Reading the Room

He was sitting at the bar, staring deeply into a glass of pale liquid with the faintest tinge of brown to it. His shoulders looked like they were barely held to their sockets as they curled in on themselves as if to ward off an unseen blow from the world around him. He had bags beneath his eyes and lines creased his face more than he remembered from a couple years back. He didn’t seem that old, but already the reflection in the mirror behind the bar seemed to paint the picture of a lonely old man sitting on his regular barstool, which made him feel even more deeply the fear he felt at returning home. 

“Can I top you up, Mitch?” the bartender asked. Mitch looked at the glass in front of him, trying to imagine it was one of the blended scotches he enjoyed when it was suits, not t-shirts and jeans that had seen better days he wore now. He downed the last of the whiskey, trying to contort the grimace he felt his face forming in response to the taste of gasoline into a semblance of a smile. “No thanks, Joe. I should be getting home anyway.” Joe had already given him enough pity, and Mitch knew that he would have to pay him back some day for all the sympathy and extra pours he had gotten, and Mitch didn’t really want to think about that at the moment. So he settled up his tab, put on his coat, and wandered out into the city to make his way home, where Maria was surely waiting.

People who stood in stark contrast to Mitch filled the streets: they had somewhere to be, people to see, and tight deadlines they needed to hold to, and he had none of those things for more than a year now. There are plenty of words people use to describe layoffs, and many are intended as a way of softening the blow when those discussions crop up, but nothing really do justice to the feeling Mitch has been wrestling with. In retrospect, his team was due to be canned, because the company wasn’t doing great, and that was what most managers did when their back was against the wall: cut people. Labor was expensive, even when wages weren’t necessarily keeping up with the cost of living, so why not cut the most expensive line item to free up some capital?

Mitch had already been laid off a few times in his career, so he knew the typical dance: the difficult conversation, the numbness that fills the chest when a workday becomes the first of unemployment, the filing for benefits, and the aggravation that comes with not getting a single call back, no matter how many times he’s revised his resume, drafted a tailored cover letter, or used an AI-powered tool to refine them to meet the needs of a job description. But as the months grew into double digits and he approached the two year mark of rejections, belt tightening, and feedback that gave a sense of how Mitch could have done better while saying nothing substantive enough to help, he could feel a steady sense of dread pulsing through his body constantly, like a second pulse that he could sometimes ignore and other times overwhelmed him.

One small bright spot was having Maria in his life. They had been dating for a few years before getting married in a small ceremony with immediate family only, and she had a way of making him laugh in the face of all of it, even if she did sometimes express worry to him late at night, when they were cuddling on the couch. They were fortunate to have her income still, and Mitch was so glad that she could remind him to not take life too seriously. But as he walked past the shops and restaurants they typically frequented, Mitch could admit to himself that it was getting harder every day to face Maria and let her know that yet another opportunity had slipped through his fingers. They both knew that the economy was flagging — it wasn’t in the headlines yet, but everyone you talked to knew jobs were drying up — but he had noticed that the light behind Maria’s eyes had dimmed a little more each time he told her another rejection had come in.

Which is why he took a moment to steel himself just outside the door, hoping there was something in him that could offer a little hope as Maria had done over all these months.

***

The meal was as perfect as she could expect it to be; she and Mitch had been talking about scaling back over the past few months, even though it wasn’t really necessary. Maria supposed it was pride that made Mitch feel like they had to cut back since his unemployment benefits and severance had run out, but she had worried that something else altogether might be going on. Mitch had looked even more worn down than he had been as new rejections piled up, and there were days when he wouldn’t even get out of bed until after noon, which worried Maria immensely.

When they were dating and in the early days of their marriage, Maria had loved the vibrant energy that Mitch had brought to the life they were building together. He was passionate about art, books, and big ideas, and could find the most intriguing, hole-in-the-wall places that awed her. It wasn’t one thing that had ultimately convinced her to say “yes” when he proposed; it was the reality that someone who loved life and the people in it had a special place for her in his heart. She had high hopes for the family they would eventually build, because Mitch was the kind of man who seemed to be practically born to be a dad.

When the layoff came, she had been nervous, because who wouldn’t be? But she had faced layoffs before and knew that Mitch was skilled enough to find something eventually. So she took it on herself to help him by offering the kind of support Maria herself would have wished for. She had seen enough of what happens when someone is treated like they failed when life gives you a setback. So Maria tried to lighten the mood when she could so Mitch could remember that life wasn’t all bad; there was always something to add a silver lining, even if it was a moment of laughter at tripping over the rug or a headline that felt too absurd to be real.

Still, Maria hoped that tonight would give Mitch a more sustainable boost to his mood than those little moments afforded. She could hear Mitch open the door, and felt the faintest flutter in her stomach as she tried straightening an already perfect table. 

“Something smells delicious,” Mitch said as he entered the room. He caught sight of the table as Maria came up to greet him. 

“Hey, baby,” she said giving Mitch a kiss. “I wanted to make something nice for us to enjoy tonight.”

“Hey yourself,” Mitch said, smiling as he wrapped his arms around Maria and gave her a little twirl. She could catch the smell of the whiskey on his breath, and hoped for a moment that maybe things were turning around all at once. When it rains, it pours, she thought happily. “I appreciate it. But what’s the occasion?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” she said, her smile broadening slightly. “Were you celebrating a new job at the bar?” Immediately, Maria could tell it was the wrong thing to say, as Mitch’s face collapsed quickly before he managed to catch it and fix it again with the appearance of joviality.

“Sorry, Maria,” he said more somberly. “I’m afraid not.” Maria could feel her heart sink in her chest. 

“Oh, that’s alright,” she said after a pause. “I actually had some news of my own to share, but let’s eat before it gets cold.” Thus began the dance that few people knew the steps to despite having gone on for centuries. Maria was sure that he would be happy, but there was a fear gnawing on her mind that the time wasn’t right, and that maybe she was wrong. How much can you truly know about someone and how they would react to things if they never faced them before? 

Somehow, Maria kept things from tilting in that direction throughout dinner so they could enjoy the meal she had worked to prepare for them while Mitch was out job searching. When the meal was cleared and the dishes were situated in the washing machine, Mitch grabbed a bottle of rose from the rack and offered to pour her some.

“I think I shouldn’t,” Maria said, trying to keep the smile that wanted to curl her lips on the inside.

“Are you sure?” he asked, beginning to work the cork free. “I know there’s nothing to celebrate, but after all the work you put into dinner, I figured you deserve to relax and unwind a bit.”

“I didn’t say we had nothing to celebrate,” Maria said, and the smile peaked through her best efforts. Mitch paused and looked at her for a moment, as if trying to read something from deep inside her. Then his eyes widened.

“Y-you’re…you’re not…” Mitch said, stunned, but unable to keep the glimmers of his own smile from his lips. Maria simply nodded and Mitch took her in his arms, a big smile on his face as he laughed while telling Maria how much he loved her. The weight of all the fear and anxiety of the past few months suddenly fell away as Maria finally knew that, come what may, everything would be alright.

***

Dear Journal,

I finally wrote the story I had hoped to write, despite my better judgment. My mother smiled when she read it, so that might be a good sign, because at least I captured something she could hold on to, even though she’s grown more silent in recent years as I entered the early days of my career. I wish she would talk to someone sometimes, but I suspect she wouldn’t know what to say, or wouldn’t believe what she was told.

I find it’s easier to write a story about someone’s life than it is to understand what’s happening inside their heads. My uncle told me once that everyone has a light side and dark side living in their minds, and it’s hard to keep the two in perfect balance all the time, because life likes to push us from one end to the other. Some people swing only a little between the two, some swing widely, and some don’t make it to the other side ever again.

The depression I deal with on occasion makes me wonder if there’s something broken in me the way my uncle described; maybe I’m prone to the darker half because of what happened to my dad when he closed the bathroom door one night and left my mother to pick up the pieces; maybe I have a stronger darker half because I never got a chance to know him except through the journals he left behind.

My mother, my uncle, and the rest of my family like to tell stories about my father where he’s silly, loving, and so filled with a love of life that it was only an acute moment of illness, a momentary lapse in judgment that no one could stop that led him to cut the story short. I wonder sometimes if everyone forgets that I have his journals, and have a chance to read the fears that consumed him regularly that he was letting everyone around him down. It’s possible that my dad knew we were fine and he was just letting his pride get the better of him when my mom was supporting us, but isn’t it equally possible that he knew something that my mom didn’t? He went on long discussions about how the world was changing too quickly, and how he feared the best moments of his career were behind him, which left him terrified of what my mother might see when she realized she married someone she didn’t really know.

It’s hard to say over twenty years later, because there was never a chance to find out. He wanted to be able to give us something useful, and the life insurance money helped put a cushion that I know now that my peers didn’t enjoy, which I’m immensely grateful for, despite never meeting him. Still, it’s strange to think about a man in terms of how much money he leaves behind for his loved ones, because it also meant I missed out on moments that others got to enjoy because of it. 

Maybe that’s why the story’s been living in my head for so long; I wanted some small way of reminding my mom — and myself — that despite the missed moments and the fear-fueled journals, he made her feel the way she deserves, that there was love for the idea of me even though he would never get to see it realized.