angry person chasing us.”
"In the dream," said Miriam.
"Right."
"Are these all things you remember from that night?"
"No. I can't—can I just … I need some water.” I got up to leave her office and she didn't stop me. I came back from the bathroom. I had filled up a large plastic cup. I sat holding it. My leg shook. I put my hand down to stop it from shaking and that caused her to look at it.
"The ceramic hand," I said.
“The one on Krishna’s coffee table?”
“Yes. Have I talked about that before?”
“Yes.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
"What does it?"
I stared out the window. It was dark outside. I could see the gibbous moon.
"The moon is not full,” I said.
"How have you been sleeping otherwise?"
"I haven't threatened anyone, I haven't threatened to hurt myself. I don't think about hurting myself."
"But you are hurting."
I guess I was.
I managed to get myself to work. While I was there, I got so sick of the tension that could be cut with a knife. I could sense Francine’s hostility the moment I walked in the door. I don't care. I don't want to be there anyway. I walked along the hall with a sense of unease, and performed my duties feeling all the time like someone was behind me watching. I sat uneasily on my break. I hated that feeling.
Then Francine chose her moment, right around shift close. Make sure they got a full shift out of me first, huh?
"Why do you think it is me? You have absolutely no reason to assume it's me. How dare you? This is unfair; this is discrimination."
"I wasn't aware of your minority status,” the smart-ass bitch said. "I should have known there was probably only one of you , though."
"You are accusing me of stealing , basically. And lying. On what basis? I am not a thief or a liar."
"You were the only one in her room that night , and she can't make phone calls."
Although I had no answer to this , I managed to stare until she broke eye contact.
"You are right ; I cannot technically prove that you did it. I can, however, justify terminating your employment here, based on my suspicions, and your chronic lateness and absence."
"What do you mean chronic? I was absent one day."
"You've only been working here a short time. That's a ratio of ..."
"Oh please, don't flaunt your math skills to us plebes ."
"And you're insubordinate .” She closed her notebook. I suppose that was supposed to mean something.
I felt l ike a dog walking out of there.
"Bitch!” I yelled from the parking lot.
I wanted to throw a brick through the glass door. Ooooh, I wanted to do that so bad. I even picked one up and stood next to my car for a long time thinking about it. I put the brick in the passenger's seat and got on Highway 41 and drove south. I drove and drove. It made me feel free to do that. And I didn't stop until I got right in the heart of downtown Milwaukee. It felt like I was somewhere , finally. I got out.
I got off on 6th Street, took a right on Wells, and parked on North Riverwalk Way. For a while I just sat there staring out the windshield. I had money in my purse from my job, but I wouldn't be getting any more. I locked the car door and started walking. It was about midnight now. Maybe 12:30. The streets, littered and filthy; the parking meters looked so lonely out here. So many closed businesses, dark, some boarded up. The streetlights didn't seem to cut it.
I walked about five or six blocks an d wandered past a Zak's Tavern.
"Zak's Tavern," I said aloud, standing outside the rather steep , curved, round, odd-looking set of steps that led up to an ugly, green door. The loud, pinkish sign blinked on and off in large, overly angular letters above the door. The angle made them appear distorted, like in old German expressionist film. I walked up the steps, and the more I ascended them, the dizzier I got. When I put my hand on the door handle, I felt that I would reel backward, and that the opening of it was partly due to my sheer reliance
"In the dream," said Miriam.
"Right."
"Are these all things you remember from that night?"
"No. I can't—can I just … I need some water.” I got up to leave her office and she didn't stop me. I came back from the bathroom. I had filled up a large plastic cup. I sat holding it. My leg shook. I put my hand down to stop it from shaking and that caused her to look at it.
"The ceramic hand," I said.
“The one on Krishna’s coffee table?”
“Yes. Have I talked about that before?”
“Yes.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
"What does it?"
I stared out the window. It was dark outside. I could see the gibbous moon.
"The moon is not full,” I said.
"How have you been sleeping otherwise?"
"I haven't threatened anyone, I haven't threatened to hurt myself. I don't think about hurting myself."
"But you are hurting."
I guess I was.
I managed to get myself to work. While I was there, I got so sick of the tension that could be cut with a knife. I could sense Francine’s hostility the moment I walked in the door. I don't care. I don't want to be there anyway. I walked along the hall with a sense of unease, and performed my duties feeling all the time like someone was behind me watching. I sat uneasily on my break. I hated that feeling.
Then Francine chose her moment, right around shift close. Make sure they got a full shift out of me first, huh?
"Why do you think it is me? You have absolutely no reason to assume it's me. How dare you? This is unfair; this is discrimination."
"I wasn't aware of your minority status,” the smart-ass bitch said. "I should have known there was probably only one of you , though."
"You are accusing me of stealing , basically. And lying. On what basis? I am not a thief or a liar."
"You were the only one in her room that night , and she can't make phone calls."
Although I had no answer to this , I managed to stare until she broke eye contact.
"You are right ; I cannot technically prove that you did it. I can, however, justify terminating your employment here, based on my suspicions, and your chronic lateness and absence."
"What do you mean chronic? I was absent one day."
"You've only been working here a short time. That's a ratio of ..."
"Oh please, don't flaunt your math skills to us plebes ."
"And you're insubordinate .” She closed her notebook. I suppose that was supposed to mean something.
I felt l ike a dog walking out of there.
"Bitch!” I yelled from the parking lot.
I wanted to throw a brick through the glass door. Ooooh, I wanted to do that so bad. I even picked one up and stood next to my car for a long time thinking about it. I put the brick in the passenger's seat and got on Highway 41 and drove south. I drove and drove. It made me feel free to do that. And I didn't stop until I got right in the heart of downtown Milwaukee. It felt like I was somewhere , finally. I got out.
I got off on 6th Street, took a right on Wells, and parked on North Riverwalk Way. For a while I just sat there staring out the windshield. I had money in my purse from my job, but I wouldn't be getting any more. I locked the car door and started walking. It was about midnight now. Maybe 12:30. The streets, littered and filthy; the parking meters looked so lonely out here. So many closed businesses, dark, some boarded up. The streetlights didn't seem to cut it.
I walked about five or six blocks an d wandered past a Zak's Tavern.
"Zak's Tavern," I said aloud, standing outside the rather steep , curved, round, odd-looking set of steps that led up to an ugly, green door. The loud, pinkish sign blinked on and off in large, overly angular letters above the door. The angle made them appear distorted, like in old German expressionist film. I walked up the steps, and the more I ascended them, the dizzier I got. When I put my hand on the door handle, I felt that I would reel backward, and that the opening of it was partly due to my sheer reliance
Similar Books
