Declined

“Declined.”

“What? That’s not possible.”

The young cashier stared at me with blank eyes through the window. 

“Can you try again, please?” 

I watched as she swiped the card and then flicked her wrist to hand it back to me. “Declined.”

Shoving the card into my bag, I drove off without my much anticipated caramel Frappuccino but instead a knot in my stomach.

***

“So, what did you do?” The voice came from the darkened backseat.

“I thought it had to be a technical error, a glitch. I pulled over to check my app. Sure enough I had a zero balance.”

“You had something in there for sure? I mean banks take out all kinds of fees. Maybe they got you on something?”

“Yeah. No. I had something in there. And today is payday.”

“Wow. Sounds like you got fucked.” 

Ya think, Einstein? I didn’t respond as I pulled over. 

“Here you go. Thanks for riding with me. Have a great night.” I waited while my passenger got herself together to exit my car. Yeah I got fucked alright. Royally.

***

“Where did you meet this Prince Charming?”

With the arrival of my third passenger of the night, I had finally stopped shaking with rage.

“In a creative writing class.”

“That’s cute.”

“Yeah. It was.”

“You sat next to each other and started flirting? One thing led to another, huh?”

“No. It wasn’t like that. We really enjoyed each other’s stories. The teacher read them anonymously and the class commented on them.”

“How did it go from that to something more?”

“He somehow figured out which stories were mine and gave them lots of positive feedback.”

How I had basked in the glowing reviews he gave my stories, leaving each class thinking I had something special, a talent for storytelling. 

“That’s kinda romantic,” my passenger murmured, maybe more to herself than to me.

It was romantic. That first time he glanced at me while my story was being read he held my gaze until I flushed and looked away.

The Uber app interrupted my reminiscing, telling me I had reached my destination. Pulling over I said goodnight to the passenger and tapped my phone to accept the next ride.

***

“It was a betrayal,” I cried, apparently entering the weepy stage.

“I came home to find my man’s naked ass staring at me, then some chick flying past grabbing clothes off the floor. That’s betrayal, baby.”

That was more than I needed to know. I felt sick. All those years of hard work, eating humble pie, starting at the bottom. My savings gone in a poof. That’s betrayal too, but as the customer is always right, I didn’t pursue the conversation.

***

“You sure this is okay?” She dragged on her cigarette, hair blowing crazily in the wind.

“Are you kidding? This is great.” I was tired of driving; it had been hours on the road. When the rider asked if we could pull over I was more than happy to oblige.

“What did he use the money for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A car. Brand new. For himself.” I choked out the words.

“Did he pay half at least? Or say he would pay you back?”

“Neither of the above. He said, and I quote, ‘I shouldn’t have a nice car?’ I mean, yeah, have a nice car but on your own blood, sweat and tears.”

I stared into the ocean, the waves crashing onto the shore, the image of our first date superimposed onto the empty beach. I had arrived frantic after a difficult meeting with my first official client that my boss had entrusted me with. It was a momentous achievement, and he had surprised me with wine and cheese on a red checkered picnic blanket. Was he happy for me, proud of me as he had said, or did he actually see a nice opportunity for himself? Was I perhaps a good investment of his time and flattery? 

“I don’t see a ring on your finger?” Her voice brought me back to the present.

“No, not yet. Still in the talking stage.”

“It’s a simple break at this point.” She looked at me, her face lined with age as she took a deep drag on her cigarette. A slight pause to let that sink in, then the stream of smoke exhaled out blowing away haphazardly taking my dreams with it.

***

It was quiet back there. I glanced into my rearview mirror and looked away quickly, feeling like a voyeur. Young love, these kids couldn’t keep their hands off each other. 

How many years had gone by since we were that couple? Staying late after class then going for a cup of coffee to continue our conversation, me hanging on his every word. Was he sincere in his praise? I’d like to believe so, but the trust had been broken long ago. The first time I doubted him was so small, a tiny blip on the otherwise perfect first love, not enough to matter, deciding instead to simply look away.

I turned up the music and kept my eyes on the road.

***

“What does he do for a living?” I felt calmer after hours of turning my stream of riders into therapists.

“He’s a writer.”

“Oh cool. Anything I would have heard of?”

“No. Still unpublished. He’s working on his masterpiece.” I lifted my hands off the wheel to do air quotes as I said masterpiece.

“Full time?”

“Yeah, full time,” I replied through my clenched jaw, thinking of the new gaming console he had treated himself to for Christmas.

“He’s a lucky man. Do you write as well?” 

“I used to.” I clicked on the blinker and slowed down to let my passenger out as we reached his destination.

***

“Do you have protection?”

“What?” My heart rate picked up, panic approaching. Is this the fight or flight mode that I had heard so much about?

“A young lady as yourself driving at night. I hope you have mace at least?”

“Oh, right. Protection.” Why did my mind go to birth control, a hot topic over the last year or so. I always had to worry about protection, when would he take responsibility?

“Maybe stick to driving during the day?”

“Can’t. I work full time.”

“That’s rough. The economy is in the toilet. Hope things get better for you.”  He handed me a folded up bill as he left the car, disappearing into the night. I opened it to find Ben Franklin’s face, exhaled, and decided to call it a night.

***

Pulling into the driveway of our apartment, I sat behind that cursed car. My mind went back to the conversations of the evening and kept returning to the cigarette break on the beach. The rider was elegantly dressed, makeup done to perfection, and clearly unconcerned about her hairstyle going to hell. I should have asked about herself, my usual manners and curiosity suppressed by my latest punch in the gut. What was it she had said to me? 

Distracted, I tapped the Uber screen, activated my new debit card, and cashed out. 

“Don’t make it worse by betraying yourself.” That line came flooding back as I backed out of the driveway and drove away.