkwardly in the office as they all waited.

A man in a bright shirt and clean jeans walked into the office and briskly told them that today would be their last day.  They would lose any accrued sick days and there would be no severance package.  Insurance would last through the end of the month.

Angry words from the other men, shouts, and later wet eyes and ruddy faces followed.  But Jim could only leave the office as one might leave a funeral.  It felt that this was the end of his life.  There was no money to pay for next month’s rent on his new apartment, put food in the fridge for when his daughter came to visit, or money to put gas in the old truck. 

He would have to sell it to the old used car dealership next week for whatever he could get for it, knowing all the while that Tony, the sleazy dealership manager, would give him only a few hundred dollars for the old, blue 1990 Chevy with 256,000 miles and cracked vinyl seats, re-selling it for at least $3,000, if not more. 

It was only a matter of months before the few hundred dollars he had managed to save was gone, his ex-wife had cut off visitations from their daughter, and Jim was on the streets.  He had gone to the local library to make a resume, but creating houses, wooden furniture and working on a construction site was what was comfortable to him, not typing out a resume on a tiny keyboard with his large, clumsy fingers, which still had dirt deeply embedded into the pores.

He had been on the street corner trying to hand out his resume, and maybe getting a few bucks for a daily meal, when we first saw the man walking in a daze down the sidewalk carrying a briefcase and a cell phone which was constantly ringing.  He noticed the man right away because he seemed to be in the middle of some sort of crisis.  His gait was hurried, yet he almost appeared to be running from wherever it was that he was coming form.  His pale face was red from the seemingly unaccustomed exertion. 

However, the man had stopped, as people sometimes do when they have a few moments of thought, walking back to give him his brief case, some clothing, and a cell.  Looking back now, that had been the moment things slowly began to turn around.  Later in the day, a couple had given him $5, just enough for Jim to get a value meal and drink at McDonalds.  He found a soft spot in the park that night and awoke with new hope for his future. He now had a phone where future employers could reach him.

Jim walked into the comfortable construction office.  A kind looking woman in her 50’s sat behind the desk.

“Hi, I’m...Um...here for an interview at 2,” Jim said shyly.

“You are twenty minutes early”, the woman commented in a soft southern drawl.

“I take the bus, Ma’am, and didn’t want to risk being late,” Jim said, dirty hat in hand.

He found a seat over against the side wall.

“Can I get you a cold water?” the woman asked.

“No Ma’am, it’s OK.  I don’t want to be a trouble,” Jim said.

The woman quietly placed a bottled water and two cookies from the break room on the chair next to Jim, before walking away wordlessly.

Mitch

The last few nights in the truck had been a nightmare.  Mitch slowly stretched his aging back, which still had the imprint of one of the seldom-used seat belt clips indented into his right hip.  The spirit of freedom and adventure how now been replaced with aching joints and a sinus headache.

It was time to rid the cabin of raccoons and finally move in, he thought, as he headed into town for a shotgun.  His cold back felt every divot and pothole in the poorly managed country roads as he drove the Chevy into town.

Bill, the man who had helped Mitch buy his initial supply, was still walking through the store when Mitch entered. 

“Back so soon?” he asked when seeing Mitch approach.

“I need a shotgun, Bill,” he said, while determinedly eyeing the wall of guns.

Bill paused again, rocking back on his heels once again, and rubbed his chin contemplatively.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, there Mitch,” he stammered, “but have you ever fired a shotgun?”

Mitch looked at him blankly opening his mouth to answer.

“A pistol?” Bill asked again.

Mitch continued his uncomfortable stare, mouth agape.
“How about a BB gun when you were a kid?”

The uncomfortable silence continued.

“Well, then,” Bill began, “You’ll want to start here with this one, here,” he said, lowering the gun from the rack.

“It’s a BB gun!” Mitch stammered.

“Not a BB gun!” Bill said defensively with a silence that was part concern and part condescension, “It’s a pellet gun,” Bill said, looking up admiringly at the weapon.

Bill aimed the pellet gun down the aisle, obviously ignoring every General Store safety training video, before he placed it against his right side and handed it over to Mitch.

“Are you wanting a pellet gun for protection, Mitch? We don’t have much crime up here, other than the time Mrs. Jenkins had someone steal two of her hubcaps off her old Lincoln. Even then, some say that they just probably fell off when she hit the potholes in the road.”

Mitch shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“It’s for the raccoons,” he said softly.

Bill looked up at the stained ceiling for several long, uncomfortable moments.

“Didn’t you just chase them out?” he asked incredulously.

“I tried.  I mean, I did really try.  One was eating some trash inside the house and it just hissed at me.  It really didn’t want to leave.”

“Well, damn, Mitch, you don’t ask it for permission.  Chase the damn thing out of there. If he don’t leave then, shoot him in the ass with this pellet gun!”

Mitch looked down at the gun which rested at his side.  Using a pellet gun was demoralizing, feeling much like someone who went to the dealership to buy a Ducati, only to come home with a pink European scooter. 

All the same, he didn’t want to kill the animal, only to get him to leave.  Mitch followed Bill to the register to pay for the gun and pellets with his dwindling roll of cash.

Mitch drove steadily home, ready to declare war on a persistent raccoon. He also wanted to create the plot for his new garden this afternoon, before it got too late.  He’d still need time to fix the broken window, clean out the place of raccoon waste and trash, and find a softer place than the truck to sleep for the night.

Jessica

The next few days had started to become easier for Jessica as she settled into a comfortable pace of caring for the horses, cleaning the barn aisles, and mucking stalls.  Her long nail extensions had already broken off, and instead of wearing expensive leather-seated breeches to the barn each day, she found herself coming into work wearing Levi’s, work boots, and gloves, her hair in a high ponytail.  Her first major work investment was a thick pair of work gloves, the first that she had ever owned.  Still, this was a side of her equestrian life she had never seen before.  There was a peace to working hard all day, coming home tired, and earning her keep. She would stagger up the stairs to her bedroom tired and sore, but with a clean sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. 

Now that Brad was moving in with mom, she was going to ask Dorie about moving into the small apartment above the barn.  It was small, snug, and would allow her to sell her car since she wouldn’t need any transportation to the barn each day.  She couldn’t bear to be in the same house with her mother and her boyfriend, who wasn’t much older than she was.  It also kept her near with whom and what mattered.

Jessica walked through the main barn aisle, gently placing a hand on the muzzle of each of the horses who had their glossy heads resting out of their stalls. 

She found her work list for the day posted onto the bulletin outside of Dorie’s office.  Today she would begin by cleaning out all of the tack rooms, where the riders and trainers keep their equipment. When she was finished, she could begin working on the feed room, which serviced almost 100 horses. She would create the bags of feed for each individual horse for the AM and PM feedings.  Each bag would require a precise mixture of grain, oats, senior feed, and supplements.  Each horse had their own diet and measurements.

Jessica had even begun to enjoy the four AM mornings, days filled with mucking stalls, grooming horses, and cleaning tack. There was a routine to the day and she even began to enjoy the demands of physical labor.

 

Jessica walked between the rows of horses, all with their heads out waiting for a quick pat on the muzzle, before she walked to her tack box and found her thick leather gloves.  She pulled them over her tanned hands before returning to the boarder’s tack room.  Hanging on a five hooks were dirty bridles, many of them still wet with sweat and slobber stains from the last ride.  Jessica filled three small buckets full of warm water before finding an assortment of sponges that she would need to clean each.  One bucket was to clean the bits with fresh water, others to soap the bridles with saddle soap, and the third to rinse off any remaining residue.  Normally, this work would have been handed off to a groom at the stable, while she left after riding to go to the gym or to the club to have lunch with some friends. Jessica scrubbed a small bit of carrot that was stuck to one of the snaffle bits that hung from the hook.

“Jessica,” it was Juan, one of the sons of the barn manager who had started work that summer.

“Hi, Juan,” Jessica answered, without looking up from the bit of carrot.

Last week, before her father had cut off her allowance, Juan barely spoke to any other the stable employees, other than a short nod as a greeting. Juan wore a faded cowboy hat that had sweat stains around the headband, several green smudges, and an assortment of grease stains. He wore a blue bandana under the hat to keep the sweat from dripping into his face during the Jersey humidity, along with a white tank top and Levi jeans. 

His father had often spent extra hours at the barn, when Juan started college a couple of years ago.  Once she had heard him bragging to Dorie that Juan had earned a partial scholarship to Jersey State.  She also overheard him ask if he could get in some overtime to help pay for the extra expenses. That was the summer Juan came to the barn to begin working with his father. Although he had never spent much time around horses, he turned out to be a skilled horseman after that first summer.   Jessica finished the rest of the bridles in less than two hours, her back aching from reaching up awkwardly for such a long period of time. After hanging each bridle neatly on each owner’s hook, she began work on six saddles that needed to be cleaned before she could sweep.  She had just enough time to tidy the tack room, rinse out the buckets and sponges, and hope to still have time to ride Leo.

Contemplating all of this, Jessica leaned over to rinse out a sponge before applying a small amount of soap to the seat of a leather dressage saddle.

Brandi

Brad moved in almost immediately, but it had been a nightmare from the first moment. He spent his time alternating between the pool and hot tub, meeting his friends at the club to work out, or meeting friends for trendy cocktails at even trendier bars.   

When Brandi had the audacity to ask him how he’d be paying for his portion of the rent, he stared at her blankly, involuntarily flexing his tanned muscles.  Brandi thought she saw a small twitch in his left eye.

Asking again how he would contribute to the household, Brad thrust his swimsuit-clad loins at her suggestively.  Brandi stormed off in disgust.

On this early Sunday morning she sat at her laptop with all of the bills, which had previously been stuffed into a shoebox, and the most recent statements of her accounts.  First, she created an online account for each bill. Next, she made a spreadsheet of how much money she had in each account compared with the bills that needed to be paid. Brandi sipped her hot coffee slowly as she contemplated each dollar. Mitch was leaving her the house, so at least there would be a large chunk of money to rebuild her life.  She wondered if Brad was going to continue to live with her when he realized she would be moving to a smaller and modest cottage.

She had already met with a realtor last week who thought the house could be listed for $585,000.  The balance on the mortgage, including the second mortgage, was about $386,000.  After subtracting the realtor fee, Brandi would have just enough.  She still had some credit cards that needed to be paid off, as well as her Audi, which had an $18,400 balance.  

If she had been told a few weeks ago that she would have under $150,000 in cash to find a new place to live and begin a new lifestyle, she would have gasped at the prospect. Brandi briefly thought about keeping Brad as a roommate.  However, he was partying more than ever, and it was becoming clear that he was only staying in her life to enjoy the numerous perks her old life provided.  

Brandi reasoned she was better off starting a new life alone.  In the last few days and weeks, she had begun to find comfort in the stillness of the house, reflecting on the back porch over a cup of home brewed coffee, and had even begun to spend less time at the health club, opting instead to take long walks around the neighborhood for exercise. In the stillness, she began to question everything about her life: the clothes, the lifestyle, vacations, and the affairs, all of it. She had been living under the assumption that if she could pile enough luxury on top of a crumbling life, it made it less difficult to see she was living in a house with a severely cracked foundation.

Brandi sent a quick e-mail to Sarah, her real estate agent.

“Hi, Sarah, I would like to list our home as soon as possible.  I think the appraisal price of $585,000 is reasonable, and I would like to sell it as soon as possible.  Thank you for sending me some townhouses to look at.  I am going over them now, and will let you know when I’m ready to see a few.  I am sure that we will be able to work something out. Thanks.”

Brandi then logged into her new community college account and looked through the class offerings, letting herself dream of a new life and the things that were still possible.

Jessica

Jessica woke at 4:30 AM to the sound of her Android in a darkened room.  Her phone flashed, vibrated, and buzzed on the cherry wood antique dresser next to her bed.  She awoke energized as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, and delicately touched the stop button on her phone before heading to the bathroom.  She wanted to be there when the hay was delivered to the horses by 5:30 am.  Jessica pulled on the same pair of dirty jeans she had worn yesterday.  Jeans were good for several days at the farm, she reasoned.  She flipped through her closet full of designer blouses until she came to a vintage Men at Work t-shirt.  It would work for today, she thought, while pulling her hair into a tight pony tail.  After brushing her teeth, she slipped into the kitchen, grabbed her keys, and slipped into the garage.  The house felt black and dead.

Mom wasn’t home.  She hadn’t seen Brad in days.  She also wanted to get to the barn so she could talk to Dorie.  Dorie usually came in about seven in the morning and stayed until six in the evening.  One of the working students had moved to the east coast to work with a new trainer, leaving the barn apartment open.  It was a small, studio loft apartment, but it had hardwood floors and would keep her close to the horses. 

Jessica quickly drove to the barn on the dark, cold morning.  Once she arrived, she found Juan already at the barn, walking through the aisles, checking the horses to determine how they had fared through the night. 

“Morning, Jessica,” he said as he saw her approaching. Dorie said she is going to be late today. She is going to the auction in Sussex.”

“Why is she going to auction?” Jessica asked. Auction horses were not the imported warm bloods that were housed at the barn.  The horses that wound up at auction were normally discarded for health or soundness reasons, or had major behavioral issues. Some were even dangerous.

“Heritage Farms had a youth horse stolen last month,” Juan said while walking to the storage shed for a pick and bucket.

“It’s a long shot, but she wants to make sure it didn’t wind up at auction,” he said before walking into the small barn to begin mucking stalls for the day.

“What time is she going?” Jessica asked as Juan walked away.

“She said she would be there by six,” Juan answered back.

This would be a good time to talk to Dorie, Jessica thought.  During an auction, there would be long periods of time where the horses were being unloaded and sent into the auction ring.  If Dorie didn’t see the stolen horse during inspections, she wouldn’t stay long.

Jessica ran out to her Mustang.  Her list of chores could wait until she got back.

Jessica ran into the parking lot, while reaching into her jeans pocket for her keys.  The stockyard was about 15 minutes away.  She wanted to arrive before the slaughterers and prospectors arrived.

She was beginning to feel the coolness of the fall morning as she drove to the stockyards with the top down. Her blonde hair, which had once been in a tight ponytail, had now begun to loosen as she sped down the empty country road.  The smells of alfalfa hay and distant dairies tinged the air. The air was simultaneously cool and warm.  The temperatures would only climb into the mid-60’s on this balmy fall day, but it was a welcome relief from the torched summer they had earlier in the year. She pulled in a lungful of fall air, feeling the crispness fill her body as she leaned her head back. She reached over with her right hand, pulling the tie out of her shoulder-length hair. She gently shook her head from side to side as she left the stress of the stables behind her.

The loft apartment at the barn would be the perfect solution.  Last year, she remembered there was a working student living there.  She and another boarder had made fun of the girl who would climb the wooden stairs to the loft, filthy and exhausted after a 12 hour day working outdoors.  The barn rats, she and the other boarders had called them.

The irony that she was the one who was now hoping to somehow find a way to convince Dorie she deserved a chance to live in the empty space.

Jessica could feel the vibrations of the wheels traveling over loose gravel as she pulled into the dusty entrance of the stockyard.

The cool, crisp, fragrant air was now replaced with the pungent smell of filthy horse flesh, dust, manure, and desperation.

In the distance she could hear the squeals of foals, separated from the dams, mares calling for their foals, and the high whiney of the geldings as they were herded into separate paddocks for inspection before the auction began.

Jessica scanned the parking lot, looking for Dorie’s Dodge Ram.  She found it at the front edge of the parking lot.  Most of the trainers were already lined at the arena as the first lot of horses was about to be herded into the arena.  Jessica walked quickly between the dusty paddocks, fenced with chipped, white painted wooden railing.

She found Dorie leaning on the edge of a fence, talking to another trainer, inspecting a gelding that stood alone in the paddock, separated from the other horses. They were speaking quietly as Jessica approached.

Jessica walked timidly as she approached, hoping Dorie wouldn’t be upset that she had left the barn to find her.

“Jessica, what are you doing here?” Dorie asked.

“Umm…Juan said you were here. I was wondering...” Suddenly Jessica could feel her cheeks flush as she stumbled for the right words.

“My dad, umm, well he...”

“Get out with it,” Dorie demanded.

“I need a place to stay.  I don’t want to live with my mother and her boyfriend anymore. I want to live in the loft and work full time as a working student,” Jessica stated, holding her breath as she waited for Dorie’s reply. 

Karl, the other trainer, looked ahead with steely eyes as he waited for her to return to their conversation. Even the gelding, which still stood along in the paddock, his head held low, looked at her with a wary eye, as if they all awaited Dorie’s response.

Dorie drew in a deep, dramatic breath, which seemed to cause her pain.

“Oh-h-h-h…Jessica,” she began.  “You...you really aren’t working student…material. You always made fun of our working students.  Called them barn rats.”

“I know,” Jessica pleaded.  “But, ever since my dad cut me off, it made me realize I don’t want to be in school.  I want to work with horses. You, know, like a real job.  Please, Dorie, I won’t let you down.”

Again Dorie drew in a breath as she arched her back to stretch her tired muscles as she looked into the sunny skies. 

The seconds seemed to crawl to a stop.  Even the tired stockyard gelding shifted apprehensively from one foot to the other as they waited for a response.

“No,” Dorie said finally.  “I am sorry.  You have your mother you can stay with and I need the loft open for someone who can be a serious student.  You have had years with me, Jessica, years of canceling lessons at the last minute, not taking your training seriously, and taking weeks off to party with your friends.  I couldn’t rely on your for this much responsibility.  Look at you now.  You left the barn and your responsibilities to come and find me to ask me this, knowing that I would be back later today.  You don’t lack the patience or the seriousness.  Go back now, “Dorie said, before turning her back to Jessica and her attention to the chestnut gelding.

Jessica sat back on her heels, stunned at the response. She had always thought that it was difficult to find good working students to work with clients and the horses.  Dependable people from good families like hers.  Jessica turned and began walking through the paddocks to her car. Living with her mother and Brad was going to be a nightmare.

Suddenly the sound of smashing metal shattered her thoughts as she was almost to her car. The sounds of men yelling followed another large crash.  In the far paddock, three men, wearing jeans, boots, and cowboy hats were unloading a giant grey gelding.  The spooked animal crashed through the run before slipping on the urine soaked ramp and crashing into the fencing. He immediately sprang up and reared, hooves flying in front of the men’s faces as they reached for his lead rope, which was slashing like a snake. Finally, one of the men caught its end and began to pull the grey gelding back into the paddock before he could escape from the collapsed side of the fencing.  Feeling the resistance, the gelding shied violently to the side, reaching out with one leg to paw at the men with an unshod hoof.  The two other men were finally able to put up the collapsed side of the fencing. The men released the lead and the gelding trotted off into the back end of the paddock, bleeding from his right foreleg. 

An older man with a round, heavy belly came forward,

“Tell the slaughterer to take that one,” he growled.  “Don’t put em with the others,” he said before turning his attention to the other paddocks.

Jessica stood stunned at the scene.  During her entire riding career, horses were animals that were purchased for top dollar.  They were loved and trained and kept in the best stables, with the best possible care. She didn’t even fathom there could be a world like this.  The gelding continued to bleed from his injury. Jessica hurried back to her car.  She had some vet wrap in her trunk.  At least she could stop the bleeding for this animal.

Jessica quickly grabbed the hot pink vet wrap from the back of her truck, some expensive, peppermint horse treats, and some non-stick gauze bandages before returning to the paddock.

By now the gelding had somewhat calmed and was standing at the edge of the fencing, head held high and nostrils flared. She could see the hot red flesh inside his nasal passages, a sign that he was overheated and stressed.

She spoke slowly and softly to the animal.

“Hey, boy...” she called, while holding out a treat.

The gelding twitched an ear in her direction.

Jessica slowly crawled between the round metal rods of the paddock.

Suddenly, the gelding erupted into chaos, bucking, farting, and racing in a panic around the edges of the paddock fence.

Jessica quickly scurried under the fence moments before the grey galloped by, in a flurry of grey, dust, and a slim red streak on his foreleg.

Jessica took a step back before hearing the familiar shout,

“Jessica, what the hell are you doing?”

She looked back to see Dorie standing angrily behind her.

Mitch

The tires of the old Chevy rumbled along the riveted dirt road.  The truck lurched and bounced violently as Mitch tried to carefully make his way down the Ponderosa lined dirt road leading to the property.  He made a mental note that fixing the road would be one of his many tasks. He parked in front of the tiny cabin and killed the engine. He walked to the front door, turned the knob, and stepped inside.

No raccoons. 

There was trash everywhere.  Bugs littered the wooden floor, most dead, some still in various stages of life. The two bedrooms were empty, but filled with dirt, trash, and a few odd feathers.

The glass from the broken window lay on the floor, glistening in the sun. He didn’t know where to begin, but cleaning out the trash and bugs needed to be a priority.  If he could at least clean the trash out and sweep, he could go back into town for a mattress, frame, and some linens.  He needed someplace better than the truck to sleep tonight, he noted as he touched his toes in an effort to stretch his still stiff back muscles. He propped the pellet gun in the corner of the family room in case the raccoon decided to make an appearance.

He went back into his truck for some supplies he had bought in town: a heavy broom, rags, cleaner, and soap.

He flipped on the faucet in the kitchen.  Not surprisingly, it was dry.

Calling the town to get water started again was going to be another top priority. In the meantime, he would need to haul water.  He looked over to the stove fireplace.  It was already getting to be a bit chilly, he noted. He needed to inspect the stove to make sure it would be OK to light a fire tonight.  As a bonus, it would help keep the raccoons away.

Suddenly, he heard a rustling from the back bedroom.  Mitch quickly reached for the pellet gun, aiming it menacingly, as he walked cautiously into the room, his weapon leading the way.

Mitch walked carefully into the room.  He could hear small squeaking noises, wondering if they were mice.

Finally, he saw the end of a tail coming from the inside of the bedroom closet.  Mitch continued to inch inside the room, aiming his weapon towards the closet and the sound. As he entered the room and carefully turned to face the closet, he saw the raccoon, lying on her side, nursing her litter of kits. 

Mitch lowered the weapon dejectedly. The raccoon didn’t seem to even notice him as she tended to the litter.

Fuck, Mitch thought.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He didn’t have the heart to poison or shoot a mother and her litter, even if they were home invaders. Mitch walked quietly to the bedroom window and opened it.  He popped out the screen and let it fall onto the leaves outside.  They would be able to come and go out of the room with the window open, he thought as he quietly shut the door.

Jim

Jim walked away from the office with a confidence that he hadn’t felt in over a year.  He was hired as the new on-site carpenter.  He was to begin at 6:00 AM tomorrow.  The first payday would come this Friday and every two weeks following.  His new boss had asked him about his background.  He tried to explain away his battered clothing, and past work history, the best that he could, but ended up telling him the story of how a man name Mitch had helped to turn his life around. 

His new employer gave him a $100 advance on his first paycheck.  He was going to use the money to take his little girl to Denny’s tonight and get to the shelter line early, in hopes of getting a cot tonight.  He was going to need the extra rest since he would have a long day of work tomorrow.

Brandi

Brandi reached for her new cell to text Brad.  She hadn’t seen him since she asked him if he would be contributing a fair share for rent.  Brad worked at a cell phone store, selling expensive cell phones plans to customers who were accustomed to paying top dollar for convenience.  He would go to work dressed in a tight polo, which accented his gym muscles and wore khakis which accented his high, tight ass.  He had a flare for finding highly maintained women among his customers, which was how he had met Brandi.  She had come into the store looking for a new plan for herself, Jessica, and Mitch.  Brad saw her walk in and had stopped talking to a woman who only needed a phone charger.   

She held her head high, holding a Coach bag in the crook of one arm.  She wore Miss Me jeans and wedge sandals.  Her blonde highlights hung low into her right eye.  She was perfect.

She had flirted with Brad as they discussed the newest models and plans.  She let her fingers linger on his hand as he reached for a phone.  He had asked her whom the plan would be for. 

Her daughter, Jessica.  And her husband, Mitch, but he was never home, anyway. 

Another obvious signal. 

Before she had left, she had given Brad her number, “strictly as a business gesture.”  However, they both knew why.

On their next meeting, they were in bed together. 

Brandi forced herself back into the present as she texted Brad:

“When are you coming home?”

Brandi gently set the cell down only the coffee table.  Home.  What a strange word to use on a boyfriend that was almost 20 years younger.  This wasn’t his home, and it certainly was not hers.

She decided she would wait another 20 minutes before heading to the gym.

Most people would have assumed that the gym was a place to keep her toned physique. That would only partially be true.

It was also a place where she could run and walk until she couldn’t catch her breath, until her heart was beating loudly, until she couldn’t think.  She worked out so hard that she stopped thinking.

 And then when she slowed down, she was able to think with much more clarity, especially about Mitch, Jessica, their bills, and finances.  But most of all, on these days, she thought about her own life. She knew that everything she had hoped for in her life had passed her by. When she was a teen, she had always hoped to be a published author.  She wrote short stories, poems, and even started several small novels without ever finishing one.  Never in all these fantasies did she dream of having a boyfriend like Brad, who was obviously only using her for her imagined wealth.

She picked up her cell, flipped it over to check for any incoming messages. She no longer knew what to do.  The mortgage was due, her credit cards cut off, and Jessica was trying to get an apartment at the barn. Brad was not returning her calls.

She grabbed the keys off the kitchen island and headed to the gym, which was the only place she knew left to clear her thoughts and decide her next steps.

She drove in contemplative silence to the gym. It was amazing that Brad could be capable of causing her so much pain.  She knew he didn’t love her from the first day they were together. She knew he was using her for her lifestyle, much in the same way she had used Mitch for his, but she somehow expected more now that Mitch was gone.

Brandi parked in her usual spot underneath a shade tree and walked slowly to the front entrance of the large gym with brass and glass doors. Women of various ages walked in and out of the gym, all wearing expensive clothes, high end running shoes, while carrying designer gym bags. She noticed this, suddenly feeling very old and tired.

She found her normal treadmill and began her workout.  She knew the routine. Warm up for 20 minutes with increasing incline and difficulty, until she finally reached the cardio, fat burning portion of the workout. As she pounded heavily up the steep incline, she began to think of her family.  Mitch had left and was ready to file for divorce.  She would never have believed the changes in Jessica.  She had been working for Dorie almost every single day of the week, and had not only shed her expensive hair highlights, an expensive designer clothes habit, and a massive attitude, but also seemed happier than she had in years.  She was going to be taking some Animal Science course at the local community college in the spring semester after all, she had announced when she called last night.

Mitch told Brandi she could keep the house and both cars.  However, there was wasn’t much equity left in either of the automobiles.  There would be no way she could keep up the mortgage herself, both car payments, and pay for her day-to-day expenses.  Even with the proceeds from the sale of the house, she would have to get a job soon, or else start getting more contributions from Brad.

Her cell phone chirped on the edge of the treadmill.  It was finally Brad’s text, with a simple, “Hey”.

“Hey, baby, when are you coming home?” she typed while lowering the speed on the treadmill.

“Hey. Babe,” Brad answered.  “I’m actually out with some guys tonight, so I won’t be in until the morning,”

“Where are you?” she tentatively typed.

“Like I said, I’m just out with the guys now.  I don’t want to drive if I’ve been drinking, so I’m just going to crash at one of the guy’s houses later tonight.”

“Brad, when are you going to give me that rent we talked about?” Jessica typed hesitatingly, afraid of the reply.

She could feel the palpable tension being communicated through their phones as she impatiently awaited his replay.

“Brad?” she finally typed when she received no response.

“Yeah, hey babe,” he finally answered.

“So, the thing is,” he continued. 

“I realy dont think this is woking out,” he typed, with numerous spelling errors.  He had been drinking again.

“Things are getting really weird now that Mitch is gone, and to be honust, I don’t think I can give you what you are looking for,” he texted rapidly.

“And what exactly is it that you think I’m looking for, Brad?” Brandi typed furiously into her phone.  She pounded the emergency stop button on the treadmill.

“You are looking for someone to take care of you, and that person is not me,” Brad typed, using a much more forceful tone than she had ever heard him use.

“Look, babe, I’m young and I’m not ready to settle down to a heavy life, filled with all this drama.  It just seems like lately, all your life is about drama. I’m not going back to your place anymore,” he typed in his final text.

She stood on the treadmill in stunned silence, reeling from the realization that she had been dumped over text.

Brandi grabbed her keys and towel before heading to the locker room to get her bag. She wanted to leave the gym before she began to cry. 

Brad

Brad lay on the travertine pool deck of the clear, blue tiled pool of his new friend’s house. He reached for the lotion on the small glass table by the edge of the pool, before pouring it liberally over his flexed and bronzed hide. Even though it was now too cold to swim, today was a warm enough fall day to lie out and enjoy the hot tub.

His phone chirped next to the bottle of lotion and fizzy blue drink.

He lazily reached over to read to the text.  It was Brandi, asking when he was coming home. She probably wanted to talk to him again about rent.

He thought back to the first day he met Brandi. She had come into his cell phone store, looking for a new plan for her and her family. He had picked up so many women from that store. They would come in, dressed in an air of desperation. He could always tell the women, married or not, who would be available. It looked as if they tried too hard, wearing designer clothing, shoes, expensive handbags. He could smell the desperation on them.

His last girlfriend was married when they were caught together. Barely escaping with his life when her jealous (and very large) husband caught them in the kitchen together after a long morning of sex, she had called it off.  He hadn’t spoken to her again. Gone was the poolside days spent lounging in the sunshine while she was willing to do anything for him that he asked.

He didn’t want to lose Brandi, because she used to be fun, and they did have a lot of good times together. She had a great pool at her home, plenty of his high protein, low carb food in the fridge, and the drinks flowed plentifully.  Like his last girlfriend, Brandi was willing to do just about anything in bed he asked.  He barely spent any time in his tiny studio apartment anymore.

However, everything seemed to be changing now.  Her husband, Mitch, had left her and was living like some crazy man in the woods now.  Her money had been cut off and she had limited income of her own. She was beginning to become more demanding and clingy, always asking him where he was or when he was coming over.

He paused for a moment before texting her goodbye.  It was best this way, he reasoned.  Soon enough, there would be another woman coming into the store, expensive purse in the crook of her arm, searching eyes, too much perfume, and a sad aura.

Jessica

Jessica turned around so quickly that she could feel her head spinning. Dorie was standing stone faced.

“I just wanted to help him,” she gasped. “He was bleeding and I thought I could at least wrap him,”

Dorie looked to the filthy gelding that was now breathing heavily, but had calmed and was standing still.

Dorie looked carefully at the animal.

“Come with me,” she said at last.

They carefully ducked under the railing and approached the gelding.

Dorie spoke slowly to the animal in low, reassuring tones.  He looked at hear wearily, but did not bolt this time.

She ran a hand gently over his dusty flesh. 

“He’s a Lipizzaner,” she said at last.

“How did a warmblood wind up at the auction?” Jessica asked incredulously.

“Happens all the time,” Dorie said, finally shedding some of her anger, which was now being replaced with disgust and sadness for the grey.

“Someone bought an animal that was too much for them, or he has soundness issues, behavioral issues, which wouldn’t surprise me, considering what I’ve seen.  Or he could have simply fallen into the wrong hands and have been abused.”

Jessica could feel her eyes filling with tears at how someone could let such an animal be treated in this way.

Dorie carefully reached down and examined the injury.

“Go back and get me some more of the wrap,” she ordered Jessica.

Jessica quietly walked to where she had left the bandages, and then handing them to Dorie.

Dorie carefully wrapped the geldings open wound before gently standing back up.

The grey had now calmed and had his head hanging lower. His breathing had slowed to a normal and relaxed rhythm.

“Let’s see him move a bit,” she said standing back.

She clucked at the gelding, which immediately began to trot around the perimeter of the paddock. Jessica could see that he was a good mover, but clearly lame.

“He’s very off,” Dorie said, referring to the grey’s lameness.

“That’s probably why he is here,” Dorie said sadly.

“Is it something that could be fixed?” Jessica asked quickly.

“It’s hard to say.  He’s significantly lame,” she added.  “It’s possible,” she added.  “But it’s equally possible that it’s not,” she said before ducking back under the paddock railing.

“My father left me a little bit of money to finish the semester,” Jessica said breathlessly.

“What if I used the money for board and took him home?” Jessica asked excitedly.

“You already have Leonardo.  You are now going to have board for two horses?” Dorie asked.

“Please, Dorie, I know that I haven’t always been the most responsible person.  I don’t want to live with my mother and I do not want to stay in school.  I want to work with these horses, even if it means I have to work at the barn 12 hours a day just to cover rent at the loft and board for Leo and this grey.  I don’t just want this, Dorie, I need this.  I am begging you.  Please give me the chance.”

Dorie looked hard at the gelding that was still trotting quietly around the paddock.

“How will I know I can count on you to get your work done and not fall back on your old habits?” she asked Jessica, looking at her harshly.

“If I let you down, I’ll sell both horses and leave,” Jessica added. “But I won’t.  I won’t because I can’t.  I don’t like who I am, Dorie.  This is my chance and I know it.”

Dorie reached for the cell phone which was in her pocket.

“Juan,” it’s Dorie.  Can you please get the Ford and trailer and meet us here at the stockyard?  We are bringing home a project.”

Deep from inside the trailer, the gelding clashed its hooves against the metal floor.  Dorie had placed heavy rubber pads to prevent the horses from slipping and for comfort, which was now creating a dull thud. The grey was alternating between kicking the walls and shifting restlessly as they pulled into the polished unloading area near the back of the barns.  Before he had left, Juan had prepared an isolated barn, far from the other horses, in case the grey came with communicable diseases.  Since he was being sold for slaughter, Jessica was able to buy him by the pound, which was the cost of his meat.

Another worker from the stables went through the narrow side door at the front of the white stock trailer in order to unfasten the lead of the grey.  Juan removed the pin that kept the door closed and opened the large, squeaking door.  The grey took two tentative steps backwards before rushing back, almost falling back onto his hocks. 

Juan stayed at his head, letting a hand slide down his dirty neck, trying to calm him.

“Jessica, take the grey and putting him in the far back stall and get him settled,” Dorie said before turning toward the main arena to teach some lessons to riders who were already waiting in the main, covered arena.

As she approached them, she could hear Dorie command them to begin work on a large, 20 meter circle.

Jessica placed the grey into the new stall, watching as he paced frantically.  He nervously went over to the automatic waterer and briskly swished his lip from side to side, sloshing the water. He lifted his head when he saw Jessica standing at the entrance of the stall door.  A low rumble came from deep inside his throat.

Jessica walked back to the tack room which held her mahogany tack locker that her father had given her for her 16^th birthday.  She grabbed a bucket and quickly filled it with vet wrap, non-stick gauze, a clean sponge, a smaller pail for fresh water, and some antibacterial cream.

She walked back to the grey’s stall, setting the bucket on the outside of the stall door.

Talking in low, nonsense words, Jessica opened the bottom half of the stall door and slipped inside. The gelding walked nervously to the back of the stall, eyeing her nervously.  She wanted to at least check the grey’s bandages since he had been hauled in and check him over.  She reached for him, running a hand over his grey flesh.  She gently reached over, and opened his mouth, checking for the angle of his teeth and for dental stars, signs used to determine a horses’ age.  He seemed to be about 12.  She wondered what kind of life he had and who could have let such a finely bred horse wind up at slaughter.  She ran a hand down the injured leg. It was hot to the touch, and the cause of the obvious lameness.  Jessica hoped that if the injury healed, the grey would be sound again.

“You need a name,” she said to the gelding, which was now relaxing as she stood beside him.

“Grey?”’

“Grey Ghost?” she asked him.  He hung his head.

Jessica shrugged and slipped beneath the stall door to the hay barn.  She wanted to give him a thick wedge of hay before she could get to the barn chores she still had to do at the end of the day.  Tomorrow, some kids would be coming for their lessons.  She wondered if Dorie would want her to teach some lessons to the “barn mice”, a term they called the littlest riders.  Teaching little kids was a pain in the ass, she thought. Still, she couldn’t blow the opportunity that Dorie was giving her. 

Dorie had told her she could have the old studio loft apartment above the barn, board for Leo, training for them both, and board for the new grey in the back “pony row” outdoor stalls for ten hours a day of labor, six days a week.  She would be required to teach lessons to the young students on the weekends, help Juan and his father, the barn manager, with anything they needed, help the workers keep the stalls clean, lunge horses for boarders, clean tack, groom horses, and do just about anything that needed to be done.  It was the chance to escape the suburban hell that her mother was going through, and she wasn’t going to blow it. 

Now that her dad had left, it was time to find a new life.  After work today, she would go online and drop her remaining classes. She wasn’t passing them anyway and hoped she could get a small refund to buy a few things for the grey.  She never felt more alive.

Brandi

The last few nights had been the worst.  Thinking back on her life with men, maybe Brad was right. She did look to men to care for her and didn’t have the confidence in herself to find that kind of life on her own. She liked having the luxuries to give to Jessica and she liked appearing wealthy and successful, which made it so much easier to judge others for their own shortcomings. 

After that first night in the gym when Brad told her she was not coming back, she took his toothbrush, some gym clothes, a Speedo, and one of his IPods and tossed them into the dumpster.  She blocked his number on his cell phone, but then later that night, sitting at home on the couch over a large glass of wine, she unblocked him. Later, she blocked him again.

The next morning, instead of going to the gym and ordering a $9 weight loss smoothie in the café, she went for a long walk around the neighborhood.  She saw kids outside waiting for the school bus, parents leaving in their cars for a long day of work, an elderly woman raking the leaves in her front yard.  The air was crisp and clean, unlike the stale air, tinged with sweat that was in the gym. 

She walked slowly on these walks, unlike the pounding she did on the treadmill with the IPod blasting.  Slowly, she began to feel her mind relax and her thoughts begin to clear.

It gave her time to think about her future and how she was going to support herself.  Jessica was doing well now, and nothing could ever replace the pride she felt for her only daughter. But, still, her life felt very incomplete now Brad and Mitch were both gone.

On top of that, she had no work history, no college, and little money to sit back on. 

After her walk, since her internet had been disconnected, she drove to the library, so she could check her accounts. She also liked the small lake they had around the library where she could do some more walking, while enjoying the small wild life which lived around the lake.  Soon it would be too cold to enjoy these outdoor walks, so she wanted to get them in when she could.

She checked her e-mail first. Sarah, her realtor, had emailed with an appointment time for a couple to come and look at the house.  It felt strange that this was all happening so quickly. She agreed to the walkthrough. After checking what few financial accounts she had left, she logged off the computer, and took another long walk around the lake. 

It would be good to be rid of the house. It had become a visual reminder of a failed life and symbolized an ache and an emptiness that could not be replaced with a nighttime glass of wine, or ignored texts late at night to Brad. She continued walking around the lake for over an hour, until she finally became too cold to walk any longer.

On her way home, she stopped by the gym and cancelled her membership.

She walked away from the parking lot feeling freer than she had felt in the past ten years.

Mitch

Since the raccoons had taken over one of the bedrooms, Mitch began to focus on other areas of the house.  Already the litter was growing old enough to try to crawl out the window.  He found a small, rusty step stool he placed against the window that allowed the litter easier access in and out. Their mother would bring back a variety of dead and vile things to the nest.  Mitch had begun to sneak in the room while she was gone and leave a bowl of water and a bit of wet cat food.  The room was beginning to smell horribly, but that could be resolved once the litter was grown.

He had returned to town and purchased a quilted queen mattress and metal frame, along with some soft red, plaid flannel sheets and some warm blankets.  He cleaned out the stove and stacked some cords of wood from the general store against the house to heat during the winter, since the tiny cabin did not have any central heat or AC. He took all the trash to the dump and had water turned on from the town.  Finally, he had returned to the local thrift store and purchased an old and comfortable couch, a cracked, but comfortable leather chair, and a small dining table and chairs. For the kitchen he purchased a few pots, pans, and cooking utensils and silverware. The tiny cabin was warm, clean, and comfortable, with the exception of the guest room.  He had even begun experimenting with some meat dishes he could cook in the Crock Pot over the winter.

He made daily trips to the small local library to answer emails and tend to his remaining accounts. He had an account he had kept for emergencies. He had used this money to pay off and close the credit cards.  He still paid the service fee for the cell phone he had given Jim.

In their last, less angry call, Brandi said that she had found a buyer for the home and would be using the equity to go back to a local community college and buy a small townhouse for cash.  It would be enough for her to start a new life.  Now that Jessica was secure in her new apartment and job at the barn, her needs had been met.  He still had $8,000 left, which would help with the taxes on the cabin and some mandatory upgrades once the raccoons had left. The flooring would likely need to be replaced.  He discovered new pride in Jessica as she worked to support herself and care for her horses.  That always seemed to be where her heart truly was anyway. 

Brandi had been kind enough to Fed Ex him a few things from the house he wanted: some pictures of Jessica, some paperwork, some articles of clothing.  It was surprising to him how little he wanted out of the home and how none of it held any value in his new life.  He kept the carryon bag in the closet off the main room as a reminder of his old life, one he hoped never to return to again.

He was left with very little income, and that was a bit of a worry.  Although the Pinetop cabin was paid in full, there were still taxes to pay, some utilities, food, and his health insurance premium. He was still going to need to find a way to bring in some income.

Mitch drove his truck to the library, where he could read the paper, use the computers, check his accounts, and go for a walk on the little trail surrounding the library.  He wanted to explore some options for this new chapter in his life. 

Life was becoming very simple.  There were fewer accounts to check, fewer calls to make, and fewer emails to type.  He found that the simpler his life became, the more he felt free to sit out on the porch in his old chair and write poetry, using one of his remaining glass pens. 

Driving home, he stopped to get some cold soda from the general store. He found that the days of Xanax to get through the day and Whiskey Sours at night were behind him.  Now, he ate hot stew from the Crock Pot he found at the thrift sore and drank hot black coffee as he sat on the porch watching the sun set.

As he approached the general store, he saw a “Help Wanted” sign posted on the front window.  He walked inside to speak to Bill, with whom he now developed a friendship.

“Bill, are you looking for help?” he asked.

“Yeah, um, the kid who helped around here for a few hours a week has gone off to college.  You know anyone?” he asked.

“I do.  Me.” Mitch said confidently.

Bill tilted his head and laughed heartedly.  “You?” he asked incredulously.  “Weren’t you a banker, or something?” he asked.

“I was, but that was a different life,” Mitch answered.  “Now, I just need a bit to pay the taxes on the cabin, and send money to my daughter if she needs it.  And maybe a few groceries.

“Pays $10 an hour,” Bob said cautiously.

Mitch thought back to his life making north of six figures a year, but working over 60 hours a week, killing whatever spark for life he still had living within him.  If someone had told him that someday he’d be living in a tiny cabin alone making $10 an hour, he would have thought himself a dismal failure. Now, he couldn’t imagine a more content life.

“I’ll take it,” Mitch said, slapping $2.65 on the counter for the sodas.

Jessica

Jessica walked up the decades-worn wooden stairs as the sun was beginning to set.  The crisp smell of alfalfa hay, freshly cut lawns, manure, horses, and dust filled the air and a pungent, but comforting aroma, yet Jessica was too tired to enjoy the barnyard scents, or the sunset.  She had just worked over twelve hours tending to the grey, riding and training Leo, doing her work around the barn, and completing her long list of chores Dorie left for her.

The box she carried was filled with a few necessities and treasures from her childhood bedroom.  She had left her four poster bed, large dresser, desk and chair behind.  Many of her clothes would be of no use here as well.  Really all she would need were some basic personal items, family photos, a few mementos, jeans, shoes, and riding clothes, all of which fit neatly in a few large boxes. The studio came equipped with a queen bed, small oak dresser, a rug, and had a tiny bathroom tucked in the corner of the room. The kitchen was nothing more than a sink, a couple of feet of counter space, and an apartment sized refrigerator.  On the counter sat a one burner portable hot plate.

It was plain, tiny, and simple. However, it did have a beautiful wood framed window that looked out over the pastures, where she could watch the sunset in the evening.

It took Jessica four trips from her car back to the apartment to bring up all of the boxes.  Her mom had given her three large bags of essentials she would need for the new loft.  She knew money was tight, so it was help appreciated.

She placed the bags from her mom on her bed before placing the boxes in the corner.  The first essential thing she retrieved from the box was a drip Cuisinart coffee maker, which would be desperately needed.  Jessica may have given up a life of privilege, but she wasn’t going to give up her coffee. She plugged it in next to the chipped porcelain sink.  Her mom had bought her some flannel sheets, which would be perfect for the cool evenings.  She opened the package and made the bed.  She lay a large, down comforter at the top and added two feather pillows she had brought from home.  Now she would be able to get a good night’s sleep after the long days.

She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots.  She had ridden Leo at the end of the day, when all of her chores were finished, and they were still muddy from the ride.  She placed them gently by the door, reminding herself that she would need to clean them for the day tomorrow.  Finally she placed her breeches on a hook by the dresser.  Really, all she would need were her breeches, boots, helmet, and some gloves to get through the day.  These would be the clothes she would live in on a daily basis.

Jessica walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, before realizing she had no food in the house and hadn’t eaten since noon.  After her shower, she pulled on a pair of warm sweat pants and a clean t-shirt before collapsing into her bed.  It would be only seven or eight hours before morning came and a new list of chores would be awaiting her.

Jim

It had been weeks since Jim had started working with the foreman on the site of new home builds.  He woke up at 4:30 every morning from the comfort of the cot in his new studio apartment.  One of the guys from work agreed to pick up Jim on the way to work and take him every day for an extra $80 a month.  It was much cheaper than buying another old truck, keeping gas, and maintenance.  After work he could still walk to the local market, owned by a friendly family from China.  He could pick up a loaf of bread, some peanut butter for sandwiches, eggs he could hard boil and even some hamburger on paydays.  He liked to save $30 out of each check so he could take his little girl to the park and someplace fun to eat.  He had begun to pay child support again and it felt good to be contributing.

He still needed to save money.  He had hidden several large jars around the apartment: one for his daughter, another for emergencies, and a third to save some money for personal expenses. He had shopped at Goodwill after he earned his first paycheck, picking up a great deal on some work boots, jeans, gloves, a heavy jacket, and cap.  He even bought a dented green lunch box with matching thermos where he could take his lunch and keep the cell phone safe.  Buried in a tangle of old cords, he had even found an old charger for the cell phone Mitch had left him.  Life was feeling on track and worthwhile once again. There was one thing, however, that kept him awake at times during the night.  On the night the man had given him his briefcase and phone, he had thoroughly searched the case. In it, he found a card with handwritten numbers.  On one of the cards was an “in case of emergency” with the name Jessica and her cell number.  Jim had called it after a few days.   A young woman had advised him that Mitch was her father, and had moved up to Pinetop, Arizona, but he probably didn’t have a phone yet.  Jim asked for the address, in case he ever did get a job and could send him a letter of thanks. Jim didn’t think that Mitch could possibly understand how much the gifts had changed his life. 

The simple act of kindness gave him the help he needed to earn the job.  The job gave him the chance to get off the street, find his dignity, and spend more time with his daughter.  Late one night, while sitting outside on his porch watching the sun set after a long day, a cold beer in hand, Jim decided to visit Mitch personally the next full week he had off.  He wanted Jim to see for himself the change he had made by his act.

Brandi

The realtor and a young couple walked through the house.  The young wife was clearly in her third trimester of pregnancy and was likely imagining the house full of children.  She admired all of the things about the house Brandi had never experienced for herself: the cozy master bedroom with the fireplace for cold nights snuggling in bed, the happy sounds of children playing upstairs, or her loving husband barbecuing in the backyard, mowing the grass, or working out in the shed.

Brandi’s realtor called her later that afternoon to tell her that they had made a full price offer.  Brandi immediately accepted, at peace that the house would once again be filled with the happiness she and Mitch had once felt for each other.  

That felt so long ago now. 

Her realtor said she found a cute townhouse only about 30 minutes away from her current home, in an older neighborhood.  It was also on the bus line, allowing her easy access when she began her classes. She could sell the Audi for about $10,000 on Craigslist, adding to her cushion, as she looked for a job and trained for something better.  She hadn’t heard from Brad since he told her he couldn’t handle all the drama.  It was for the best, she knew, but she still had a hollow ache on the lonely fall nights. 

The ache wasn’t for Brad, and it even wasn’t for the life she had lost with Mitch.  Instead, it was for what she could have been in her life.  All the years lost, trying to impress others, or create the illusion of a happy, successful life, when the reality was there was none. 

It was an ache for lost opportunity. 

When Jessica was older, she could have used her time to go back to school, start writing, or even go back to work full time. At her next visit to the library, she sent Sarah another email, asking for an appointment to go see the little townhouse.  Sarah agreed to meet her later that day.

Driving to the older part of town felt disappointing, as she noticed the roads becoming more filled with potholes, the trees growing shaggy and in need of trimming.  The houses had faded or chipped painted exteriors. Some of the neighbors did not take care of their lawns.  Although it was an older, less meticulous neighborhood, there was also an air of relaxed happiness.  

There was an old, happy community park nearby with shade trees, swing sets, and kids playing outside.  There was a massive tree right outside the front door which would blossom in the spring. 

Brandi parked her car, walking up the sidewalk.  Various take-out fliers were hanging on the door, some having fallen to the ground.  Sarah typed in the code to the lock box, and the door opened with a squeak.

The entry was small, with small white tiles.  Past the entry was a small living room with a dirty, stained carpet.  As she was making a mental calculation that the carpet, at the minimum, would have to be replaced, Sarah advised her that beneath the old carpet were the original wooden floors. 

There was a large window framing a spectacular view of the trees.

The kitchen was small, and the countertop was laminate, but it was sunny, airy and happy.  She imagined reading books on the couch next to the bay window, making a fire in the coming winter, and polishing the old wooden floors.

She would make a room for Jessica, just in case she needed a place to stay.  However, she knew it would only be a place for Jessica to visit.  Jessica had become a woman now and she knew she would not easily give up her independence.  She hoped she could convince her to stay over on the holidays and always know that she had a place should she ever need it.  She could be Jessica’s safety line.

She took a long walk around the neighborhood. The fall air was crisp and sweet on this Saturday evening. She could smell the smoky fumes from someone’s barbeque, a roast dinner wafting through the open screen door of another home.  At yet another house, children played outside on their bikes and scooters, wearing clothing that was completely inappropriate for the cooler weather.  They didn’t seem to mind, though, playing with red cheeks and wild hair. One girl was even wearing flip flops.  Brandi imagined that her toes must be almost frozen, she thought as she pulled the scarf more tightly around her chest.

Jessica

Jessica stood in the center of the covered arena lunging the Grey Ghost.  The animal trotted around her in circle, while she stood in the middle.  Although he was in full tack, wearing a saddle, bridle, and side reins, she still had not ridden him.  This was partly due to his injury and partly due to his mistrust of people, which was still apparent. He still was quick to spook, and shied when Jessica tried to work around his head.

The big grey worked diligently on the line.  Jessica studied him intently, noticing the lameness in his leg was becoming much less noticeable.  She lowered her voice and made a small sound in her throat. On command, the gelding slowed to an obedient walk.

Jessica slowly wound the looped lead line in her right hand as she calmly walked to the gelding.  Once she approached, the grey nudged her, hoping to score a treat which she frequently kept in her jacket pocket.

Jessica reached into her pocket, pulling out a few lumps of sugar.

The horse took it carefully from Jessica’s gloved hand.

Together they walked back to the crossties so she could un-tack him for the evening, clean his gear, groom, and feed him, before riding Leo late into the evening.  It was grueling and back-breaking work, but slowly the remains of her old life began to melt away.

Juan came down the deserted barn aisle way as Jessica was leading her horse back to his new stall in the pony row. “Going to Ringo’s tonight?” Juan asked, keys in his hand, as he walked to his truck.

“No, I’ve got a big morning tomorrow,” Jessica answered.

“Ah, come on,” he pleaded.

“You’ve been working all week, you deserve a night off,” he said.

In her old life, Jessica would have never missed a chance to go out for some drinks, have some fun, and blow off some steam.

“Sorry, Juan,” she answered.

“But maybe another time,” she said before disappearing behind the main barn to put the grey away for the night.

***

Four weeks later, Jessica walked around the main arena on the giant grey.  All traces of lameness had finally disappeared.  Dorie was standing in the middle of the arena. “More forward, Jessica”, Dorie commanded. Immediately, Jessica closed her legs on the horse. His stride began to become more energetic, propelling them both forward into a bouncy trot with new energy. “Stay on this twenty meter,” Dorie said, “and then I want you to start spiraling in on the circle.”

Jessica began to bend the gelding inwards on the circle, gradually moving towards the center.  The arch of the gelding’s spine and the carriage of his head were elegant and refined. Once he had healed form his injury and he had begun to have more trust, he was a remarkably talented and kind animal. He worked just as hard as Jessica and their efforts were beginning to pay off.

“Ok, now I want you to leg yield back out to a full twenty meter circle,” Dorie said commandingly.  While still on the arch of the smaller circle, Jessica pushed the grey gelding out onto the larger circle by slightly crossing his legs over each other.  The gelding’s spine was still arched on the circumference of the circle, and he appeared supple, elegant, and relaxed. Once she was back on the large circle, Dorie had them slow to a stop.  “Let him walk out.” 

“That was good for tonight,” she said before walking over to sit down in a padded chair that was on the outside perimeter of the arena. Jessica let the gelding pull the reins from her hands as he stretched his head down as they slowed to a relaxed walk.

“You are doing a good job with him,” Dorie said, while leaning back in the chair. “Truthfully, when we first saw him at the stockyards I thought he was beyond help,” she said watching the grey walk elegantly around the arena as they spoke. “And it’s not just changes in the gelding, I’ve seen, Jessica. When you first came to this barn when you were six, your parents wanted you to ride horses and pushed you very hard.  They told me that they would pay anything to make you successful. I know your dad had to work so hard to pay for your riding lessons and board for Leo, but I don’t think they liked to show you that side of their lives. I saw you become a good rider, but I also saw you become a spoiled brat.”  Jessica felt the sting of tears suddenly hit behind her eyelids.

“But it wasn’t just you; all of the girls you rode with were the same way.  If there was extra work to be done, I knew that I couldn’t ask. You were entitled and spoiled.”

“Dorie, I...” Jessica began.

“But, wait, let me finish” she continued.

“I honestly never thought you were going to change. I just assumed you would find some investment banker, doctor, or lawyer to pick up the tab for your lifestyle when your father left off. But that’s not what ended up happening.  I think the best gift your father could have ever given you was to cut you off financially.  I wasn’t sure you were going to make it at times, but you found a way to be independent. You’ve become kinder and more generous of your time and your spirit.  Do you know there was a time in your life you wouldn’t even have considered helping this horse? You would have looked away, as he floundered and struggled in that stockyard.  If he wasn’t an imported warmblood, you would want nothing to do with him.  You knew that the grey would never be a great horse.  You weren’t even sure he was going to be sound enough to ride in the beginning.  But you also knew that even if he could be trained, you would never be able to beat any of these horses we keep here at the stable, but that didn’t stop you.  You took him on, and even worked extra hours to pay for his expenses, simply because it was the right thing to do.  And that, is something I can respect.”

Jessica sat on the Grey Ghost as he walked in a circle.  What Dorie was saying was painful to hear, but was the truth.  Life was so much more difficult financially, working long hours in uncomfortable outdoor conditions, and struggling every day to make ends meet, but she was finally happy.  Every day she felt a sense of satisfaction and contentment that she had never felt before.

“Thank you, Dorie, I do appreciate that,” Jessica said sweetly. 

“You are welcome,” Dorie answered.

“I am glad to have had the chance to meet the real Jessica and see the person she was meant to become,” she said before standing up and walking back to the main house.

It was dusk now, and there was still work to be done.  She needed to groom both horses, clean some tack that she hadn’t finished during the course of the day, sweep the barn aisles, and make sure the horses had enough hay and fresh water.  She wouldn’t be done for at least another three hours, she thought, as the cool fall moon shone on the glossy hides of the horses and bounced off the blades of moist grass in the pastures. 

She would leave her work dirty and exhausted before she could climb the old creaking wooden stairs to her tiny loft studio apartment.  Life couldn’t be better, she thought, as she turned the grey towards his stall.

Jim

Jim hopped out of the aged silver truck as it turned up the gravel drive.  “Thanks, again, man,” he said to the older man who he had flagged down on the interstate when it had gotten too cold to continue walking.  He still hadn’t saved enough money to buy a truck, and was relying on the kindness of strangers to get to and from work and to run a few errands when it was too far to walk.

Still, life was better than he ever could have imagined.  Jim walked along the raked gravel driveway leading to the address Mitch’s daughter had given him.  He made the long trip with a combination of a Greyhound bus and hitchhiking. He had tried to get a number for Mitch to call first, but Jessica had told him that he was living the true mountain man experience, with no phone.  She said that she would be visiting him the next month when she got a week off from work.  She was looking forward to seeing the changes in him she could already hear when he called from the payphone in town.

Jim walked up the little road to the cabin, freezing suddenly in his tracks.  His initial thought was how strange was it that Mitch had a truck just like the one he had sold to the dealership. As he inspected it more closely, he saw the defining detail that let him know it was once his.  When his daughter was six, she had placed a very durable, waterproof Hello Kitty sticker on the bumper.  She said that it would keep him safe on his long nights at work.  He never had the heart to scrub it off.

Jim stood in the driveway for several long moments, contemplating what to do next.  Suddenly, a man with a shaggy brown beard and a red flannel shirt walked from the side yard into the drive.  He raised a hand to Jim, obviously not recognizing him from this past.

“Howdy,” Mitch said, approaching the man.

“Hello,” Jim answered tentatively. 

“How can I help you?” Mitch asked.

Jim walked slowly towards him. “I don’t know if you remember me or not,” Jim began.

“Awhile back… things were not…I mean I was down on my luck.”

Mitch squinted his eyes, looking carefully at Jim.

“Wait, you were the man on the street I gave my phone to?” Mitch asked incredulously.

“Yes, sir,” Jim answered humbly.

“Wow, look at you,” Mitch said loudly, slapping Jim hard on the back and pulling him in for a hand shake.

“You look like a different man,” Mitch exclaimed.

“That’s why I wanted to come and see you,” Jim answered.

“Please come up, we can sit out on the porch,” Mitch said walking back up the drive.

Jim sat on the creaky wooden porch on a carved wooden chair while Mitch went back inside the house.

The fall Arizona mountain weather felt clean and pure, the pine trees gave the air a fresh smell.  It was not quite cold enough for a heavy coat, but Jim felt a bit chilled in his light jacket.

Mitch came out a few minutes later with some hot coffee in two mugs, handing one to Jim.

“It’s amazing, just looking at you,” he began.

Jim reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out Mitch’s old phone.

“I wanted to give this back to you,” he began.

“It was this phone that turned everything around for me. I got a job thanks to this phone. I’m working as a carpenter now, but I never would have gotten the interview and had been able to get the job if it wasn’t for you and this gift.”

Mitch sat back on his chair, looking pensively over the pine trees.

“When I saw you that day,” Mitch began, “my life was also in crisis. I had just walked off a job I needed to support my wife and daughter.  But I also knew I was suffocating.  Even worse, I knew by giving my wife and daughter everything they needed, I wasn’t allowing them to become who they needed to be.  I felt like we were all suffocating.  I didn’t plan on walking off the job that day.  I really didn’t.  But, they wanted me to announce a layoff to a large number of people, and I just couldn’t do it.  I snapped and just walked away.  When I saw you, and realized you could have been one of the people I had laid off at one point, I knew there was no turning back.”

Mitch leaned back in his chair, looking hard into the evening sky.

“I worked my entire life trying to please others, “he continued.

“To present our lives in such a way that showed the world we were successes.  And, for a while, it worked.  There was just one problem,” he paused.  “We were miserable.”

Jim sat for a few long moments before he spoke.

“Even though I didn’t have the things you and your wife did, I still wanted more for my kid. I wanted to be able to buy her the kind of things you are talking about.  My kid likes horses too, but I never could afford to be able to give her lessons or even take her to see them.  We were just too busy trying to make it from day to day. I even had to sell my truck down in the valley,” he said, deciding not to tell Mitch of the coincidence. 

“How are you getting to work every day?” Mitch asked.

“Rides, mainly,” Jim continued, “but I’m glad for the chance to get to work. It’s truly changed my life.”

Mitch continued to watch the trees and horizon.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Jim answered, not wanting to be an imposition.

“I have some stew in the Crock Pot,” Mitch tempted.

The smells of beef, potatoes, celery, carrots, and garlic wafted from the open screen door.

“I guess I could use me some,” Jim finally answered.

Mitch walked back inside the home, returning several minutes later with two large mugs of stew.

Mitch

Mitch sat on his porch.  To his right was a small end table which he had found at the thrift store and refinished it, another one of his found lost passions.  He had been working at the general store for about 15 hours per week, just enough to cover his groceries, with his employee discount, and buy a few supplies for the cabin. 

The raccoons were now gone and he felt strange to admit that he missed the thought of another life at the cabin, even if they were vermin.  One of his neighbors had some older puppies that had been born last spring and still needed homes.  They were mutts, with large paws and kind faces.  He wondered if they would make good enough guard dogs to chase off any raccoons.  He also wanted the company.

In his last call with Jessica, he was astonished with her changes.  She said that she was busy working all day at the barn, but would come out when the weather was warmer.  She not only sounded confident and independent, but he had never heard her sound happier.  Gone was the talk of more money from him or anyone else. She had found her own way and her own path, which was really all that mattered.

Mitch reached past his coffee mug for the pen and paper lying on the table.  He had found writing out poetry by hand, rather than the computer, afforded him the most creativity.

In his notebook he had made plans for a spring garden, upgrades to the cabin, and ideas to create something to sell at the farmers market in the spring.  Working a few hours at the general store allowed him time to meet the people of the town and they had welcomed him with open arms. Mitch leaned back in his chair, pen held lightly against his lips. He gazed over the pine trees as they were just hiding the tinged orange and pink mountain evening sky. Mitch picked up his old glass pen, took a deep breath, and began a new chapter.