The Storm Wtihin

7:15 Friday morning. Time to get out the door for work. Stacy grabbed her purse, keys, and cell phone before going to the living room to slide into her sneakers. She hurried to the kitchen to get her water bottle out of the refrigerator, then picked up her lunch box and set the alarm before rushing out of the apartment. Stacy closed and locked the door behind her, then stood for a minute, listening to the alarm counting down. She wished the day was over. It had been a long and difficult week at work and she was more than ready for the weekend. Stacy heaved a deep sigh then walked to her car, stepping carefully to avoid the duck droppings that littered the sidewalk. She unlocked the door, set everything inside, then got in and sat for another moment before buckling her seatbelt and starting the engine. Stacy backed out of the parking space and began her driver to work, wishing desperately that she could stay home. There was too much going on, knowing that she had to move soon and find a new apartment to rent for herself and her 15 year old son, in addition to packing everything up and cleaning their current apartment.

Stacy drove to work, fighting the urge to cry. She couldn’t fall apart, not yet anyway. She had to get through the day at work, then do the grocery shopping. Once she was home, then she could collapse. She was thankful that her son was spending the summer with his godparents, so at least, she wouldn’t have to hide her tears from him and pretend that everything was okay. Her older son was out of town, so she would have the apartment to herself once she got home. “Please, God,” she whispered as she parked her car at work, “please help me through the day. I’m so tired and I don’t know if I can do this.” Stacy turned off the engine, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Please, please, please.”

Stacy removed the keys from the ignition and opened her door. She stepped out of the car, gathered her things, then closed and locked the door. She walked across the parking lot, squinting in the sunlight. Once inside, she walked to the back office, greeted her coworkers, and set her stuff down. Stacy put her purse away, turned on her computer, and clocked in, chatting with Livia, the usual commentary about how glad they were that it’s Friday, if they got paid yet, and how they were ready for the weekend but that the weekends were always too short. Stacy turned to her computer, checked her emails, and prepared for another day of phone calls, emails, and helping Lily and Livia dispatch the tow truck drivers to pick up vehicles as the assignments came in. The minutes ticked away as Stacy did her work, doing her best to smile and greet the drivers as they came in, to keep her voice calm as she made and answered phone calls, and to speak with her coworkers.

She made it until 10:15 am and then she felt her eyes watering again. Stacy quickly stood up; and hurried to the restroom, hoping that no one from the other office would be in there. Thankfully, it was empty. Stacy entered the first stall and locked the door behind her. She took her time using the restroom, blinking hard to keep the tears back as the stress and worry threatened to overwhelm her. “I just have to make it until 12:00 pm,” she whispered, “and then I can relax while I eat my lunch.” She heard the bathroom door open as someone else entered the restroom. Stacy finished her business, opened the door and washed her hands before returning to her desk.

She continued her work, glancing at the clock occasionally to check the time. Shortly before noon, one of the drivers called with a problem. He was at a shop to pick up a car, and the people at the shop were telling him that the amount due was higher than what the insurance company had authorized. “Give me a minute,” Stacy told the driver. “I need to call the insurance adjuster. What is the exact amount?” The driver rattled off the amount, which Stacy wrote down. “I’ll call you back as soon as I talk to the adjuster,” she promised the driver. Stacy ended the call, and dilated the number for the adjuster, hoping that they would answer the phone. No luck, she called their supervisor, no luck. Stacy composed an email as she dialed the adjuster’s phone number again, marking it as urgent and emphasizing that the driver was waiting at the shop. The adjuster answered this time, and Stacy explained the situation, that the shop had forgotten to add a labor charge, so now the amount was higher. The adjuster put Stacy on hold, and then her other phone rang. It was the driver, asking if he could pay the charges and pick up the vehicle. Stacy rolled her eyes as she explained to the driver that she was still on the phone with the insurance adjuster and that she would call him as soon as she finished talking to the insurance adjuster. The driver hung up, and Stacy carefully set the cell phone back down, resisting the urge to throw it across the room, since that would be unprofessional. The adjuster came back on the line, authorizing the charges. Stacy used her most cheerful voice to thank her and request that she either note the file or reply to the email that she’d sent. The adjuster promised to reply to Stacy’s email, and they ended the call. Stacy called the driver back, told him to pay and pick up the car, noted the file, then finally clocked out for lunch.

She hoped to have some time to herself, but no such luck. People from the other office were in the lunchroom, heating up their food and chatting. Stacy greeted them, and found a spot where she could sit alone and scroll through her phone as she ate. She didn’t want to chat, and she definitely didn’t want to think about everything, as that would bring the frustration and worry to the surface. Stacy ate her food, speaking with people if they said something to her, but mainly focused on her phone. Her lunch break was over all too soon, and Stacy went back to her desk. “Just four more hours,” she told herself. “I can do this.”

The afternoon dragged on. Stacy kept herself busy with more phone calls, emails, and closing calls that were showing as being late. She had to bite her tongue a few times when Livia said something, not that she said something wrong, but the comments rubbed Stacy the wrong way, especially with her mental and emotional state in such upheaval.

Finally, finally, Livia’s alarm sounded, announcing that it was 5:00 pm. “Do you need anything else, Lily?” Stacy asked, peeking around her computer screen so she could see Lily. LIly shook her head and Stacy began the process of shutting down her computer and turning her phone off for the weekend. She picked up her lunchbox, water bottle and purse, made sure she had her cell phone, and grabbed her keys. Stacy said goodbye to Lily, and then to the drivers that were sitting in the hallway. The heat outside felt good after being in the air conditioned office all day, but inside her car, it was super hot. Stacy left the door open for a few minutes and turned the car on to get the air running while she tried to call her son. He didn’t answer. “Of course,” she grumbled. “I need to talk to him before I can figure out what we are going to do about our apartment.” Stacy drove carefully to the store, hoping to find a close parking spot. They were full, so she parked a little further down and dialed her son’s number once again. Still no answer. Stacy got out of her car, grabbed the shopping list and the plastic bags, then slammed the car door shut, frustrated that she hadn’t been able to speak with her son. She marched into the store, dropped the bags into the recycling bin, and wrestled with the shopping carts, eventually freeing one from the line of carts.

Stacy started walking through the store, her irritation growing each time she had to backtrack to find an item. “Why?” she wondered for what felt like the thousandth time. “Why did they rearrange the whole store? I used to know where everything was.” Glancing at her list, Stacy was glad to see that she only had a few more items left. She hurried through the store to find the last few items, and got in the shortest checkout line she could find. Thankfully, it was a cashier she’d seen several times, so Stacy had a brief conversation with her as the cashier scanned the items. Stacy quickly walked out to her car, and loaded the bags into the back, debating about what to eat for dinner. Due to all the stress, she was hungry, but everything she thought about eating didn’t sound good. She didn’t want to have to park and go inside to order something, but all the places with a drive through didn’t sound appetizing either. Stacy drove home, trying once again to call her son. He answered the phone this time, and she kept her tone light as she explained to him about the situation-that his older brother who helped pay the rent on their current apartment was moving out, so they had to find something else that was less expensive, and that maybe it would be a one bedroom one bathroom apartment, especially if he didn’t want to change to a different school.

Her son was very calm about it, and said whatever works would be fine, but that he doesn’t want to change schools. Stacy thanked him for understanding and for being such a sweetheart about everything, and told him not to worry, that it would all work out. She hung up, and took everything inside, glad to be home before the announced thunderstorms hit. Stacy put the groceries away, and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich, staying calm until she’d finished eating and cleaned up the dishes.

She went to her bedroom, intending to brush her teeth and put on her pajamas before going online to hunt for an apartment. Instead, she curled up on her bed, the tears finally breaking free. Stacy sobbed, thankful that she’d managed to keep everything under control during the day, but she was so tired of pretending that she was okay, that everything would be all right. She’d told her son that everything would be all right, that they would find another place to live and create a spot for him to have his own space, but she wasn’t sure she believed her own words. She eventually calmed down enough to brush her teeth and put on her pajamas, ignoring her phone ringing. Even though her son’s godmother was calling, Stacy just didn’t have the mental energy to answer the phone and talk to her, to pretend that everything was going to be okay, that she was okay. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow, maybe,” Stacy whispered as she crawled into bed and turned off the lamp. “Maybe.”