The Freezer

Eileen had learned to recognize the sound of trouble before it ever reached her desk.

You knew trouble had arrived when you heard the click of high heels on the tile floor in the Wildlife Agency's hallway. It was the rush of silence that fell over the permits office whenever her supervisor, Melody Brown, appeared in the doorway. It was in the way everyone seemed to focus on their computer screens and lower their voices.

Eileen had worked at the agency for ten years as a Permits Processor. Her job was mostly paperwork: reviewing applications, checking wildlife permits, answering questions from the public, and making sure every document landed in the correct folder.

She liked the work.

She liked knowing that a permit could mean a rescued hawk getting transported to a rehabilitation facility, a biologist being allowed to study an endangered species, or an outreach educator being able to bring an animal to a classroom.

What she didn't like was Melody.

Melody had a talent for making happy days miserable.

"You didn’t send a thank you email," she would say.

Eileen would send the email and cc in Melody.

"You took too long."

Eileen would point out that thank you emails aren’t required in the operating procedures.

"I can’t keep reminding you to send them."

If Eileen worked faster, Melody complained that she was careless.

If Eileen double-checked everything, Melody said she was too slow.

And if Eileen dared to explain herself, Melody would instantly message her friend in the technology department, and say in a not so hushed tone, "This girl is really trying my patience."

Eileen had stopped arguing months ago.

She had started keeping a record of everything instead.

Dates. Times. Witnesses. Copies of emails.

Still, every morning she felt a headache form in the center of her forehead when she walked through the agency's front doors.

One Wednesday afternoon, Melody stormed into the permits office carrying an application.

"Why isn't this finished?"

"I'm waiting for the applicant to send the rest of the rehab documentation," Eileen said.

"You should have called them."

"I did. Twice."

Melody slapped the application on the desk.

"Then call again."

"I will."

"And don't give me excuses."

Eileen stared at the paper after Melody walked away.

Something inside her finally cracked.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Just enough.

That evening, Eileen drove home through the rain thinking about her grandmother.

Her grandmother, Ellen Rose, had been the kind of woman who always seemed to know exactly what to do when life became difficult. She had kept jars of herbs in her kitchen, dried flowers hanging upside down on the porch, and old handwritten notebooks tucked into drawers.

When Eileen was a child, Grandma Rose had told her stories about their family traditions passed down through generations.

One story had always fascinated her.

"If someone won't leave you alone," Rose had once said, "there are ways of getting to em without hurtin em."

"Like what?"

Ellen Rose had smiled.

"Some people puts em in the freezer."

Eileen had laughed.

"Really?"

"It's an old way of doing things," Ellen Rose had said. "Ya see freezin the name freezes the trouble. You ain’t hurtin nobody. You just askin for the botherin to stop."

At the time, Eileen had thought it sounded strange, almost evil.

Now, sitting alone in her kitchen, she remembered every word.

She opened a drawer and found a small stack of loose-leaf paper.

For several minutes, she simply stared at them.

Then she wrote:

Melody Brown

She looked at the name.

"This is ridiculous," she whispered.

But she wasn't laughing.

She folded the paper away from herself once.

Then again.

And again.

And once more, until the name was hidden inside four neat folds.

She placed the paper into a small plastic bag, poured water into it, sprinkled in a little salt, and added a pinch of hot pepper.

For a moment she held the bag in her hands.

She remembered Grandma Rose's warning.

"Never freeze a name in anger."

Eileen took a deep breath.

"I'm not trying to hurt her," she said aloud. "I just want her to stop bothering me."

She sealed the bag and placed it at the back of her freezer.

Then she closed the door.

The next morning, Eileen went to work.

At 10:15, Melody walked into the permits office talking on her phone.

She didn't see the director, Lee Wilson, standing around the corner.

"Melody," he said.

She froze.

"I'm sorry, I was just—"

"I asked you yesterday to prepare the freedom of information report."

"I was going to."

"You're on the phone during work hours instead?"

Melody hung up.

Eileen kept her eyes on her computer.

She said nothing.

Two days later, the center received its first unusually harsh customer complaint about Melody.

Then another.

Then another.

Eileen heard about them only because Lee asked her to locate several permit applications connected with the complaints.

"This is becoming a pattern," he said quietly.

Eileen nodded.

She wondered about the plastic bag in her freezer.

Then she told herself it was coincidence.

A week later, a storm rolled through town.

Strong winds tore branches from the old oak trees lining Melody's street. One enormous limb crashed onto the roof of her house.

Nobody was hurt, but the damage was noticeable.

When Melody returned to work the next day, she looked exhausted.

"My house," she told a coworker. "A tree fell straight through the roof."

Eileen heard the story from across the office.

She felt a chill run down her spine.

That evening, she stood in front of her freezer.

The little plastic bag was still there.

"You have got to be kidding me," she whispered.

She almost threw it away.

Instead, she closed the freezer door.

The next week, Melody had her first car accident.

It wasn't serious. She backed into another vehicle in a grocery store parking lot.

A few days later, she was involved in another accident when someone slid through a wet intersection.

Two accidents in one month.

By then, Melody was convinced something was wrong.

She became distracted.

She forgot meetings.

She misplaced paperwork.

She snapped at customers.

And the more frustrated she became, the more mistakes she made.

One afternoon, Lee called her into his office.

The door closed.

Eileen couldn't hear what was said, but she saw Melody leave twenty minutes later carrying a folder.

Her face was pale.

The next morning, an email went around reminding employees about workplace conduct and customer service standards.

A month later another write-up came.

Then another.

Melody blamed everyone but herself.

The permits office.

The customers.

The director.

The computer system.

Even the weather.

Eileen watched it all with a strange mixture of guilt and disbelief.

One evening, she called her mother.

"Did Grandma Rose really believe in that freezer thing?"

Her mother laughed softly.

"Your grandmother believed in a lot of old traditions."

"Did they work?"

There was a pause.

"Your grandmother would have said the important thing was what your intentions were when you did them."

Eileen looked toward the kitchen.

"What do you mean?"

"She always said fear and anger could make people feel powerless. Cunya gave them a way to take that feeling back."

Eileen thought about that.

Maybe Grandma Rose had never intended the freezer to be magic.

Maybe it had been a way of saying: Enough.

The following Friday, Melody was called into Samuel's office again.

This time she stayed for nearly an hour.

When she came out, she walked straight to her desk and began packing her things.

Nobody spoke.

She put files into a box.

She took down maps, and photographs.

She emptied her coffee mug.

Then she stopped beside Eileen's desk.

For a moment, Eileen expected another complaint.

Instead, Melody said, "I can't do this anymore."

Eileen looked up.

Melody's expression was tired.

"I'm leaving."

Eileen didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry," she said finally.

Melody nodded and walked away.

By the end of the day, she was gone.

The permits office felt different without her.

Quieter.

Lighter.

Peaceful.

Eileen stayed late that evening to finish some paperwork. When she finally got home, she opened the freezer.

The plastic bag was covered in frost.

She took it out and stared at it.

For the first time in months, she felt no anger.

Only relief.

She remembered Grandma Rose's voice.

The old ways aren't about changing someone else.

Sometimes they're about reminding yourself that you don't have to remain trapped in the same situation forever.

Eileen carried the bag to the sink to let it thaw.

Then she threw it away.

The next morning, she walked into the Wildlife Agency without the familiar ache in her forehead.

A red-tailed hawk was being transferred to rehabilitation, and a family had questions about a wildlife permit.

Eileen smiled and opened the first application.

Outside the window, a robin settled on a small tree branch looking at its reflection.

She paused.

"It’s a sign," she whispered.

Then she got back to work.