Everything is Work

(Includes explicit language, mental health issues and light substance abuse.)

Gainful Employment. That term had been resurfacing in Ros’ ocean of thoughts since her supervisor at the Post Office had issued it as a condition in a stand-up. The super said that it meant to remain employed, you had to work. Ros had inwardly rolled her eyes and tapped her toes at the thought that super’s never trusted that the majority of carriers weren’t working. They mostly pushed through to do the impossible daily and sustaining injuries from the repetitive movements that most had to run quickly through, all the while ironically chanting the mantra; walk, don’t run.

That was another thought she submerged for later. There was no time to dwell and a route to get to, regardless of the shoulder pain and raging migraine.

Other carriers could and would banter on and drag out the conversation with questions and comments that always received the same responses. Sometimes in laughing tones and other times the super’s openly showing disdain, contempt and/or their own frustrations. ‘Bullshit’ surfaced up in Ros’ mind and almost right out her mouth. She held the tic in.

She cased the route, pulled it down and continued. Always the natural running workhorse.

Out on the street, she felt the freedom. The ocean breeze and smell of flowers, mostly jasmine, were a soothing balm. Most times she didn’t mind the yapping or deep barks from the dogs. She enjoyed the birdsong mixing in with the sound of the beach city. The city she had spent over two decades in was neither the cliched sleepy safe haven nor the bustling tourist attraction it had been right as she had arrived.

She had seen it ebb and flow into a real estate tragedy with empty buildings, pissed off homeless and disconcerted townies, all while mingling with the best and worse of them all. Big tech had also littered the town and peppered its chaotic energy around every corner.

Most times, she put on music and skated through it. Brushing elbows with locals, tourists and celebrities, alike. She tried not to mind and mostly smiled to everyone.

Today she was going to listen to Toots and The Maytals, streaming from Pomps and Pride and see where the music went. She couldn’t bear to listen to anymore pushback from anybody and just wanted to get the work finished in a positive frame of mind.

It’d also be good to build a set list for an email to her favorite penpal she’d picked up nearly a decade before. She barely remembered how that turned into a whole project as a ghost writer and romantic dream of a wild love affair blooming into a long lasting relationship.

She wanted to share the music she loved and had started emailing Law and working with people within the music scene in the richly diverse Los Angeles area. She took classes, went to shows, volunteered at the local station and got hired on with an internet station.

All the while writing to Law about her journey. He was actually lawless when it came to getting in contact with, and was quite accessible in comparison to other artists, and would respond occasionally; encouraging her professionally while warning off any love interest. It hadn’t started as a love interest at all, though.

Ros had known about him as a young girl. He always seemed to be drifting, on the outskirts of anything she took an interest in. From politics to books to films. She’d thought he was too macho and rolled her eyes at how he’d changed his name for the career. She actually preferred Lawrenson, fuck you very much. She did have to admit when looking back that she was oddly fascinated with him and appreciated his thoughts on things and his diligent work ethic.

Then she heard him on the radio when she’d run away from a small town in Tennessee to join the beach town gutter punks. She’d play his radio show at nights, enjoying the music, the vast information he seemed to have memorized and the intonation of his voice. The emails didn’t start until she had worked herself up and off the streets and into school. Ros wanted to study music, creative writing and some of the arts. Law would come up in almost any and every conversation or project she’d be around. ‘The fuck was with this guy?’ she’d think.

The connection was so strong that she found his email and sent the oddest and funniest thing she could think of. It was a thought piece riddled with allegories, mostly about aliens. No! That wasn’t right! First she’d sent an introductory, origin story email. When that got no response, then she’d sent him the crack pot piece. She smiled to herself at the memory.

Then he responded, and wasn’t that something? She kinda liked that and would write to him as if he was her personal journal, sometimes not even caring if he read most of it or not. It was therapeutic and cathartic for Ros.

She liked the station he worked at and what they did. So she started volunteering there. Not really thinking she’d ever meet him or even know what to say if she did. She’d probably not say anything at all. She came off as over confident and kind of a bitch when she was nervous. She hadn’t really joined the station solely because of him anyway. She wanted her own career. She was her own woman and she had had other love interests and why the fuck is she dwelling on him again!? Ugh, she had mail to deliver and a skate session she wanted to get in along the beach later tonight. Keep going! Work, work, work.

She switched the streaming app over to Los Saicos and got down to it. She had cruised through the business on the route without grief from a business owner that loved to ruffle her feathers. Ugh, she thought, I am full of the cliche’s today! I’m going to have to break through that before doing the ghost writing later tonight.

Wasn’t it funny, though? Funny how some men thought she shouldn’t be doing the work she did as a single mother and not knowing the half of it.

Just the thought of her child has enough to quickly submerge the other asshole. He definitely wouldn’t grow up to be like that guy, she hoped. Elias was empathetic and strongly expressive. He was also a job and a half with his energy and overwhelming emotions. It killed Ros how much he worried for her at times, but she delighted in his wild way of expressing his love, too. He wasn’t an easy child to coach and teach, but he was quick as much as he was stubborn. She’d have to call him before the skate to wish him good night. That is if he didn’t call her before then with a story about how he was building something in one of his tech based games he loved to get creative with. The child was always up to something, and she knew he was safe with his Nana. If he was with his absent minded and narcissistic father, then she would have rang him up then and there to check in.

She denied any of those memories a moment on the surface. She flowed onto the next block, passing palms and ancient trees that made her think of prehistoric times.

Just as she was finishing, her friend Flip rang. She’d met him while going through an on again and off again relationship with a local bassist. She was just looking into becoming a DJ at a station and Flip’s band was playing with her now forever ex. That was work that she’d never have to clock in for again in this lifetime, but Flip was a forever friend. There had been a romantic spark, but they were too much alike for anything to go far. Flip was more than a friend, but kin on every level. They rode the same wave.

She had to transition quickly from Link Wray, to Flip’s heavy English accent that swelled into her earbud. ‘Ros! How ya doin’, love?’ She countered quickly, ‘Fucking Flip! You know me, just a workin’! How’s it going with you?’ ‘Ah, fucking ‘ell! Glad I’m not you! I’m enjoying a vino down by the pool. Livin’ life, and playing me tunes. Are ya fancying coming over this weekend? I was thinking of a bbq and doing a show, are ya in?’ He moved as quickly as Ros, and she paused the last delivery to quip back in her terrible rendition of his accent. ‘Well, bloody ‘ell, if I could!’ Flip laughed in delight at her attempt. It always came out too yank and with a mix of too many British Isles nuances to boot. She slipped back into her natural mixed accent of redneck meets beach, ‘You know, I have that piece to finish for Law.’ He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easy. ‘Well, Bloody ‘ell if the bloke was worth it and payed ya! Haha! Fuck that, life’s short and we should do a show soon.’ Ros mummered her agreement and then tried to tick tack, ‘What about next weekend?’ Flip agreed, but Ros felt bad. If it hadn’t been for Flip, she wouldn’t even be doing the work with Law. She allowed the memory to float above the waves.

As she drove back to the station the scene played before her mind’s eye. She was back with that bassist who had told her that being called a punk wasn’t bad. He had a gig, and she was playing roadie and doing merch for them at a bar in OC. Flip’s band was playing, and under a name that was similar to another local dj’s band. Ros had a difficult time with keeping names and faces straight, but the mix up must have been in the universe’s cards or something. She timidly walked up to Flip at the bar between his set and the ex’s. ‘Hey, thanks for the good show.’ He made space for her and said, ‘Thanks, love! Glad you had fun.’ She sat and they sipped their drinks. Ros took a slight breath and plunged in, ‘So, I think you’re band has a radio show, and I’m interested in being a DJ. I wanted to ask you, how ya get into it.’ Flip didn’t blink an eye, but with a wry smile quickly quipped ‘Well, ya just did take the first step, didn’t ya?’ Ros had to recover. ‘Really?’ she laughed. ‘Ah, fucking ‘ell ya did!’ They laughed as he gave her his business card and explained that he had an internet radio station based out in the valley. Ros took it and started at LFPR (Little Fat Punk Radio) within a week. They took her in and the station was mid-underground fun! They had local bands and some headliners flowing in and out of the DIY place. It wasn’t without drama, as the scene has that energy that attracts some mischief, but she rode with Flip through it all. She’d even reached out to Law, but it wasn’t legit enough for him to get into, and she grudgingly understood he had contracts and legal bullshit. He wasn’t completely lawless. She inwardly groaned at the thought and barreled through the office before a super could harass her with some other chore that she didn’t have time for. She desperately wanted a drink, skate and to be a beach witch in order to do the work she wanted to get out for Law. It wasn’t beyond her how delicate all of these relationships were.

She got home, tossed off the mail gear, and phoned Elias. He greeted her with a song, ‘oooo mommasita, now you ringing a bell.’ They giggled and cut up as Ros put on some fishnets and her favorite Minor Threat dress.

Then she was out the door with her Arbor board and Agent Orange croaning in her ear. She bombed Wilshire, having almost memorized the cracks and dips in the pavement. A car almost hit her doing a California roll, so she cut through old Lincoln Park on foot and walked the rest of the trip down California to Pacific Palisades Park. She hopped the barrier and went out onto the bluffs and caught a nice picture of the full moon amongst the tall palms. This is what she lived for. This work was passionate and hers for the taking, and the energy of the earth loved to show her all it had to offer. It’d make a good piece for Law to get some inspiration from too. That’s the point of it all, she thought. She’d been barreled herself when he agreed to make her a ghost writer.

She hadn’t thought that she actually loved him until he started responding back and friends pointed out how she glowed just speaking of him. Flip had been the first.

In any case, she was now working under him as a writer and would he even want an insomniac smoker who barely could pull off two hours of content consistently? She doubted it, but still had her dream. She pushed that down under the waves as well, and got back to her letter writing.

She quickly filled him in on current events she’d witnessed in a thoughtful, sometimes humorous, sometimes frustrated way. Depending on the events of life and all the work that goes into everything. She queued up tunes to mirror the ones he’d played himself. Their energy matched too, and they rode the same sonic wave. She attached pictures from the week and blew him some emoji kisses. She laughed to herself; wasn’t she too much, sometimes? ‘Incorrigible!’ almost flew out her mouth.

As the owls called out and the rabbits darted about she typed out a quick poem under the full moon with the ocean singing out and the breeze playing with her hair. A lone tear for Law caressed her cheek before falling onto the ground.

Our Walk

The moon reflects a set sun

The ocean reflects a setting moon

Your eyes drink it in

Reflecting me back to you

Spellbound I follow light

Straining to hear sound

I flow in your tide

Forever beginning and ending a cycle

Every time trading my yesterdays for

our tomorrows

She doggedly walked home in meditation….

Everything is work, and work is in everything and it was all in progress. Something what most didn’t realize was that some work doesn’t fill your wallet, but your soul, your heart and spirit and mind. Having a job or other activity that provides a regular and sufficient income to support oneself and one’s dependents? Well, wasn’t that just gainful employment?