Wish We Never Started

21

My uncle shakes my hand from across his desk, the kind of handshake that shows authority and makes you wish the interview was over before it begins.

"It's been a long time," he says, clicking his pen open and closed. He has gray stubble and a crooked smile, just like how I remembered. The picture windows behind him draw in sunlight, casting shadows around his office.

"It sure has," I agree, trying to stay calm and keep my shoulders up like my mom always taught me.

"Why now?" he asks me, "why not two years ago?"

My uncle's face is clearly confused, head tilted, like I am the world's biggest idiot for not doing this when promised.

"I wasn't ready," I tell him, suddenly feeling small in his presence, "I wasn't ready for anything. I still don't know if I am, but I know I need to get my crap together now."

My uncle nods thoughtfully, taking it all in, "your mom has relayed that to me many times."

I nod, "she has made it painfully clear to me as well."

My uncle shuffles some papers around on his desk, staring at them for a moment. I swallow hard and keep my hands in my lap, trying to take peeking glances at the entirety of the office.

"So," my uncle begins while putting his glasses on, "I have an office available for you. You'd mainly be doing computer work, paper work, attending and collaborating in meetings, answering emails. It's a nine to five and starts at twenty eight an hour, but I will give you thirty if you accept today. Because, you know, you're family."

I try to keep my eyes from bulging out of my head. That's practically double what I am making at the diner.

"Okay, yes, I will take it," I tell him quickly, the allure of the offer too good to pass up.

"Great!" he exclaims, pushing some paperwork towards me with a smile, "it's about time."

I feel his eyes burning through my body as I pick up a pen and hover it over the paper. I just have to sign my name on the highlighted spot below.

I sign in cursive, Gabriel Park.

Then, my uncle pulls the paper away to reveal another.

"Sorry kid, there's a few more," he apologizes while flipping through the rest of them to show me.

After I've signed my life away and filled out some other things, we agree that I will start Monday. This way I can work my diner shifts this weekend and let them know I'm leaving.

I thank my uncle and he gives me another handshake, this time coupled with a look I can't quite read – almost like a warning.

The bus picks me up the next block down. This is going to be my morning commute now, every day. Bus to work, bus home.

I get off at the stop closest to the diner and begin walking. My plan is to let Bob know I am leaving today, because this is the earliest notice I can give him since I just signed the papers fifteen minutes ago.

When I reach the diner, I walk in the front entrance. It's busy and full of lunch regulars – mostly older couples and some teenagers skipping school.

The red and white theme of the diner seems more excessive than I've ever noticed before, maybe because I usually enter through the back. All of the miscellaneous decor scatters the wall, reminding me of a page in an I Spy book.

I scan the room to see who is working. Katie is at the soda bar, two waitresses I recognize are taking orders.

"May I help you?" someone asks to my left, snapping me out of my daze.