One Last Time

one more reprimand

Benjamin was on television. On Chloe's television. He was at Porterville High School, in the very hallway where he had first kissed her so desperately, it made her head spin and she dropped her flute and dented the mouth piece. He was smiling, his dimple in bright appearance, and he was surrounded by students from the Porterville High Student Band. He had just released his plan to fund the arts for underfunded schools across the country, and it was an immensely popular move. On the bottom of the screen, his poll numbers had bumped up so that he was almost neck and neck with Frederick Rodney.

Which reminded Chloe of two things: she was late for work, and she had made no progress on the Rodney article. She cursed and turned off the television. She grabbed her bag, her laptop and her coffee and flew out of the door.

While waiting for the next train, her phone rang. It was her mother.

"Are you eating well?" her mother's tinny voice demanded through the speaker, tangled with the soft chewy vowels of her Korean accent. "Sleeping?"

"Ne eomma, nan gwaenchanna-h" she answered as the train pulled into the station. "I'm going to lose service soon."

"Listen, did you see that boy on the news this morning? From your high school! Your boyfriend!"

"He's not my boyfriend, mom. We broke up a long time ago."

"Why?" her mother demanded. "He's such a smart man. So well spoken. Handsome."

Chloe rolled her eyes as the train began to pull off towards her stop.

"I'm losing service on the train mom, I'll call you later."

"And why don't you play the cello anymore? Or the flute? You could have been on TV too --"

The call died as the train dived deeper into the tunnel, further away from reception, leaving Chloe feeling relieved. Her mother liked to pretend that she was always right, but in truth, it was only her hindsight that was 20/20. When Chloe had been dating Benjamin, all her parents could see was his race. Mixed race for them meant half-bad, and there was nothing he could do to change their opinion of him. Except run for president, apparently.

"Hi, Greg," Chloe said as she blew past her boss to get to her desk. "Sorry that I haven't sent you the Rodney article, I got caught up in personal stuff this weekend."

"Don't worry about it," Greg answered, not even looking up from behind the thick rims of his glasses. He was putting together the next week's spread. "Kate got invited to Rodney's rally and she's going to interview him so we're going to put that article up instead."

Chloe froze.

"Wait, what?" she asked sharply, whirling to face her boss. "What do you mean? So what am I supposed to be working on?"

Greg shrugged, still not looking up from his work. He adjusted the brightness on one of his lamps. "Work on that personal stuff that caught you up this weekend," he quipped. And Chloe felt the fingers of cold rage crawl up her spine.

"Why didn't you send me to the rally instead?" she asked. "I'm just as good of a writer as Kate is. Sometimes better." Greg gave an annoyed sigh and took his glasses off to look up at her.

"Kate is passionate about the Daily, Chloe. She likes coming into work every day. She's serious about what we do. You walk around with your nose in the air like you think you should be at the Times. But guess what? You're here. You work at this shit paper and you give me shit articles because you think you're the shit. So I gave the story to Kate. Because Kate's excited about it and wants to do it. I'm not sure what it is you want to do, but you definitely don't want to be here."

"I'm a good writer. I turn my articles in on time," Chloe fumed. "I do my job."

"You do what you have to so you can earn a paycheck. Jesus, Chloe, I'd do you the favor of firing you myself if I couldn't tell that you need the work so badly."

Greg's words stung like a slap to the face. It was true. She did need the paycheck. But she was humiliated that he could tell. Humiliated that she didn't carry herself better, that she'd allowed her struggles to be evident in the way she dressed and behaved.

"You're right. This is a shit paper. I could do better than this."

"You can," Greg answered, completely unruffled. "But you won't. Because you're too afraid to take any risks." Chloe recoiled. Greg rubbed his temples, and then picked up his glasses again. "I need good writers. Our readers deserve good writers. When you came in here ten years ago, you were a good writer. Its why I hired you. So when that Chloe finds her balls and comes back, let me know. Until then, Kate has the Rodney piece."

With that, Greg put his glasses back on and returned to his work, effectively dismissing her. Stunned, Chloe turned and walked out of the building. Her fingertips were numb. She didn't know where she was going until her feet took her back to her apartment. She opened the door. Set her things down. Went to her closet and pulled out her cello.

And for the first time since she'd graduated high school, Chloe closed her eyes and played.