Cacophonous Despair, Hopeful Silence

“Thank you for speaking with us, but we would like to find a candidate with more experience.”

          The words hung in the air as Carson quietly thanked the interviewer for his time. There was little else said as he was shown out; just a “Good Luck.”

          “Why bother responding?” Carson thought to himself. He walked in silence to his car, but the outward silence was inaudible to Carson as the rejection sat in his ears. The sounds of the car door opening, slamming shut, the engine starting, were just muffled punctuation marks to the screaming words in his head. He pulled up the number of the recruiter he had spoken to a month ago. Whilst the phone rang, he tried to get a hold of his breathing, as rattling exhales betrayed the tears in his throat. Not even voicemail. His lip quivered. He pulled up the directions to his apartment. He turned the key over. The car choked to life, and the fuel dial went up to a quarter full. Carson knew he would have to pay for fuel soon. “Fuel to take me to another rejection,” he growled to himself.

He followed the map out of the lot. A notification pinged on his phone. Being connected to the car, the audio system read out the name. It was a text from another recruiter. Carson did not enjoy the suspense, so he pressed the button on his steering wheel, and the car’s automated voice began to read, “Hello Carson. We were very impressed with your talents…”

          “Were!” Carson snapped out loud. It was a rejection, he already knew, but the car didn’t care.

          “But unfortunately, we have decided to move forward with other candidates…” Carson began smashing buttons at the “but,” trying to shut the car up, but the voice kept reading. Now punching buttons at the red light, he switched the audio system to the radio, but the volume was too far up, and the blast of sound punched him in his ears. He didn’t see the light change as he spun the volume dial down, and the truck behind honked and startled him further. He stepped on the gas and lurched forward, and now tears streamed freely from his eyes.

          His ears were ringing from all the sound, but the ringing morphed back into the deafening phrases: “thank you,” “well qualified,” “but,” “other candidates.” They were so loud, all so loud, so loud, and Carson wanted to hear anything else, so he screamed. When he screamed, it was all he could hear, so he kept screaming. He screamed until his throat hurt. His tears blurred the traffic and a small voice of reason in the back of his mind pulled his car to the side of the road.

          Eventually his throat hurt so much he had no choice but to stop screaming, so he resigned to sobbing quietly. Hoarsely, he whispered, “I don’t know how I’m going to make it.” He looked limply at his hands. “I’m a failure.” More tears dripped from his eyes, and he lifted his hands to his face, “And I don’t understand why.”

          Time passed, though Carson did not notice. He sat there feeling only hopelessness. He felt emptied, and the once loud sounds of rejections now echoed faintly in the chasm of hopelessness in his soul. Slowly the emptiness was filled by the sounds of the world. Cars passing began to enter Carson’s ears. He drew a deep breath, and the weight of the tears on his chest flowed off. “What can I do then?” He didn’t ask that question. It was the small voice that had pulled the car over. “Nothing!” he snapped at that infuriating voice, but in response it just turned the car off to not waste gas. “Maybe I could do something if I had a job, but I apparently I gained no value from all that schooling.” The voice didn’t respond to Carson’s indignant ranting. Instead, it pulled up the contacts list on his phone.

          There was a long pause in the conversation. “No,” Carson choked out eventually, “I couldn’t tell that over the phone.”

          “But maybe…” the voice responded. It switched over to the map and plugged in the address.

          Carson looked at it. The sounds of the road became clearer. His breathing became smoother. He thought about the suggestion. He thought about what else there was that he could do. “Yeah, that will work.” He clicked go on the suggested route. The drive was projected to be six and a half hours.

          Carson drove in silence, feeling at one again with the voice of reason within him. He mulled over his uncertainty, for he still didn’t know what to do. Slowly, he looked less at the map. Familiar houses and trees began to slide by on the side of the freeway. Soon enough, he was in his old neighborhood. He felt tired, and he had let go of the pressure of finding a job, and instead he occupied himself with a lively debate with himself over his favorite movies.

          He pulled into the driveway and turned off his car. Getting out, the sound of summer crickets filled his ears. He paused and listened. “I can’t believe this is where I’ve ended up, after all this time.” Carson felt guilty, but his tears were left behind in the city. He knew there was little else he could do. Slightly embarrassed, he knocked on the door.

          His mom opened the door, and with a little gasp she said, “Carson, my-son.” She said it the way she always did, combining the words “my son” so that they sounded like Carson. It made him smile.

          “Hey Mom. I, uh, needed to come home. The job search is going really bad, and I need help getting through the next couple months.” He looked down at his toes, embarrassed that he was asking to come live with his parents.

          “Oh Honey. It’s okay. Sometimes things like this take time, but I am sure you will find something.” She gave Carson a hug, and he felt warm and safe. It was the first acceptance he had received in a while. “Now come in, we can make you a bed, but we had dinner about an hour ago, so you’ll have to do with leftovers.”

          Carson followed his mother inside, and as she ran upstairs to get some bed sheets together, he walked into his father’s office and knocked on the wall to announce his presence. “Hey Dad.”

          His father jumped at the sound of Carson’s voice. Turning around in his chair, Carson’s father saw his son and smiled. “Hello me boy. What brings you to town?” He got up from his chair and gave Carson a curt, but meaningful hug.

          “I can’t find a job. I feel like I’m barely staying afloat over the last few months. I needed to come home.” Carson felt even more nervous telling his father the situation. He was worried that he would be counted amongst the other “free loaders” and “bums” that his dad used to deride at the dinner table. His father’s eyes lost some of their cheer, gazing intently at Carson, and he removed his small round spectacles. Carson prepared himself for the worst. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here,” he thought to himself.

          “The last few months,” his father repeated. “You’ve been struggling that long, and you didn’t think to tell your mom and I any sooner.” He reached out and set a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Times get tough, but when they do, your mom and I are always here for you. Don’t ever forget that.” Carson choked a little. He didn’t want to cry again, so he just nodded. His father put his glasses back on, “Good. Now let me show you where your mom tried to hide the cookies.”

          Carson spent the rest of the night just chatting with his parents about various topics. When he went to bed, he listened to the quiet of the house. He was no longer ruminating on the endless rejections, but instead he was able to focus on tomorrow, because tomorrow brought hope that things would get better. The summer crickets were loud, but Carson’s mind was quiet now.