A Wind Blew Through Me Pt. 02

Chapter 3 - Gene, the Fourth-Rate Twat

It's fair to say that Amy left a strong impression on me. I thought about her the rest of the night and dreamed about her when I finally fell into a restless sleep. It wasn't exactly that I was in love with her. Love felt too possessive for her. She was a force of nature, and I would count myself lucky any time I got to see her again.

It was more of an awe. I was in awe with her. For one thing, she was so spectacularly hot and thinking about her body was intoxicating. But Amy as a person was a fascinating creature regardless of her sex appeal. She faced such dramatically different problems than I did and seemed to have no struggles whatsoever with the things I found constantly challenging.

I struggled with isolation. It often seemed like nobody in my life had any interest in me beyond what I could do for them professionally, and here Amy comes blowing into my life one afternoon, lavishing attention on me as if it came from an everlasting well. Her attention really stuck with me, like a security blanket over my soul.

As did the memories of our bodies intertwined in ecstasy. As long as moments like those existed, life was worth living, if only in hopes of another moment of transcendence. The knowledge of her card in my wallet was a boon to my soul; a hope that more moments of beauty were on the horizon.

The card itself was as interesting as she was. Thick, bright white cardstock, with delicate gold filigree tracing the border and nothing but her first name and phone number embossed in jet black in the center of the card. If it weren't my most secret and prized possession, I would frame it on my wall.

But, life's troubles did not relent. Returning to work the next Monday was a rude awakening. In the best of times, my job was tolerable and slightly boring. But most of the time, it was exhausting and draining. I loathed the act of pouring over other's lackluster work and attempting to make it more presentable, only to have them burst into my office shaking my edits in rage as if I were attacking them personally.

"If you were capable of stringing together 3 decent sentences that made a lick of sense, you wouldn't need me to shit all over your copy, would you, Gene?" I found myself saying to a particularly obnoxious writer on a Thursday afternoon, several weeks after I met Amy. He stormed out of my office toward that of my boss, and I braced myself for the inevitable.

My boss, Frank, was a pretty decent guy as bosses go, but he was probably the most boring individual I had ever known in my life. He would say his hobby is golf, and his office was adorned in nothing but golf paraphernalia, but the word around the office was that he was uniquely terrible at the game. He was improbably ignorant about the range of pop culture interests that floated through the office, never able to participate in chitchat about the popular TV, movies or sports of the day. He was presumably married, as evidenced by the ring on his finger, but never discussed his family at work. He always wore that sort of oversized glasses which everybody else realized were a terrible idea in 1976, but he had apparently already integrated into his identity.

A smile crept onto my face amid my dread as I imagined what Amy would say if she met this man. I would love to hear the turn of phrase she would use to describe him. 'Slightly obese human bobblehead born with only a third of a personality' was my best guess. By the time he was at my door, a stupid smile had found its way onto my lips, and I greeted him with, "What can I do for you, Frank?"

"Greg, you've got to stop being an asshole to Gene." He looked at me over his ridiculous glasses with a 'consider this your last warning' kind of seriousness.

"You don't even want to hear my side of it?" I asked innocently, knowing where this was going.

"I don't need to hear your side of it, Greg. I know Gene is an asshole and a fourth-rate twat..."

"Hey!" I head Gene yell back in the hall. Frank extended his hand in warning behind him without looking back.

"But that doesn't mean you get to be an asshole about it, and it's not like this is the first time." Frank shook his head disapprovingly. "You're an editor for christssakes, Greg, if you can't handle babysitting writers then you should really find another line of work."

He left me to ponder that harsh reality. He wasn't wrong. I hated this shit, and I should really find another line of work. Of course, it didn't help that I felt a low-level jealousy toward the writer pool, and when they committed heinous atrocities against the English language, that jealousy quickly boiled over into contempt. It wasn't fair to them.

But what was the alternative? Quit my job and write a novel? How would I live?

This fucking job crushed any creativity I had, pouring over the drivel these morons pushed across my desk. I couldn't hope to ever achieve my aspirations working here, but I didn't see a way to achieve them by quitting either.

I felt a cold and disquieting certainty creep over me, starting from the back of my skull and spreading over the rest of me in a rush. I knew what I was going to do, and I knew I had better not think about it anymore.

I thought again of Amy, that beautiful armor she wore so that she could do what she had to do. I stood up and grabbed my jacket. Walked down the hall to Frank's office, the echo of Amy's confident stride filling the vacuum left in my mind.

"Frank," I said softly in his doorway, startling him. He stared up at me, open mouthed and wide eyed. I had never shared anything with this man without prompting.

"You're right. I'm not happy here, and I make others unhappy being here. That's not your fault, I just need to do something else with my life."

He was bewildered, this interaction falling so far outside his normal range of experience he was momentarily stupefied.

I finished with a simple, quiet, confident, "I quit."

And I turned on my heel and walked out of the office without looking back. I saw Amy's stunning smile in my head as I walked away, feeling empowered in that moment to adopt her confidence as I exited that loathsome building for the very last time.

-

Chapter 4 - Wings

I can't believe I did that. I'm so fucking stupid. What am I now, an unemployed wannabe writer?

It certainly felt that way.

I didn't want to call my parents- my dad would lavish disappointment upon me, giving up on the job he held in contempt to begin with. My mom would just worry and insert herself into the situation attempting to fix it.

Most of my 'friends' were connected to work, so that would be weird. I never really felt much of a connection with anybody there anyway.

I hadn't let anyone into the part of my head that was making the decisions now. The part that dreamed of something more, but didn't quite know how to get there.

Why do I need to call someone anyway? I don't need to explain myself. I just need to figure out what to do. I've got a fair bit of money saved up. And I've got the apartment, and the car. I could make it on my own for a while, live on beans and rice. Maybe get a book finished before I become a starving homeless man... if I'm lucky. Perhaps becoming a starving homeless man will be the inspiration I need to write this book.

A book does need inspiration, but perhaps taking to the streets was a bridge too far, and inspiration is the last thing in the world I felt at that moment. Come to think of it, the thing I felt most acutely was loneliness. With my job gone, my world had just shrunk to the space of the 4 rooms of my apartment. Maybe I do need to call someone.

I wanted to call Amy. I wasn't horny exactly, just lonely. But I felt like she would understand the stupid choice I just made and probably make me feel better. And... yeah, maybe sex wouldn't hurt the situation.

So I extracted the card from its place in my wallet and began dialing the number. It took me a minute or two to work up the courage to press the dial button, but before I knew it the phone was ringing.

"Hello?" Her voice was a practiced sultry lilt when she answered.

"Hey, Amy, it's Greg."

"Oh, shit! Greg! Yeah... hey." The timbre of her voice shifted jarringly. "I was wondering when I'd hear from you."

"Yeah, well... I... did something dumb and I really need a friend. I don't really have anyone else I want to call."

She paused for a few painful seconds. "Interesting choice of words." She sounded like she was considering her options. "Are you calling in the favor?" she asked, her voice suspiciously flat.

"If... that's what it takes to see you." I was openly desperate now.

She sighed softly. "No, I get it, Greg." A tinge of sympathy replacing the flat edge. "You sound like you really just need a friend."

"Yeah..." My voice died in my throat, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Listen, give me a bit to finish up what I'm doing and then I'll come see you." For the first time, I began to wonder what I had caught her doing.

"Thank you, Amy."

"See you soon." She assured me kindly, and hung up the phone.

I sat there with the disconnected phone pressed against my ear for seconds that stretched out painfully. My first reaction was a bit of panic as I considered the ambiguity 'a bit' likely held for a sophisticated woman with a complex life, but eventually I dismissed that fear as a toothless trick of the mind. She would come when she could.

And she was worth waiting for.

In the meantime, I picked up my apartment in preparation for her arrival, and when that task had been exhausted, I began reviewing my assets and considering how long I could hold out like this before tethering myself to another job. A year, maybe?

Dragging my finances into this quagmire definitely made things worse. It felt like I had a clock hanging from my neck, counting down to my impending doom. I closed my eyes and daydreamed about that clock, melting and morphing and dragging me down by my neck until the earth itself swallowed me.

A knock at the door startled me from this grim reverie. Jesus, How'd I forget Amy was on her way?

I jumped up and got the door, and there she was again- hair gleaming in the late afternoon light. She was dressed a tinge less formally this time, but still adorned more impressively than anyone I typically spent time with. It was the sort of outfit you might wear out shopping- a red wool coat with big black buttons, a silky-looking floral blouse which fell around her curves suggestively, a tight black skirt extending just above her knees, and intricately filigreed flats, which looked a lot more comfortable than the heels.

"You've really got the gawking thing down, don't you Greg?" She said by way of greeting, playfully this time.

"Yeah, sorry... hey Amy." I offered her a hug on the threshold and she closed the embrace. "I was just admiring your outfit." I said over her shoulder.

"Do I pass muster today?" She drew back, striking a few practiced poses and looking at me with a smirk.

"You look spectacular, as always. Someday, though, we're going to have to try out that jeans and t-shirt thing... see if I can avoid drooling at you by way of greeting."

She smiled up at me patiently with an eyebrow that seemed to say 'are you ever going to let me put my bag down?'

"Anyway... sorry... please come in, make yourself comfortable." I ushered her toward the couch, and she put down her purse. "Can I get you anything?"

She sat down on my couch, leaned her head back and draped her arms out along the back with her legs crossed and let out a deep exhale. She opened her eyes after a moment and gazed down across her nose toward me. "Yeah. Wine sounds nice. What do you have?"

"I've got a half decent Zinfandel and a pretty good Chardonnay."

"I'll have the Zinfandel." She stated quietly, closing her eyes again. "Bring the bottle."

She always seemed at least 2 steps ahead of me, even with drink orders.

I retrieved the bottle and 2 of my best wine glasses. The delicate crystal ones my mom insisted I need when I moved in. She was always right, eventually.

I set everything down on the coffee table and poured us both a modest glass before pushing one of them toward her.

She must have been tracking my progress by sound, because her eyes remained closed for the duration. The moment I pushed her glass toward her, she leaned forward and looked at me, then the wine, and picked up her glass. She admired my glass for a moment and swirled her wine gently. She smelled it casually, and took a sip.

She looked up at me and said with perfect seriousness, "That's at least three-quarters decent, Greg, don't sell yourself short."

She earned a chuckle from me, and we sat in silence for a moment, sipping on the wine.

She started the conversation, appearing much more relaxed now than when she walked in. "So, what happened? You sounded pretty upset on the phone." She directed her full attention at me now, the intensity of her gaze slightly unnerving.

"I... uh... quit my job today." I said, looking down with a mix of shame and embarrassment.

"What?" Clearly not what she was expecting. "Why?"

"Well, this writer came in and started yelling at me because he didn't like my edits on his work, and I snapped at him pretty hard." I trailed off, realizing with no small amount of surprise that this was the first time I was replaying these events in my head. Isn't this the kind of thing that normally replays in your head endlessly for days?

"Snapped at him? What did you say?" An interested smile bloomed on her lips.

"I think I said something like, 'Gene, if you could string together 3 sentences that made any sense, you wouldn't need me to shit all over your copy.'"

"Damn." She shook her head, looking slightly impressed. "I bet that felt good."

"It did, but as soon as I said it, I knew I was in for an ass-chewing from my boss. And naturally Gene, the asshole that he is, immediately stormed off to my boss."

"Naturally." She echoed.

"I actually started thinking about you just then. My boss is an implausibly boring person, and I started wondering what you would think if you ever met him."

"Something devilishly witty, I hope." She leaned forward now, interested in how this played out.

"My best guess was 'slightly obese human bobblehead born with only a third of a personality'"

She laughed out loud adorably, and I couldn't help but to join her.

"But of course, personality or no, he came and chewed my ass immediately. The thing is, I've been mean to some of the writers quite a bit, especially lately. I let my dissatisfaction and jealousy of them bleed into how I treat them, and that is really shitty of me."

I stared into my wine for a moment and she put her hand on my knee gently. I looked back up at her and continued, "He told me if I can't handle babysitting writers, I should find another line of work."

She looked at me with concern and patience, her thumb now gently stroking my leg. She was very good at this, better than I deserved.

"So, I sat there and thought about what he said for a while. I knew he was right. I've hated my job for a long time, and I've been letting it affect how I treat people, which makes me hate it even more. So, I don't know... something came over me."

"What do you mean?" She asked, slightly confused.

"I guess it was like a different part of my brain took over, and I just let it happen. I didn't think about it, I just stood up, walked into my boss' office, told him he was right, and told him I quit."

"Wow." She looked like she didn't quite know what to say.

"Yeah. I just turned around and walked out, and that was it. I still can't believe I did it. And I'm not at all sure it was a good idea."

"Well..." she started hesitantly, "you told me the other day you weren't happy with your job. Obviously, that's something you've been feeling for a while, and you probably felt confused about what to do with it. So, I guess all it took was a little push over the edge."

I thought about what she said for a moment, touched that she remembered the details of our conversation the other day, and grateful that she understood how I was feeling.

I looked up at her, speaking without thinking, "I was thinking about you when I did it."

"What?" She was surprised and confused, not the kind of look that usually adorned her face.

"You wear this armor around. Part of it is your beauty, which both draws everyone in and keeps them at a distance. But part of it is you, underneath all of that, untouchable in your determination to get what you want, and do what you have to do."

She looked back at me, for the first time slightly uncomfortable but obviously trying her best to hide it.

"It's beautiful to watch. And I think for those few moments, I figured out how to put it on, so that I could do what I had to do."

She drew back and looked down. I guess I got a little too close with that one. I was terrified I had lost her, and she was going to get up and leave right then.

This time, I leaned into her and gently grasped her hand. She didn't resist but didn't look up either. "Amy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say anything to hurt you."

She looked back into my eyes, blinking back a tear that she was willing away. She didn't look angry or hurt. Just... uncomfortable. Vulnerable.

"You didn't hurt me." She started. I could hear the effort to keep her voice level. "I'm just... lousy at being vulnerable." She let that sit and stared back at me for a long moment.

"You're right." She began again, more composed now. "There is a lot I have to do to keep myself safe, physically and emotionally. There's a lot of things I hide behind to avoid getting hurt. And, determination is the only fuel that keeps me going through all of it."

I looked back at her intently, as gently as I could, and squeezed her hand in mine.

"And it's uncomfortable when someone I barely know sees through all of that into the parts of myself I work so hard to hide from view." She looked back at me, for the first time allowing the vulnerability to radiate into her eyes. It was uncomfortable for me to have such a strong person open up like this before me and because of me.

I cupped her cheek with my palm and stroked her face with my thumb. "It's ok, Amy." I said gently, just above a whisper. "You don't have to hide those things from me. I'm not going to hurt you."

She slid into my arms, buried her face in my shoulder, and cried openly. I embraced her firmly and waited for her to recover.

She picked herself up from my chest, her tears staining my shirt. I found her a box of tissues and she attempted to salvage her mascara with a series of practiced, graceful movements.

When she finally looked back up at me, the dark makeup around her eyes now bleeding slightly, she smirked and flicked her eyes to the bottle of wine on the table. "I think I'm going to need more wine for this."

I poured her another glass, more generous this time, and she took a more desperate sip. She looked back at me with a look that said 'I no longer have any idea where this is going.'

"So..." she started, a bit hastily. "You borrowed my armor to quit your job."

"That's about it." I said, exhaling sharply.

"Do you know what you're going to do now?" She looked like she was ready for the spotlight to turn back toward me.

"I mean, I've got some savings and whatnot. I can survive for a while. I want to write. I want to make something. I just don't know... where to start." I looked at her, mostly because I wasn't sure what else to say, but it probably looked like I was asking for her advice. Not that I didn't want her advice.

She looked back at me for a moment with a neutral expression. Then her eyes began to wander around at nothing in particular, as if she were considering something intently. She took a few more gulps of wine and let a comfortable silence settle between us.