Walk Away

On this day, Tuesday, the most unambiguous indication of a higher power revealed itself. The sky cemented over its pure blue. Each cloud molded thick puffy definitions. For the few noises present they were natural and pleasant. Passing hums of strangers mixed with distant cicadas rattles. Everything was just right for a walk, a bike ride, a tan in the backyard, a book, or a simple lie down in the dew-free grass. Zachery Waitman was a selected soul, by coincidence or god, to take on this day. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered in his window-side cubicle. 

While everything occurred outside he remained persistent in his craft. Selling insurance was him for the moment. A missed phone call, ignored email, or tardiness were one of the few diseases that could end him. His office phone rarely rested, and if it did, it was because he was on his personal phone setting up another deal. That electronic rattle held equivalent to the ping of a cash register. Work for Zachery answered his most basic question: Are you afraid of money?

“Frederick — Can I call you Frederick? — Perfect — So Fredick we offer guaranteed first-year discounted premiums. That’s right. The first year is a steal and once you like that we offer a second-year by-back option. — Okay yes, I’m excited you asked that — your business because I know it’s a restaurant would have default protection (up to a certain point) as well as secured fire-induced repairs….”

Everything Zachery said most of the time was food salad. A year into this business he learned all that is needed is a confident tone and vague financial lingo. His commission checks usually proved this theory. No matter the client, a 40-year Wallstreet veteran wanting health insurance or a 20-something entrepreneur, at the end of the day people just want to hear a hope they can trust. 

“Excellent decision Fredrick,” Zachery dry-humps his office desk, “I’ll have the paperwork emailed this instant — Yes of course — For sure no doubt about it — Yup — Okay — Okay — Yup — You too,” Zachery drops the phone, “FUCKING DICKHEAD WOOOOOO!”

“Keep your dick in your pants!” 

“Lick it first,” Zachery laughs with two middle fingers, “It’s alright Raul you’ll learn eventually. We all blossom at different times right?”

“I’ve been at this for six years and could —”

“Not look any sadder! Because last time I checked I had the most accounts — wait.”

“Don’t count your chicken before they hatch.”

The phone dangled off the desk, inducing a second-long heart attack, “Um Hello? Hello?” Zachery quickly listened, believing in God until he blessedly heard siren-like beeps, “Oh thank God!” Frederick already hung up.

“Freakin’ moron!”

“Sam once you learn how to curse then you can talk to the big boys!”

“I’m 54!”

“And still have no facial hair, guy.”

Another howl whistle across the room, “Hey Zachy once you’re done jerking off you’ll land real clients.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a crab, bottom feeding off small Ma and Pa shops. The sharks over here work with real businesses.”

“Like who?”

“Ever heard of a thing called the Chicago Bulls?”

Zachery refused to flinch, “Yeah, alright?”

“They want an exclusive five-year risk management and health insurance plan with yours truly, Brody Busten.”

Internally, a gasoline-infused bonfire of rage ignited. The Chicago Bulls? Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Chicago is the third biggest city. Those Bulls? And with Busten? How? The guy took six years to finish a Communication degree. He dips his french fries in root beer. His girlfriend is ugly and he drives a Toyota Camry.

Zachery had to be quick, “The Bulls? So what? Not only are they the worst team in the East they don’t compare who I got on the line.”

“Oh please enlighten me!”

“J.P Morgan.”

“—Fuck off!”

“— Zach that’s bullshit!”

“—Anyone smell a piece of shit?”

The office erupted, united against Zachery and his claim. J.P Morgan would be the biggest client ever to sign with Bridgewater. Not only that, but such a client could completely change Zachery’s trajectory. In the grand scheme, Zachery truly felt that all these guys could die and he would not care. He wouldn’t weep nor even check the funeral date. Insurance? Zachery, 24 years old, still did not really know what even was. It just happened to be the only job that gave a chance at six figures right out of college. There was more for him, he knew it, wanted it, damn would’ve done anything for it. 

Succinct thumps promptly patted the carpet. The grandiose of exceeding testosterone queued to a halt. In the mix of cologne entered freshly hinted wafts of vanilla and coconut. Her power wielded so much that she didn’t require facial expressions. A simple glance in Zachery’s corner made it clear he had to see her. Saliva pooled in his throat as he adjusted and readjusted his tie, collar, belt, zipper, and buttons. No one said a word to him as he entered her office. This meeting could be anything. 

“Water?” she offers next to the office’s skyline view. 

“Sure, thank you, Beth.” She poured herself a glass as well. Zachery did not sit until she sits.

The room is orderly and basic, they sell insurance. Aside from a picture of her husband and kids and a purple lavender candle, the only thing this office offers is privacy. 

Zachery takes a breath, sips the water, and instantly regains his indifference. She can talk first he thinks. Zachery rather split his wrists than waste life asking about the weather or her family that he will never care about. Beth is the boss, so of course, she tests this by shuffling around papers. Some go in the trash, some go in her drawers, and some receive the simple straight out. She took a small sip before a large gulp. Another pour for herself followed by another sip. Finally, she dropped mind games. 

“You’ve been working with us for just over a year now, right Zachery?”

“A year, two months, and five days.”

“Oh,” her eyes lit up, “Didn’t know this was romantic.”

Zachery faked a laugh, “I never like to lose track of time.”

“It is our most scarce resource,” she smiled. 

Zachery’s nod induced a moment’s silence. 

Beth folded her hands, “First off, everything you’ve done has been great. I mean, really for a green hire, all across the board you are killing it.” 

“Thank you,” Zachery’s heart lost all blood. 

“Fantastic stuff all around. The office loves you. Any shit shot your way you just throw it right back. I mean, we are just past the halfway mark of quarter two and you lead the department in accounts sold.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Statistical one of our top three salesmen.”

Zachery nodded. 

“Do you want to know the other two?”

“Nope.”

Beth’s head flinches to the right, “Really?”

“Yes. I just try to do my work.” Zachery hypothesizes the consequences of walking out right now. 

Beth unfolded her hands, placing them square on the desk, “Given everything, all that you’ve done and do, we, Bridgewater Insurance, would like to offer you a promotion to executive sales management.”

Goddamn it ! Yes, that’s right, that was Zachery’s first thought. He wanted to whip that glass of water right at the beak of her nose. Ruin that overdyed red hair of hers before her 9 o’clock meeting. Maybe even shatter her ivory tower window.

“I quit.”

“Excuse me!” her voice snapped. 

“I’m out. Fuck you. Fuck this place.”

Beth choked on her own tongue, appalled and bewildered, “Maybe you misheard me? I said you are getting promoted.”

“No yeah, I heard just fine. Promoted the verb meaning to raise in rank. I think you are the one who misheard.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

“Nobody.” 

“Damn right!” as vicious as she tried. Zachery remained stoic. They sell insurance he reminds himself. A slight smile tickles the side of his mouth. 

Beth armed herself for a dictator’s rant of abuse, but before anything, Zachery slipped it in, “I’m heading out. Mail my last check to my address on file.” He was out of there, cubicle emptied, and in the street within two minutes. 

Zachery stood outside the door, rubbing his hands together, “So now what?” he asked himself. 

The city street held its classic carnival of happenings. Businessmen in their steamed suits strolled past piss-soaked homeless veterans. Families, tourists, and residents walked and waddled down the wide sidewalks and narrow streets. The beautiful beats of distant bucket drummers could be heard in tandem with car honks, squeaks, and shouts. 

The grooves of his fingerprints were soothing. Zachery was not scared, though worse, he was uncertain. Not about quitting, he would’ve quit either way down the line. He got a degree, took a sales job, all as means to an end. The math popped into his head and clicked his tongue with estimations. The loans should be taken care of but it would’ve been nice to have a cushion. 

“She so linear.” Beth was in his head still. A powerful woman matches the strength of a single nuke. Yet, she settled. Now, she sits, in charge no doubt, but as a babysitter to two degenerates named Raul and Sam. 

He breathes and continues the math. Rent has been covered for the month and can be covered for one more. He decides then he’ll ride out the month but move on after that. No more debt, no more loans. 

“Shit.” Now possible regret, more like second-guessing, crept in. 

He moved, just slightly, towards the revolving door. He could’ve blamed his medications, and used that to excuse his abrupt exit. The office didn’t even bat an eye when he walked out. It would’ve been like nothing happened. 

“Wait,” he did tell Beth to fuck off, “Alright so there is actually no turning back,” he remembers again he quit. He wasn’t fired so there goes any severance. If his parents had ever found out they would’ve disowned him on the spot. 

Working for that paycheck had been Zachery’s boulder up the mountain, his mission from God, his illustration of a dog chasing a car. Now the boulder crumbled into pebbles, God no longer existed, and the car was totaled. What would he do now?

“Move out the way jackass!” berated a UPS worker who dolled a load of boxes, “Freakin’ moron stands in the middle of the door!”

That was a perfect start actually. Move. Zachery then began his day and allowed himself to be absorbed into the human herd. It was at his first crosswalk did he realize he needed to workout more. A stitch formed and his breath was short. The white man flashed though and Zachery pressed on. All he could think about was what he could he think about. An image of his brain flashed and on an impulse he thought about if he was smart. Objectively, he was. He got a degree with a 3.0 GPA. A bright blue jay flew over head. Then he analzyed if grades correlate to smartness. Now he hiked a high arching bridge. 

“Buddha, hermit, a good father,” he listed out possible alternatives for smartness, “Was Jesus go at math?” His brain, like an old lawnmower, had finally tuned out. 

The river below, psychedelic in its waves, flowed in a questionable blueness. The interview continued. 

“What if I jumped?” Zachery thought.

A lone kayaker paddled, revealing the river’s true color. A dark urine-like yellow mixed in with a moss-green splashed around. Zachery never felt more disgusted. Worse yet, someone has definitely swam in that.

Back on solid concrete, he turned a corner and another impulse followed. A homeless person, barely covered in clothes and cardboard, sat with the most blank of faces. His eyes never moved, they just kept straight. Zachery did not stop but his thought started, “He was a kid once.” Nostalgic thoughts of ding-dong ditching, first time hanging out with girls, having his first illegal sip of beer rattled like jazz snaps. 

“What does he think about, Zach?”

It was a rare time in which Zachery referenced himself in third person. He looked around as though the entire crowd was listening solely to him. They weren’t. Nobody cared about Zachery. An uplifting sense followed. 

So he did it again, “Probably happy thoughts? Just to get through the day. Maybe scheming a plan. There’s no way he wants to be homeless forever right?”

Zachery would never find out. 

“What’s our plan?” He chuckled a little. Zachery tried walking instead of running out his problem. Sweat bedded just barely at his hairline and armpits but he didn’t mind. 

It all just became single bullet point observations. 

“That’s a tall building… she’s hot… Franko’s Pizzaria… how much trash is in this city…that guy definitely has killed someone… church, haven’t been there in a while…grass! Wow it-it-it’s grass! Trees don’t make sense….”

The bars, clubs, hyperbolical trendy spots no longer were the focus. The city was everything, and though he probably knew it, feeling it was something else. For two more hours, Zachery traverse any parkway, ally, griffited corner, riverwalk, and courtyard he felt like coming across. Though, his hamstrings began to sore. Both eyes desperately needed eye drops and a knotted pain throbbed at his heels. The walk had to come to an end. 

“Now boarding East on platform 12,” the speaker robotically announced. 

Zachery had made his way to Union station. A gross moldy benched opened its arms for him, granting him some type of rest. He threw his head back, noticing the sky for the first time all day. With passion, he took the biggest sniff of polluted city air. It had a slight earthy undertone. 

“It’s about to rain.”

So it did, lightly. Zachery tried to feel every drop that hit his face. Chin, left eye, right side forehead, left hand thumb, left ankle, right ear, top lip, bottom lip, tongue. 

“Wow….”

An all covering grey floated over. Another impulse. Zachery reflect on the thought that until today, he had not been thinking at all. Impulse. Not thinking, wrong word, rather sensing. A simple walk is all it took. Not some crazy car crash heartbreaking-turned-amazing-comeback story. No problem was solved in this. His ambition sat like a fern in a desert, and not to mention again, but he no longer had any job. 

“Free.” The rain was a downpour now. 

He had no debt either and if it can to it he could go back to his parent’s place. The world had not ended because he decided to act irrationally. An impulse. Zachery examined that relationship, rational and irrational. To his left and right, the once crowded sidewalks now lay nearly barren aside from a homeless person and crossing guards. He made eye contact with her and choose to approach. 

“Hello.”

She grunts.

“I don’t have any money,” her sign pleaded for anything, “But would you like to dance?”

She wore the same statue expression as had the man from earlier. But the vessels and pupils dilated just enough to silently word a yes. Zachery helped her up, took her by the hands, and in sweaty, rained-soaked clothes danced without any need of music. 

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I rushed to submit this so there are definitely some errors in this.