California Part 6
If the ride back with Ernesto wasn't the awkward cake, then handling business with him at the excuse for a shop was at least the icing.
He had towed my car into a small yard in front of a gaping shop door. He had walked in and filed the appropriate paperwork with the secretary before returning to me and asking me to go over everything. Unfortunately, my insurance didn't cover the tow and I had to come up with $300 right then or they were going to hold my car. Through squinting eyes and a tight mouth I pulled my wallet out and handed him my emergency credit card. Someone is going to get one hell of an ass chewing, I thought to myself.
A few swipes, a signature, and a thoughtless goodbye was all Ernesto needed before he was on his way again.
I walked through the yard admiring what could have only been the back lot of a bad horror movie. Cars were flattened and stacked atop one another in a poor balancing act. Several older model cars were lined against the wall of the shop in a lazy parking fashion. Those have to belong to customers, I assumed to myself.
The yard itself was dirt, but not the typical Flagstaff mix of rocks and red sand, this was down-home Texas dirt. Brown, old, and wreaking of farm animals, the yard felt like a pen you would break a horse in. With the chain link fence and the tin roof of the shop, this felt just like home. The shop itself could have been a barn at one point. It was covered almost exclusively with tin, with the exception of a few patches nailed over with wood. On the broad side of the shop were painted letters that had once displayed the name of the shop, but that was a good ten years and quite a few rains ago.
It was around 2 and the sun was microwaving my shirt. My hair was that uncomfortable warmth from over-exposure and I was becoming more than irritable in my long pants.
I was greeted inside the shop by four men about my age and one in his mid-forties. He wore a trusting smile and offered his hand and a chair. He briefly told me that he would have a look over the car and would have to get back to me concerning what repairs were necessary to get me on my way.
I was pissed. This is supposed to be my vacation. I should be relaxing and enjoying the sights, and instead I’m looking at some jerk-off tell me that my car is broken and he’ll get back to me, “…when he can.”
I knew I needed to get in touch with Miss Paula as soon as possible, but knew she would be at work. “Where’s the university from here?” I asked.
“A few blocks. Head up the road here,” he said pointing west, “then turn left at the stop light. You can’t miss it.”
I was already walking out of the shop. I nodded, waved a farewell, and plodded toward my car. “Shit, I’m tired,” I remembered saying aloud, to no one in particular. It wasn’t far from the truth. The drive the day before, my late night, and all of the events of that morning had drained my energy. I needed to eat and I needed a nap.
I grabbed the Backpack of Doom out of my backseat and caught a glimpse of the éclair in the front seat. The chocolate had melted onto the wax paper wrapper it was sitting on and the cream was beginning to leak out of one end. “You stupid piece of shit,” I mumbled, and tore the éclair from the front seat, depositing it in the yard. I knew it wasn’t the éclair’s fault, but it had been imaginarily smug with me earlier, and I was in no mood to take its silent shit now.
Finding the university was the easy part. Finding Paula was the hard part. I walked onto campus and realized quickly that I was on one of the far sides of the property. Signs ran the length of the streets perpendicular with the intersection I was standing at. It didn’t appear that the campus expanded more to my left or right, but more away from me. Oh damn, I thought. You know what’s about to happen, don’t you, dummy?
Why, yes. Yes I did.
I walked into the closest building and realized how vacant everything was. Maybe it was just Texas, but a college campus was always teeming with students bustling about whatever activities brought them out of their hovels that day. Quite the contrary, this Administration Building was empty save a few sounds of a copy machine whirring somewhere behind the large desk in front of me. The lobby looked similar to every DPS office you’ve ever been in. Three large windows topped a chest high desk with tiny slots to deliver documents through and the over-used microphones and speakers common for movie theater ticket lines. Does Northern Arizona University NEED this kind of security when kids get their transcripts? No matter, get this done.
I walked up to one of the windows and knocked lightly, hoping not to disturb anyone that might be working out of sight. A few lights were on in the building; enough to convince me that someone had come in today. Almost cartoonish, a girl in her early twenties popped up like she had been hiding from me. She was sitting in a high balanced office chair and was clearly in charge of taking orders through the window. She was fair skinned, but had caked on enough make-up to be noticeable. She blinked a few times at me then seemed to remember that she had to speak through a microphone. She reached down and flicked a switch, turning on the speaker.
“Yes sir, how can I help you?” She looked like she had been caught in the act of something embarrassing, and my mind began making up things she could have been doing under her desk.
Flustered and still a bit in my mind, I shook my head lightly and answered, “Yeah, uh, I’m trying to find the School of Engineering, specifically Paula _____.” I raised my eyebrows and looked as helpless as possible. I’ve found, over time, that people will make a similar face when asking for help, but if you over-accentuate the face that no one questions your motives. Maybe it’s a sub-conscious thing, I don’t know, I digress again.
She gave me a small mocked frown, one that a cheerleader gives you before she berates you for dressing stupid. “Oh sweetie, the Engineering building is on the south side of campus.” She shrugged her shoulders and even brought the palms of her hands skyward in an over exaggeration of pity.
I took a deep breath and exhaled my reply sharply. “Okay, let’s pretend I’m from Texas and I don’t know anything about your campus.” I was trying not to lose my temper and failing miserably. I was in no mood for falsities, or patronizing, or whatever this girl was attempting. “Now could you point me toward the engineering building?”
Her eyes lit up through the first half of my question, then darkened at the latter. She didn’t like my tone and I didn’t like her face, but this was a stand off easily avoided if she played her cards right. “If you go outside and wait about fifteen minutes a bus will be by. Tell the driver that you need the Engineering school. You should be one of the only kids on campus, so he shouldn’t have a problem just taking you straight there.” She clicked off the microphone with embellished disgust at the talk we were having. Without breaking eye contact, she spun 90 degrees and walked out of sight.
I almost chuckled. Whatever made her feel better, I suppose.
I walked back outside and found the bus stop that I had overlooked earlier. It sat next to an oddly placed, but undersized dumpster. It had a large but very worn map of campus attached to the side of the glass panes that surrounded the bench. The rest of the glass was barely visible behind advertisements for extracurricular classes. “Take a Hike and Get Extra Credit!” one said, advertising a class in the Geography department that allowed students to go on a 3-Day hike and learn geography first-hand. A few college age kids were on the poster, smiling back as they stood over the mouth of a crater.
The day was still beautiful. It was warm but still comfortable in the shade. The mountains were hiding behind a close building, but the clouds that lingered over their peaks were traipsing slowly over the crest of the Admin Building and moving south. Small patches of grass had grown over the small pieces of campus I could see. The university had to have paid for the grass to be brought in and taken care of properly; the local climate didn’t allow for much in the way of chlorophyll.
Time seemed to be dragging on as I waited for the bus. I had seen a few students ride by on bicycles, but nothing in the way of a bus. Not even a car had passed in the time I stood at the bus stop. Something’s off, my brain rang out. I looked around puzzled. Where is everyone?
It wasn’t just the office that was empty, it was the entire campus. I walked around the bus stop and looked around with a confused face. “What in the hell…” I mumbled, walking back to the Admin Building. I was just reaching for the door when I saw the flyer in the door: “Be Careful on Spring Break Lumberjacks!” Hahahaha, you’re retarded. Of course the bus hadn’t come by, it was Spring Break.
Anger trickled through me slowly like a cracked egg over a rough surface. I stomped back to the bus stop and glared at the map of campus like it was the map’s fault this was all happening. I jabbed a finger on the streets and tried to gain my bearings, but my mind couldn’t collect enough for me to focus. I threw the backpack on the ground and flexed my shoulders, forcing myself to calm down while I looked at the map. “Okay. Breathe. Read the map, find Paula, get some food, and get this shit handled.”
I found the building on the second try. The pissy receptionist girl was right: the building was on the far southwest side of campus and I was on the far northeast side. Sonofabitch, dude.
“I know,” I said, slumping my shoulders and looking at the backpack defeated. It sat against the bus stop with a look that equaled my exhaustion. The stitching was loose in a few corners and the painted zippers were showing signs of metal through the cracks. The straps were worn and frayed at the ends where I had adjusted and readjusted them over the years to fit in with the fashion. The front logo read, “EA T PO T” where it had once read, “EASTSPORT”. 15-year-old Casey was clever and stupid, simultaneously.
I took a second to read the map once more before setting off to find the building.
Like catching a second wind, I marched strong. The muscles in my legs felt like I had worked out the morning before, and the backpack felt light on my back. My mind stuck in a place of determination, and walking seemed to fly by. The campus rose and shrunk around me as I trudged along the small sidewalks and under archways built in front of buildings. I felt alone, but happy. There was no foot traffic blocking my way and I could walk as fast or as slow as I wanted. It seemed the mood was fit for marching, and that’s almost what I was doing when I came between the corners of two buildings into a quad of grass. In the opposing corner was a stair set leading down to a parking lot that was bordered on the other side with tall trees. The corner to my right held a statue that I immediately dubbed “The French Fries,” as it looked like three tall, metallic fries crinkling into the sky. They stood about thirty feet tall and made no sense, but that was academic art if I’d ever seen it.
It took only a few moments of squinting to determine what the signs in front of the buildings said, and only a few more moments before I was walking into the seemingly empty Engineering Building. I stopped inside and let the cold air wash over me. Whoever was here had run the air conditioner hard. A staircase grew up and to my left almost immediately inside, rising quickly away from the hospital-like floors. This building felt new and clean. The floors reflected sunlight from behind me and cast a small reflection of the hall that opened in front of me. To the left and right, two other halls ran the front of the building, only stopping once in either direction to allow a set of double doors to impede their way.
I glanced back and forth, looking for a wall mounted directory. There wasn’t one, so I hesitantly stepped, as lightly as I could, and took the hall to the left. I walked a few feet through dark halls, only lit with the outside sunlight, and immediately felt like I was alone in a psychiatric ward. I know it was silly; not four seconds ago I was admiring the cleanliness and architecture of the building, but without overhead light and the new smell of ammonia seeping into my nostrils, my brain began playing tricks on me. My shadow waltzed slowly on the wall and floor as I crept through the hall. It made me think of Peter Pan and his shadow, but I had two, and he didn't have to prance through an empty, scary building. I came to a hallway on my right and saw five doors lining the wall to the left. All of the doors were open, and the lights from within cast reverse silhouettes on the ground and opposite wall. “Hello?” I called, almost too lightly to be heard down the hall. Some stirring sent my stomach to flight and I tensed, waiting.
A head appeared around the last of the doors, shorter than myself, and blonde. “Can I help you?” it asked in a surprised voice. Her hand was on the door frame as she leaned her head into the hall.
My legs were frozen. “I...uh...I'm trying to find,” I looked at my hands, hoping they would have an answer for me, “Paula! Paula _____! She’s in this building, right?” My voice had reached a higher pitch, excited that I could find what I was looking for.
The woman stepped out from behind the door into the hallway, and raised her eyebrows knowingly. “Yes, she’s on the fourth floor. You’ll have to take the stairs; the elevator’s been shut down for Spring Break.”
Of course it has. “Good deal. Thanks,” I said, immediately turning away from the creepy hallway. I walked comfortably back to the stairs, now that I knew I wouldn't be murdered, and began my climb as I pondered the events. Stupid fucking car and stupid fucking mechanic. Stuck in this stupid fucking town in this stupid fucking state. Don’t have any stupid fucking money because you’re a stupid fuck.
My legs were tired, my head was swimming, my back ached from the backpack, and my stomach was growling fiercely. Reaching the top of the stairs was like hearing your name called in a raffle. To the right were a set of glass double doors surrounded by windows with etched glass. “Department of Engineering and Dean’s Office” denoted where I’d arrived. With a bit of anticipation, I opened the door and held my breath.
Paula sat at an L-shaped desk to the right. The walkway went another ten feet beyond the door I just walked through, then turned sharply to the right, around Paula’s desk. Doors lined the walls across from both sides of her desk; undoubtedly offices of professors and the Dean. She had her back to me and didn’t hear me walk in. “Hey,” I said weakly.
She turned with a look that was purely customer service. Her eyes took me in, but her face didn’t change. “What’re you doing here?” she asked, almost like I had strolled in for the first time in a decade, and nothing like I had stayed the night prior.
“Car broke down. It’s at a shop a few miles from here.” I stood staring at her. I was hoping that she'd see my disgust for the day and not push too far.
“Oh, sweetie, you should have called me,” she almost moaned. She leaned forward and looked pained, like my strife had physically hurt her lower torso.
I had enough. My exhaustion, my hunger, my leg pain, my frustration: it all came to a head. Without losing her eyes I reached into my pocket and snatched my phone out and underhand tossed it on the floor a few feet in front of me in frustration. I let my hand linger in the air for a full 5-count, showing my frustration to her in physical form. My eyebrows almost collided with my hairline and my mouth thinned to non-existence. I could feel my eyes go wide as I shrugged. She smiled a knowing smile and pointed to a chair winking.
With a long exhale and the most relief I’d felt all day I groaned, “Ohthankgod.”
He had towed my car into a small yard in front of a gaping shop door. He had walked in and filed the appropriate paperwork with the secretary before returning to me and asking me to go over everything. Unfortunately, my insurance didn't cover the tow and I had to come up with $300 right then or they were going to hold my car. Through squinting eyes and a tight mouth I pulled my wallet out and handed him my emergency credit card. Someone is going to get one hell of an ass chewing, I thought to myself.
A few swipes, a signature, and a thoughtless goodbye was all Ernesto needed before he was on his way again.
I walked through the yard admiring what could have only been the back lot of a bad horror movie. Cars were flattened and stacked atop one another in a poor balancing act. Several older model cars were lined against the wall of the shop in a lazy parking fashion. Those have to belong to customers, I assumed to myself.
The yard itself was dirt, but not the typical Flagstaff mix of rocks and red sand, this was down-home Texas dirt. Brown, old, and wreaking of farm animals, the yard felt like a pen you would break a horse in. With the chain link fence and the tin roof of the shop, this felt just like home. The shop itself could have been a barn at one point. It was covered almost exclusively with tin, with the exception of a few patches nailed over with wood. On the broad side of the shop were painted letters that had once displayed the name of the shop, but that was a good ten years and quite a few rains ago.
It was around 2 and the sun was microwaving my shirt. My hair was that uncomfortable warmth from over-exposure and I was becoming more than irritable in my long pants.
I was greeted inside the shop by four men about my age and one in his mid-forties. He wore a trusting smile and offered his hand and a chair. He briefly told me that he would have a look over the car and would have to get back to me concerning what repairs were necessary to get me on my way.
I was pissed. This is supposed to be my vacation. I should be relaxing and enjoying the sights, and instead I’m looking at some jerk-off tell me that my car is broken and he’ll get back to me, “…when he can.”
I knew I needed to get in touch with Miss Paula as soon as possible, but knew she would be at work. “Where’s the university from here?” I asked.
“A few blocks. Head up the road here,” he said pointing west, “then turn left at the stop light. You can’t miss it.”
I was already walking out of the shop. I nodded, waved a farewell, and plodded toward my car. “Shit, I’m tired,” I remembered saying aloud, to no one in particular. It wasn’t far from the truth. The drive the day before, my late night, and all of the events of that morning had drained my energy. I needed to eat and I needed a nap.
I grabbed the Backpack of Doom out of my backseat and caught a glimpse of the éclair in the front seat. The chocolate had melted onto the wax paper wrapper it was sitting on and the cream was beginning to leak out of one end. “You stupid piece of shit,” I mumbled, and tore the éclair from the front seat, depositing it in the yard. I knew it wasn’t the éclair’s fault, but it had been imaginarily smug with me earlier, and I was in no mood to take its silent shit now.
Finding the university was the easy part. Finding Paula was the hard part. I walked onto campus and realized quickly that I was on one of the far sides of the property. Signs ran the length of the streets perpendicular with the intersection I was standing at. It didn’t appear that the campus expanded more to my left or right, but more away from me. Oh damn, I thought. You know what’s about to happen, don’t you, dummy?
Why, yes. Yes I did.
I walked into the closest building and realized how vacant everything was. Maybe it was just Texas, but a college campus was always teeming with students bustling about whatever activities brought them out of their hovels that day. Quite the contrary, this Administration Building was empty save a few sounds of a copy machine whirring somewhere behind the large desk in front of me. The lobby looked similar to every DPS office you’ve ever been in. Three large windows topped a chest high desk with tiny slots to deliver documents through and the over-used microphones and speakers common for movie theater ticket lines. Does Northern Arizona University NEED this kind of security when kids get their transcripts? No matter, get this done.
I walked up to one of the windows and knocked lightly, hoping not to disturb anyone that might be working out of sight. A few lights were on in the building; enough to convince me that someone had come in today. Almost cartoonish, a girl in her early twenties popped up like she had been hiding from me. She was sitting in a high balanced office chair and was clearly in charge of taking orders through the window. She was fair skinned, but had caked on enough make-up to be noticeable. She blinked a few times at me then seemed to remember that she had to speak through a microphone. She reached down and flicked a switch, turning on the speaker.
“Yes sir, how can I help you?” She looked like she had been caught in the act of something embarrassing, and my mind began making up things she could have been doing under her desk.
Flustered and still a bit in my mind, I shook my head lightly and answered, “Yeah, uh, I’m trying to find the School of Engineering, specifically Paula _____.” I raised my eyebrows and looked as helpless as possible. I’ve found, over time, that people will make a similar face when asking for help, but if you over-accentuate the face that no one questions your motives. Maybe it’s a sub-conscious thing, I don’t know, I digress again.
She gave me a small mocked frown, one that a cheerleader gives you before she berates you for dressing stupid. “Oh sweetie, the Engineering building is on the south side of campus.” She shrugged her shoulders and even brought the palms of her hands skyward in an over exaggeration of pity.
I took a deep breath and exhaled my reply sharply. “Okay, let’s pretend I’m from Texas and I don’t know anything about your campus.” I was trying not to lose my temper and failing miserably. I was in no mood for falsities, or patronizing, or whatever this girl was attempting. “Now could you point me toward the engineering building?”
Her eyes lit up through the first half of my question, then darkened at the latter. She didn’t like my tone and I didn’t like her face, but this was a stand off easily avoided if she played her cards right. “If you go outside and wait about fifteen minutes a bus will be by. Tell the driver that you need the Engineering school. You should be one of the only kids on campus, so he shouldn’t have a problem just taking you straight there.” She clicked off the microphone with embellished disgust at the talk we were having. Without breaking eye contact, she spun 90 degrees and walked out of sight.
I almost chuckled. Whatever made her feel better, I suppose.
I walked back outside and found the bus stop that I had overlooked earlier. It sat next to an oddly placed, but undersized dumpster. It had a large but very worn map of campus attached to the side of the glass panes that surrounded the bench. The rest of the glass was barely visible behind advertisements for extracurricular classes. “Take a Hike and Get Extra Credit!” one said, advertising a class in the Geography department that allowed students to go on a 3-Day hike and learn geography first-hand. A few college age kids were on the poster, smiling back as they stood over the mouth of a crater.
The day was still beautiful. It was warm but still comfortable in the shade. The mountains were hiding behind a close building, but the clouds that lingered over their peaks were traipsing slowly over the crest of the Admin Building and moving south. Small patches of grass had grown over the small pieces of campus I could see. The university had to have paid for the grass to be brought in and taken care of properly; the local climate didn’t allow for much in the way of chlorophyll.
Time seemed to be dragging on as I waited for the bus. I had seen a few students ride by on bicycles, but nothing in the way of a bus. Not even a car had passed in the time I stood at the bus stop. Something’s off, my brain rang out. I looked around puzzled. Where is everyone?
It wasn’t just the office that was empty, it was the entire campus. I walked around the bus stop and looked around with a confused face. “What in the hell…” I mumbled, walking back to the Admin Building. I was just reaching for the door when I saw the flyer in the door: “Be Careful on Spring Break Lumberjacks!” Hahahaha, you’re retarded. Of course the bus hadn’t come by, it was Spring Break.
Anger trickled through me slowly like a cracked egg over a rough surface. I stomped back to the bus stop and glared at the map of campus like it was the map’s fault this was all happening. I jabbed a finger on the streets and tried to gain my bearings, but my mind couldn’t collect enough for me to focus. I threw the backpack on the ground and flexed my shoulders, forcing myself to calm down while I looked at the map. “Okay. Breathe. Read the map, find Paula, get some food, and get this shit handled.”
I found the building on the second try. The pissy receptionist girl was right: the building was on the far southwest side of campus and I was on the far northeast side. Sonofabitch, dude.
“I know,” I said, slumping my shoulders and looking at the backpack defeated. It sat against the bus stop with a look that equaled my exhaustion. The stitching was loose in a few corners and the painted zippers were showing signs of metal through the cracks. The straps were worn and frayed at the ends where I had adjusted and readjusted them over the years to fit in with the fashion. The front logo read, “EA T PO T” where it had once read, “EASTSPORT”. 15-year-old Casey was clever and stupid, simultaneously.
I took a second to read the map once more before setting off to find the building.
Like catching a second wind, I marched strong. The muscles in my legs felt like I had worked out the morning before, and the backpack felt light on my back. My mind stuck in a place of determination, and walking seemed to fly by. The campus rose and shrunk around me as I trudged along the small sidewalks and under archways built in front of buildings. I felt alone, but happy. There was no foot traffic blocking my way and I could walk as fast or as slow as I wanted. It seemed the mood was fit for marching, and that’s almost what I was doing when I came between the corners of two buildings into a quad of grass. In the opposing corner was a stair set leading down to a parking lot that was bordered on the other side with tall trees. The corner to my right held a statue that I immediately dubbed “The French Fries,” as it looked like three tall, metallic fries crinkling into the sky. They stood about thirty feet tall and made no sense, but that was academic art if I’d ever seen it.
It took only a few moments of squinting to determine what the signs in front of the buildings said, and only a few more moments before I was walking into the seemingly empty Engineering Building. I stopped inside and let the cold air wash over me. Whoever was here had run the air conditioner hard. A staircase grew up and to my left almost immediately inside, rising quickly away from the hospital-like floors. This building felt new and clean. The floors reflected sunlight from behind me and cast a small reflection of the hall that opened in front of me. To the left and right, two other halls ran the front of the building, only stopping once in either direction to allow a set of double doors to impede their way.
I glanced back and forth, looking for a wall mounted directory. There wasn’t one, so I hesitantly stepped, as lightly as I could, and took the hall to the left. I walked a few feet through dark halls, only lit with the outside sunlight, and immediately felt like I was alone in a psychiatric ward. I know it was silly; not four seconds ago I was admiring the cleanliness and architecture of the building, but without overhead light and the new smell of ammonia seeping into my nostrils, my brain began playing tricks on me. My shadow waltzed slowly on the wall and floor as I crept through the hall. It made me think of Peter Pan and his shadow, but I had two, and he didn't have to prance through an empty, scary building. I came to a hallway on my right and saw five doors lining the wall to the left. All of the doors were open, and the lights from within cast reverse silhouettes on the ground and opposite wall. “Hello?” I called, almost too lightly to be heard down the hall. Some stirring sent my stomach to flight and I tensed, waiting.
A head appeared around the last of the doors, shorter than myself, and blonde. “Can I help you?” it asked in a surprised voice. Her hand was on the door frame as she leaned her head into the hall.
My legs were frozen. “I...uh...I'm trying to find,” I looked at my hands, hoping they would have an answer for me, “Paula! Paula _____! She’s in this building, right?” My voice had reached a higher pitch, excited that I could find what I was looking for.
The woman stepped out from behind the door into the hallway, and raised her eyebrows knowingly. “Yes, she’s on the fourth floor. You’ll have to take the stairs; the elevator’s been shut down for Spring Break.”
Of course it has. “Good deal. Thanks,” I said, immediately turning away from the creepy hallway. I walked comfortably back to the stairs, now that I knew I wouldn't be murdered, and began my climb as I pondered the events. Stupid fucking car and stupid fucking mechanic. Stuck in this stupid fucking town in this stupid fucking state. Don’t have any stupid fucking money because you’re a stupid fuck.
My legs were tired, my head was swimming, my back ached from the backpack, and my stomach was growling fiercely. Reaching the top of the stairs was like hearing your name called in a raffle. To the right were a set of glass double doors surrounded by windows with etched glass. “Department of Engineering and Dean’s Office” denoted where I’d arrived. With a bit of anticipation, I opened the door and held my breath.
Paula sat at an L-shaped desk to the right. The walkway went another ten feet beyond the door I just walked through, then turned sharply to the right, around Paula’s desk. Doors lined the walls across from both sides of her desk; undoubtedly offices of professors and the Dean. She had her back to me and didn’t hear me walk in. “Hey,” I said weakly.
She turned with a look that was purely customer service. Her eyes took me in, but her face didn’t change. “What’re you doing here?” she asked, almost like I had strolled in for the first time in a decade, and nothing like I had stayed the night prior.
“Car broke down. It’s at a shop a few miles from here.” I stood staring at her. I was hoping that she'd see my disgust for the day and not push too far.
“Oh, sweetie, you should have called me,” she almost moaned. She leaned forward and looked pained, like my strife had physically hurt her lower torso.
I had enough. My exhaustion, my hunger, my leg pain, my frustration: it all came to a head. Without losing her eyes I reached into my pocket and snatched my phone out and underhand tossed it on the floor a few feet in front of me in frustration. I let my hand linger in the air for a full 5-count, showing my frustration to her in physical form. My eyebrows almost collided with my hairline and my mouth thinned to non-existence. I could feel my eyes go wide as I shrugged. She smiled a knowing smile and pointed to a chair winking.
With a long exhale and the most relief I’d felt all day I groaned, “Ohthankgod.”