Exit Sign: a Theatre of the Mind

Chapter 8 ~ October 9th

Where is he? she thought. Elizabeth sat on the couch scrolling through her phone. Her eyes were glassy with exhaustion, haunted underneath by the day's dark circles. She'd taken her contacts out and put her glasses on, one step closer to the place of dreams. She let her eyelids slip slowly down then yanked them back open when she realized she was sleeping and not blinking. Her phone screen reflected off the glass lenses as she scrolled and scrolled. He must have worked late. I'm so hungry. I wonder if Dad'll call back. Probably not. I hope Dave remembers to grab supper. I wonder how Mom's doing. I can't wait to go to sleep.

Dave came through the door with his hands full of groceries. The bags shushed against each other with the crinkle of plastic.

"Hello. You're home. What took you so long?" asked Elizabeth as she smiled as much as she could with her sleep soaked face. It was a dear and pleasant smile as warm as a hug and as refreshing as an autumn breeze. 

"We got out a little late, and I had trouble finding things at the store."

"Okay. Are you ready to eat?"

"Sure," said Dave as he headed to the kitchen. "How was work?"

"Not good."

"Tell me about it."

"Everyone was in such a bad mood. 'Where's my package? Why don't you have this in red? Well, you better give me a refund!' I had a customer make monkey noises at me today. Not good."

"Monkey noises?"

"Yes. She told me, 'I bet you're a rep from one of those dumb states in the South. I always get you stupid reps. I bet you didn't even graduate high school! I bet you can't even read! I bet you're inbred!' And then she just started making monkey noises."

"Did you tell her to shut up?" asked Dave.

"No."

"Reasons why I can't work in a call center. You're so patient with these people. I don't know how you do it."

"Thanks. I don't know either."

"Did you transfer her to the offensive line once she started 'oohing' at you?"

"No. It's too much work to do that."

"Yeah, it'd be easier if she just wasn't a jerk in the first place."

"Right. If I transfer her, I have to find the call later, I have to write a report to my supervisor saying what happened, and I have to do both of those on the clock and in between calls or spend my break taking care of it. It's more hassle than it's worth." I hate Christmas. I hate the way it makes people behave.

"I understand. It's easy for me to say, 'She's a bully. She needs to be socked in the mouth so she shuts up.' But, you're the one who has to throw the punches when I say that."

"Yep." And tomorrow, I spend all day taking more punches.

"I gave a homeless guy some money on the way home."

"Oh yeah?" Why on earth would you do that? You're always complaining about money, and there you go, giving it away.

"Yeah... I know we don't have a lot to give. I know you work hard, so I feel kind of bad just handing it out."

"No, you work hard too. It's your money too. How much did you give him?"

"Seven bucks, I think."

"Oh, okay. That's not bad." That's an hour of your life, Dave! How can you do that? We have bills to pay. You don't pay them though; I pay them. I pay all the bills. I do all the chores. All you do is sit around and be sad. Get over it. Your sister passed away years ago. You're only sad because you won't do anything with yourself. I have problems too. My parents have been at war since before I was born. I've lost people too. I don't get to see my brothers and sisters for Thanksgiving or Christmas. My dad barely talks to me. My mom only calls for one of two reasons: she needs something, or she wants to talk about Grey's Anatomy. I—