Time is a Golden Coast

(Note: One of the characters in the story has previously died.)

“I don’t know, Bob,” said Janet, looking down into her coffee.

Tarne’s Coffee was the place to be at this time of day. All the aspiring writers and moguls left their day jobs to pontificate in private ubiquity.

“What is it that you don’t understand?” said Bob.

“I just…I don’t think this is going to work out.”

Janet had just lost her job at a local real estate firm selling high-end condos on Chicago’s gold coast. She had been their best performer for years, breaking the record for highest commissions three times in ten years. But then, suddenly, something happened.

“What is it that you want me to do? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I don’t know. What if they don’t like it?”

“What do you mean, ‘if they don’t like it?’ They’re going to love it. I love it, and I didn’t even create it!”

“It’s just a painting,” said Janet, mixing her cappuccino with her spoon. “It just a single canvas strewn with paint.”

“Well, that’s something to consider.”

“Yes, it is. I’m wondering if I’m just fooling myself. Who can compete with Basquiat, with Rockwell, With Monet. Hell, even Mamet would give it a run for its money.”

“Look, Janet, I want you to understand something.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to know that…Listen, let’s look at it this way. Do you remember when we first met? It was your first day at work. Remember?”

“Yes. It was a rather warm day. Not so warm that the ice cubes on my face melted, but warm enough to make my teeth chatter.”

“What was the first thing you said to me?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I honestly don’t remember.”

“You’ve got to remember this. You’ve got to.”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

“Just try.”

“Okay, um. I said…Hello?”

“You told me that the sun was rising without its maiden frenzy. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, I remember now.”

“Such poetic mind. A painter’s mind. A mind full of art and creativity.”

“Just don’t call me artful.”

Just then, the waiter walked by and dropped the bill on the table. Janet reached for it, but Bob placed his hand over it first.

“What are you going to do?” said Bob.

“Look, I’m homeless, okay. Game over.”

“Game over? You can’t be serious! You can’t be serious. Because, if you think that things have been bad so far, you have no idea what’s coming around that corner. You could be so much better. You know that.”

Janet reached under his hand and picked up the check. Pulling out her credit card, she headed over to the cashier’s desk. After a quick wait behind a middle-aged man with thinning hair, she quickly paid for their experience. It was a quick $22.17, including the tip. When she turned around, Bob was standing near the door in his jacket pocket, looking at her.

In the next instant, they were both in their own cars: hers a late model Honda Civic with safety features abounding; his, a rugged Chevy Silverado.

As Janet drove, she thought about what was going to happen now that she had lost her support. That job was all she had. How was she going to pay the rent? As she drove down the street, looking for her favorite store, she thought about her late mother.

How much they had enjoyed together. How they had laughed about the folly of her siblings. All the tough lessons she had been taught. What would her mother say to her now?

When Janet got home that day, she looked at a photo of her mother that was sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. She looked so peaceful, so vivacious. No one would ever know her pain.

“Mom,” Janet said to the photograph. “I know that this doesn’t sound right, but I just want you to know that, even though I told you this would never happen. Even though I told you I would never let myself be a burden on the system…I just don’t know what to say. I didn’t know that all of this would happen at once. I didn’t know that I would lose you so suddenly.  I didn’t know our lives would end. I love you so much. Why didn’t I love you more when you were alive, when I had the chance? I wish I could have done better. It’s not so simple now.”

Janet then proceeded to turn the photo downward, resting the glass front on the mantle.

“Mom, you can’t hate me for this. I can’t hate me for this. For all the love in the world, there has to be a way…”

The next day, Janet was sitting in her backyard, in a sturdy yet inexpensive white lawn chair, looking out into the wood. All she could think about was her anxiety regarding the future. How would she make it without support? How would she make it without mommy?

Suddenly, the sliding door opened behind her and a man stepped out onto the porch.

“How’d you get in here?”

“You gave me the key, remember?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want? I’m homeless.”

“You’re not homeless. Your house is the envy of the entire neighborhood. Got it at a steal, too.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to process this.”

“It’s going to work out, you know.”

“I’ve never been laid off before. I worked every day of my life from sixteen till now.”

“All you have to do is-“

“No, don’t say it.”

“Look, I…”

“I may be okay. I know this. I understand that this isn’t the end of my story.”

“Yes? And?”

“I just want this to work out.”

“Submit your painting.”

“What?”

“I said, submit your painting. Make it official.”

“I can’t feed myself on one painting.”

“If you make one painting per week for a year, could you feed yourself on that?”

“I just want this all to go smoothly, ‘Jung’ Bob.”