I give the cat her cheese and stroke her scruffy, black fur. “He’ll be here soon.” I whisper the words to the cat and take a deep breath. My body tenses with excitement. Knowing I will see him soon sends my heart into a frenzy. I lay down on the hay, and the little cat cuddles with me, no doubt trying to stay warm.
I wait… But tonight, he does not come. Where is my Henry?
Chapter 3 – Ferrin
Waking the next morning, I open my eyes and find Estherly’s diary staring me in the face. My stomach twists with sadness when I think of what I read the night before and all that the Jewish people went through during those times. I wonder how a human being could ever treat other people so badly. The Holocaust has always disgusted me, but after reading Estherly’s account of some of the horrors she faced, I’m sickened.
Checking my bed for Otis, I roll onto my back and let out the air of my lungs.
“Poor thing,” I say out loud, as I find Otis and pet him. “Here she was, trying to get an education, and those Nazi jerks made her life hell.”
It’s inconceivable that the Holocaust even happened. I wonder how anyone on this planet could allow such awful things to go on, and then I think of what happens in our world today. Terrible atrocities take place every single day. It breaks my heart and sends me into a depression, along with the thought that I have to pry my butt out of bed and go to hell (otherwise known as TelCom Digital Systems).
“Otie, Momma has to get up. I’d give anything to stay in bed all day with you”—I turn and face Estherly’s diary—“and read that, but if we want to keep living in our nice house and eating food from the grocery store, rather than trashcans, then I have to go to work.”
As if sympathizing with me, Otis crawls up to my face and kisses the tip of my nose. Staying in bed a little longer than I should, I get lost in thoughts of Estherly, Mae, wondering who Henry is, and Estherly’s family.
Noticing the time on the alarm clock, I push myself out of bed and rush around getting ready for work. As I sit on my bed, pulling on my flats, my eyes move to the diary on my nightstand. I catch myself gawking at it again and thinking of Estherly. Something about her captivates me. She’s like a character straight out of a great novel. Grabbing the diary from the nightstand, I tuck it under my arm and carry it downstairs. I can’t leave it behind. Whisking by the bench that sits near my front door, I grab my insulated lunch bag before heading into the kitchen. Walking into the laundry room, I grab two bags from a pantry shelf. Closing the door, I step back into the kitchen. Gently placing the diary into a plastic grocery bag, I then open my refrigerator and peer in. I take my pre-made coffee, my yogurt, and the sandwich I fixed before I went to bed last night and stuff them all into my lunch bag. Panic sets in when I look at the clock on the microwave and realize I’m running ten minutes behind. I jolt through the hallway, grab my purse off the same bench I grabbed my lunch bag from, and hurry out the door. Skipping my walkway, I decided to run across the grass, even though tiny droplets of dew cover the blades. I open the passenger side door and throw my lunch bag in, but take my time putting the diary on the seat. It’s so fragile, I don’t want to damage it.
Hurrying to the driver’s side, I get lost in thought again when I glimpse the hunter-green garbage cans at the curb. Even though I know it’s completely silly, I warm at the sight of Sam’s trashcan so close to mine. A flash of the two of us standing in that spot last night pops into my mind and my insides somersault. Moving my eyes to the front of Sam’s house, I envision him walking out the front door in a robe that accidentally falls open, showing off the ripples of his chiseled chest and revealing he’s wearing boxers. I know it’s not possible because Sam works from home and sleeps in. I know this cause I’m a total stalker. Lucky bastard, I think, as I switch my gaze to the huge, gray clouds gliding through the stormy sky. I’d give anything to work from home and not have to keep clocking in for the job that sucks the life out of me.
Pulling myself out of my daydreams, I hop in the car and turn it over. Pulling out of my driveway, I head for the freeway, thinking I should go to Sam’s after work and grab the rest of the boxes he mentioned giving me last night. There may be more of Estherly’s belongings or diaries in them.
It’s not even 12:00 PM and it feels like it’s already 5:00 PM. In my ear, the thirty-fifth complaining, rude customer curses at me because she didn’t pay her bill on time and we shut her services off.
“I can’t believe you jerks would turn my phone off when I was only a little late. I didn’t even get my bill,” gripes the customer.
My eyes shift from the time display in the corner of my monitor to Estherly’s diary waiting for me, resting on my desk.
While I was stuck in the typical bumper-to-bumper traffic on my way into work, I couldn’t help pulling the book from the bag and staring at it, wondering how much of Estherly’s story it’ll contain. I had opened the diary and glanced down at her elegant handwriting. Before I had a chance to read any of its contents, someone blared their horn for me to move two feet. Ever since, I haven’t been able to concentrate while working. All I want is for 12:00 PM to roll around, so I can read more of Estherly’s story.
Someone clears their throat behind me, bringing me out of my fog, and I instantly recognize the vile sound. It’s Roger. Crap!
Getting back to work, I push a button on my telephone and unmute myself. “I apologize that you didn’t receive your bill for last month’s services.”
“You stupid bitch…”
Phlegm gurgling in Roger’s throat over the sound of the customer spewing insults makes me nauseous. I’m pretty sure staying on the phone with the customer is better than hearing what I’ve done wrong today.
“Ma’am, there’s no need to call me names. I’m here to help you. Ma’am?”
Great. The customer hangs up on me while my supervisor is pestering me.
I log myself out of the automated call center system before another irate customer beeps through. Spinning in my chair, I stare up at Roger. My eyes immediately go to the enormous zit unearthing itself on his chin. Internally I chuckle, then remember the joke’s on me. Roger is three years younger than me yet treats me like I’m a child. Even though he’s got a pimple the size of Mars on his wrinkle-free face. I’ve worked for TelCom Digital Systems longer, yet Roger is the one I must answer to. I dread what’s coming next because I’ve gone through this for over a year now. Roger has the innate talent of picking on me for every little thing I do.
“Hello, Ferrin.”
“Hi, Roger.” I grit my teeth.
I notice the clashing colors of Roger’s tie. The skin on his neck makes its way over the edge of his collared dress shirt. As if on cue, Roger reaches up and adjusts his tie and collar. He then moves his hand back to the clipboard of death.
“I’m going over your numbers from this morning, and your talk time is excessive. Now, we’ve gone over this before, so I’m not sure how to get it through your head: your job isn’t to shoot the crap with the customers. You fix their issues and take their payments. Now, how can we”—he emphasizes the word ‘we’ in a sarcastic tone— “get your talk time down? I don’t want to have to write you up.”