13 Months

November 05, 2006 | Category: Family, It's a Trip

My son was asleep in his car seat behind me. Around his wrist, a bright yellow hospital bracelet. I looked back at him often, my heart swelling in gratitude at his peaceful expression, his feverless cheeks.

Down on the car floor, my phone lit up and I ignored it. Despite being on Emergency Leave, my phone had logged over 30 incoming calls. 13 messages. My deputy had been let go due to budget concerns and my manager was attempting to fill in. I had told him a dozen times that I was not in a sitaution where I could deal with work. He kept calling (...)

All at once, the leaves have dropped down from the trees. Raining, floating, diving into the still-green grass.

There's a breeze that is something cool but not yet cold.

It's been 13 months.

"When did you leave your job?" She asks on the phone, clickety-clacking her keyboard.

"March, uh the last day in March."

"Uh, huh - and you didn't call us then?"

"No, no... I wouldn't be now, except I need a little relief for a few months... I hate these things..."

"March, 2006," she repeats, cutting me short.

Bear comes into the kitchen, clings to my leg a moment. I ruffle his hair and help him stand on the chair. And together, we build him a snack. Of fruit and milk and crackers.

"No peanut butter," he whispers. "It has a loud taste."

"Well, I'm going to put in your deferrment. Effective..."

"But I can still pay the interest, right? I don't want these things to grow... I haven't been in college since - "

"Let me finish," she says sharply. "Yes. Effective to May. That's previous. And expiring in January. The interest is $15 a month, pay that if you wish. Then we won't capitalize it. Which means, to add it to the balance of your remaining loan amount. Otherwise, your loan amount will be larger at the end of the year than it was at the begining. Do you understand?"

13 months ago, I was managing a project funded based on speculation of the return on investement on $40 million worth of capital assets.

I think I can understand what happens if I don't pay the $15.

Not that I say so.

"I have to ask, were you fired for cause?"

I chuckled as I helped Bear down and sent him off to the table with his snack.

He told me I wasn't being a team player. He fashioned an inconvenience into an emergency. Exhausted, angry, I finally hung up on him.

"No," I answered finally.

No, each of my annual reviews said that I used to be really good at the job I used to resent so much. That I exceeded expectations, even as I was ripped in two. No, lady, I used to be 'advancement tracked'. Ain't that a laugh?

"Is there anything else?"

"Uh, yes..." I nibble my lip. Finally, I say it out loud. "I think I want to teach. I mean, I want to write, but so far that just isn't paying the bills. And I used to teach, high school and college. It was years and years ago but I think I want to do it again. I would need to take some classes. Theology and half a masters in Project Management won't... I mean, I think I want to teach writing. Like that."

She waits for the actual question.

"I know I still have an outstanding balance from my first go-around but..."

"You want to know if you can take out another loan?" she asks, a little too snarky for my tastes.

Not that I say so.

My crisp assumption of power began drifting away from me when I left my career. When the world begain blinking its tepid eye at my Stay-at-home-mothering. When I stopped having a tally of how many I manage and how important my responsibilities were.

Now I wipe the counter, and wait.

"Yes," she says.

"Uh, yes?"

"Yes, you did not exhaust your maximums. You are in good standing. But we are not a lending institution...."

"I understand," I say hurriedly, hanging up. I want to whoop for joy, but instead I just smile at the plant hanging over the kitchen sink.

13 months ago, it was a thunderstorm. It was a yellow hospital band around my son's wrist and my husband's strength against my fears. It was the fog, and the clearing.

It was finding myself successfully climbing up a mountain, and then looking around to realize - it was the wrong one.

"More milk," he says, showing me an empty cup. His smile makes me forget the autumn night, the long road ahead, the lady on the other end of the line.

"Of course," I agree, reaching for the jug.

Of course.

Share: Delicious! | Stumble It! |   Slashdot It!