Re-living

‘What are we doing about the mom this time?’ - Allie uttered as she was taking apart a photo frame with a picture of two smiling ladies. 

She took out the picture and longingly stared at the older woman with no hint of grey hair, but a set of very cozy ‘smily’ wrinkles going down the sides of her eyes. She seemed kind and all-time motherly. 

‘Client opted for the medium erasure: so I prepped the see-you-a-year-later letter and a personalized non-disclosure agreement’, - I said lightly, as if we are not talking about a daughter skipping town, or, better said, skipping life on everyone she knows. With one little exception - her mom, whom she kindly decided to inform and discreetly meet once a year - on Mother’s Day. 

‘I like these medium-runners, they give me hope in the idea of family. Also, means their mom wasn’t a jerk to them’, - Jake inserts, plunging me into yet another regular self-reflection. 

Here are again, making a ridiculously medium buck by saving someone from themselves. Around seventeen times a month, Allie, Jake and I take a long road trip to another colorless suburb. For some reason, it’s always the small town people want to disappear from. Or, rather - no wonder they do that, because these places are like the epitome of gossip-driven, competition-induced wormholes. 

This time around our client is Kleogeena, yes, that is her name, given by her loving relatives in this town of Alvin. She wrote us an enormous letter about her bully of a sister, and her bully of a community, and even her bully of a job (to be fair - she didn’t exactly exaggerate). She is a hotel manager in Alvin, where there is only one hotel, and a minimal number of guests there. Her entire relatives network habitually passes by her job to chat - more like to nag. Her friend group is restricted to people she has known for her entire 37-year-old lifetime. And - the sort of love of her life and her high school sweetheart was totally not her own choice, but he is the son of her aunt’s best friend, so they were meant to be. 

Had been meant to be, to be precise. It took us about five hours to create a vision board for her new identity - Rina - a single hotel manager in a boutique high-end place in Milwaukee. We got her that job by setting up a private meeting with the owner and explaining our mission as one of the federal witness protection systems, but better for our customers. He was intrigued and absolutely into crime TV shows (we knew it going in, obviously), so as we expected his eyes lit up when we brought up a highly classified task of harboring a professional starting life anew.

Sometimes we also set up first dates and even marriages, however Rina was more into exploration, so top ten available bachelors of Wisconsin will have to go free, unless she changes her mind and for $300 gets their entire biographies with dating tips, courtesy of Jack. Using a PhD in Behavioral Psychology to create scientifically perfect couples has been his guilty pleasure at this job.  

One would spend more on the first three date nights than we charge for the ideal matchmaking experience. World’s unfair like that. Talking about money - our entire fair depends on the hours we spend working on the project. Takes us anywhere between 3 to 18 hours to create a new life, go take care of every little trace of our client in their old ones and settle them in. Average fare ran up to $25k, but Rina was lucky - Alvin was right next to our previous project’s relocation point - so half the costs were paid for already.

While I was rehashing my life, I shredded an entire lifetime of papers - books, diaries, documents, letters and mementos. Jake and Allie were bringing me some photos from around the house. We are de-personalizing this place, so no friend, foe or nosey aunt Loe can trace our brand-new Rina. Who, by the way, is now a total blonde. Don’t ask me how we turned an Irish-born curly redhead into a platinum blonde. Everywhere. Honestly, even we were shocked by the results - the poor little high school sweetheart wouldn’t be able to recognize her if they had dinner together. 

Oh, about him: we wrote him the letter. Not one Dostoyevskiy and not even a Remarque could top what we wrote on behalf of good old Kleogeena. That letter will take him on a rollercoaster between hate and love and appreciation and back to forgiveness in a matter of two pages. On the road Jake took the time to research a love-hit list for him. ‘He thought they are in perfect love, I don’t want his suicide to be our job’s fault’ he said thoroughly looking through cute redheard single girls in the area. He even threw in a few ice-breaking ideas for the first dates that would get the guy laid very soon.

I am not as emotional as Jake, never have been. Six years ago I was one-on-one with my first client, as she escaped a home of seven siblings for whom she was a second mother. That client didn’t have a dime to pay, so she ran barefoot into the escape highway. She never wanted happiness, just some peace and quiet, which led her to start this discreet departure agency for medium-people. She is annoyed at the idea that one can only run from something disgustingly horrible - like an abusive husband or a hateful boss or a crime. She is a believer in medium-people, who sometimes dislike the type of mediocrity of their lives and wish to switch to another mode. That opinionated girl is me, and it would take someone a lot of guts to tell me not to be profoundly proud of my job. 

Everyone takes care of the damsels in distress, I nurture the mild anxiety squad, the kind of depressed group of semi-okay people. And on that thought - we are done. The house, the online presence - all squeaky clean now. Time for the final phone call.

‘Hey, Rina, this is to inform you of Kleogeena’s untimely yet beautiful demise. Congratulations! See you never.’