Autumn Shucks

CHAPTER ONE

Cigarette ash began to sprinkle upon my wrist. Twirling my bad habits betwixt my black nail lacquered fingertips. Plopping soot above my veins. A tornado of emotions overwhelmed me. I can't grab the door handle on this one. I'm nearly one puff away from snuffing this stogie out on my radial artery. So help me Miss Universe, I am just about fed up with this job and it's only been two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Ugh.

Please don't make me go to work today. Make it rain Mount Vesuvius on my place of employment so that the time punch melts off its hinges and renders me physically incapable of clocking in because the entire clothing department is drowning in molten magma, the floor is lava, and it's okay because I wanted to call out anyway.

Fuck, did I forget my phone? I searched my pockets frantically. This happens every day of my life so why am I so persistent on repeating it? I kept rifling through my things for a cellular brick so that I could smash my brains in with it. Where the heck did I put it.

Couldn't I just walk out in front of the bus instead of catching a ride on it? No really, I'm asking you. This is a legitimate inquiry. I'm desperate for a valid excuse to not have to go in today or ever again. And – there's my phone. Front center pocket. Beneath my pack of smokes, a lighter, and a rubber ducky. In cases I require distraction.

Okay. I'm just going to do it. I'm going to call in. I'm sick. I've caught dysentery. I'm pulling an Oregon Trail on these kind lovely people who made the grave mistake of hiring me. They're going to hate me. Right down to my feeble little bones.

Ethan more so, because he tossed his necktie on the clothesline to get me this job. But I can't adult right now because I've already lit that candle and I am melting with anxiety. I shifted my focus towards the road for a quick moment to make certain the bus wasn't coming even though I no longer had plans to hop on it. I really don't like surprises. Or bank holidays. Best to have some prior knowledge of both so neither creep up on you.

Relieved, I was in the clear. No bus in sight for miles. Nothing on the road but fallen leaves. Crunching underneath the cars that occasionally whizzed by. The crisp autumn breeze lifting a select few to dance beneath my bootstraps. And as my hand shook to press the dial pad, I panicked. My guts were knotting up.

Who does this. Who can barely live and continue to function? Apparently me, but why though, and for how much longer can I keep this charade up? For what purpose do I serve other than to constantly disappoint people and pay my taxes.

It was in that moment, like so many before it that I had come to the conclusion that my life would never amount to anything. So with that thought kernel dancing like fresh popcorn in the microwave I figured, why. Why even bother with any of it, with life in general. My existence consistently proves to be more of an inconvenience than a contribution to society.

As my thoughts were slowly dissipating into the stratosphere much like the plume of smoke coming from my cigarette, soap bubbles ranging from small clusters to droopy behemoths began to float whimsically around the transit center. From where, I don't know. A moment ago they hadn't been. But now they seemed intent on taunting me. Peculiar in nature, they only appeared interested in congregating in my general vicinity.

I paused from making the call to pop a few with my lit cigarette. Momentarily lacking concern with their origin or purpose. It felt rather satisfying, and a much needed diversion. A childlike sensation that made me long to be a kid again. A much simpler time when I didn't have to worry about such trivial things.

Each burst sent a prism of chemicals drifting towards the sidewalk, splattering the pavement with remnants of what they once were. While others who'd managed to escape my wrath trickled off and upwards towards the sun. Now shrouded in bellowing clouds. Which had been gradually siphoning condensation from the atmosphere in preparation for an all too inevitable sleet of rain and meteorological depression. Though, one couldn't possibly expect anything less from Seattle, WA.

The public transit may evade predictability, but umbrella weather was something you could always depend on. However, three years a resident and I still refuse to invest in such an awkward to stow contraption. Who do you think I am, Mary Poppins?

"Well Quack, looks like you're gonna get to sail the seven puddles and river raft through some sewer pipes, at least one of us is going to get a kick out of this repetitive forecast," I mocked, peeking into my purse and cradling my rubber ducky.

It was then. After my albeit brief inner monologue that I realized despite the increased veracity of drizzle, the bubbles were still circling me, or rather the bus stop I sat perched at. The amusement of popping them myself had escaped me, for the rain was executing a rather thorough job of doing so by it's own volition. Robbing me of the entertainment and joy, I began to look down at my phone, until. One soap bubble in particular. Popped, and resulted in a hard THUD.

Where a stain of soapy residue would have landed on the bike lane of the street ahead of me, a young man sat hunched over in its place.