One Day Passes

This story contains mental health and suicide sensativies

Pebbles in the gravel are like boulders against the torn, paper-thin soles of Joann’s tennis shoes. The sun pulls her skin taut and red. A rumble rises from her stomach, then she gazes down at the can of dog food held firmly in her hand. It cost the change that now leaves her pocket empty.

A farm tractor sputters among ankle-high cornstalks. Ahead, a tree line borders the brook. Dirt shifts to off-white pavement. The can’s bottom scrapes against the top iron rail. Joann stops midway across the bridge and scans both ways down the road. She steps onto the curb and leans over.

Jump, end it all here.

—Not high enough—would just break my legs at best.

The unwanted thoughts persist, yet her heart slows. Hands quiver as she brings them to her sides. A hum grows closer, and she continues on.

Around the turn, shadows bring comfort, and the air is lighter as the breeze carries particles away from behind her. A pause to close her eyes. They are gritty and sore.

The cardinal to her right perches on a branch and chirps its melody.

“How did I get here, bird?”

The flutter of wings is its response.

A deep breath and another step forward.

Tire-rutted earth becomes dark, moistened soil, then grain on a porch. She touches the cool metal screen door handle while peering through the web of metal.

The interior is dark and still. The vertical wood-grained paneling and dark-brown carpentry are familiar. Yet, it is not home. The flooring shifts from stained carpet to smooth linoleum in the kitchen. Joann sets the can on the counter and opens the fridge. Cool air soothes her sunbaked face. A half-empty ketchup bottle. A quarter of a gallon of expired milk. She swings the door closed. A prayer comes to her lips as she slides the bread box open.

Thank you—no one likes the butt ends.

Joann stares aimlessly out the dirty kitchen window as she snaps the can opener down on the rim. The aroma of ground beef in a light sauce rises as she cranks the opener handle—dog food, the savory kind.

The bread feels dry as she pulls it from its plastic bag. After searching for which drawer, she finds a spoon. The pate clumps on the bread, endangering its wholeness. With the sandwich ready, she carefully brings it to her lips.

Joann wrinkles her nose and takes a large bite. The texture is similar to tuna with mayonnaise. With the bread dry, it does not go down smoothly. She turns on the faucet, leans in, and slurps the quenching, clear liquid. Leaning over the sink, another big bit, more water.

The churning in her stomach eases after the last bit and one last long drink. With the spoon left in the half-empty can, she takes it with her down into the damp basement. Exposed two-by-fours and partially paneled walls greet her.

Following the wall, she enters a small room that Gina’s parents gave her to use. She removes her shoes and leaves them in the middle of the floor.

One of the few possessions Joann still has is a guitar resting against its battered case. She picks it up, sits on the cot, and strums all six strings.

“The hunger in my heart… can’t take another day.” Joann sings, then moves her left fingers on the guitar’s neck. “Should I falter… would it matter, anyway?”

A ray of sunshine beams through a nail hole, illuminating a tiny spot on the opposite wall. The afternoon brings the sun through the glass sliding doors in the other room. While her thumb strikes the upper E string, she fixes her gaze on the speck. Joann doesn’t blink. A branch scratches a windowpane, and her breath smells of dog food as she exhales.

“Is there a plan? Is there a reason for such disarray? Give me strength to survive another day,” she sings.

The sound of the front door upstairs echoes a slam. Several footsteps creak above from her best friend's bedroom. Gina is home from work. Joann slowly stands and sets the guitar in its resting place. After moving the leftovers under the cot, she makes her way toward the glass doors.

She glances up the stairs.

I really need a job—stuck in a small town, U.S.A.

Outside, the edge of the cut timber of the weed-filled raised bed digs into her buttocks. The growth behind her sways against her bare shoulder as the buzz of swarming mosquitoes fills the air.

Joann’s name is called from inside the house. She remains silent, unwilling to share her dismal presence. An ant crawls up her foot and perches on the big toenail for an instant, then the ant scurries off.

“There you are. Didn’t you hear me?” Gina says, her voice playful.

Words catch in Joann’s throat as she slides over to make room. Gina plops down, her blue jeans brushing against her tender, burned leg.

Gina pulls a piece of napkin out of her back pocket. “I got news. Evert came into the cafe today, and I overheard he is hiring teenagers to work his self-serve gas station over the summer.”

Her friend takes Joann’s hand and gently turns it over, placing the paper in her palm.

“It is only five hours a day, three days per week.”

Joann gives Gina raised eyebrows.

“Can I walk there?”

A smile grows across her friend’s face. “It's right down the road, one mile on Jeddon Road, then about a quarter mile on the blacktop.”

The last time she tried a job, the water was so hot it scalded her hands, and Grandma cussed at her for quitting. Yet Gina went through all this trouble. She certainly can try.

“Come on, Joann, stop allowing things to suck you in. I know you will be great at this. It is outside, and I know you like nature.” Gina says, standing, then tugging at her arm.

The piece of napkin crinkles in Joann’s fingers as she ascends the stairs. Weight pulls at her hips, making each step a chore. Gina’s presence nudges her to pretend that all is normal.

Joann rests her hand on the hard plastic, takes it to her ear, and dials the number.

“Hello, this is Joann. I am calling about the job at your gas station… I am seventeen… Within the next hour.” She places her palm over the phone. “He wants to interview me. Can you drive me?”

Gina nods with a grin.

“I can be there. Thank you.”

Before Joann places the receiver on its hook, a small spark of relief flickers, then fades.

A sudden pain in her shoulder from Gina’s knuckles makes Joann fake a smile.

“What are you going to wear?”

Joann looks down.” What I have on.”

“Oh no, you don’t. Get your behind to the bathroom.”

Sitting on the toilet, Joann shuts her eyes as Gina applies makeup. She perspires at the thought of talking to a stranger and worries she will mess up the interview.

“There, what do you think?”

Peering into the mirror, Joann only sees a shell and looks away.

“It looks fine, though I do not see why I need makeup for a little gas station job out in the middle of nowhere,” Joann replies.

“I am jealous. You are so pretty, Joann. Time for some pants.”

“You are beautiful too.”

Her friend rolls her eyes.

Down in the dungeon room, Joann slips on a pair of blue jeans with faded knees. They are loose at the rise and an inch too short. She sighs, then slips her bare feet into her shoes.

Here I go back out to the wolves.

The car smells like food as Joann sits in the passenger seat of Gina’s little red car. She places her hand over her stomach as it growls.

“Didn’t you eat anything today?” Gina asks.

“Yes, I guess it wasn’t enough.”

“Well, I could've snuck something out for you. My sister probably would not have missed a hamburger.”

“I am fine. I do not want to be a burden.”

The gas station drive comes quickly. Two pumps are being tended by a man and a teenage boy. Gina parks on the grass, and Joann gets out. She walks over, sweat accumulating in her armpits, and stands quietly watching.

After the man finishes with the customer, he gestures for her to come over.

“Good day, I am Evert. I presume you are Joann?”

She nods.

“Watch James, and when the next car pulls in, I want you to give them fuel by how much they want. You will need to wash the windshield and, if asked, check the oil.”

Joann watches James's every move. The next car pulls in. She looks into the car's window.

“Five dollars, please.”

Her hand quivers as she takes off the gas cap and sets it on the fender. She releases the gas trigger and pulls the lever to “on”. At 5.00 she stops. Her hand is steady as she replaces the nozzle and the cap. The blue liquid drips from the squeegee onto the glass as the driver scrutinizes her movements.

“Thank you. Have a nice day.” Joann says.

With money in hand, she walks to the little building and hits a key. The register pops open, and she places the paper into its proper slot.

Evert is watching her as he leans up against the building next to the door. Her eyes meet his.

“I would like you to stay on until closing at seven. You learn quickly,” he says.

She agrees and shifts her gaze to Gina, who is waiting in the car. Her legs feel lighter as she sprints to her friend. Gina grins as Joann tells of her new circumstances.

“Okay, I will be back to pick you up… Wait,” Gina pauses and reaches behind her seat and pulls out a short-sleeved t-shirt. “Your shoulders already look crispy in that spaghetti-string tank top. Best put this on.”

Evert calls out that a car is waiting for her. She slips on the lightly musky, French-fry-scented shirt and runs back to the gas pump. Gina speeds off, waving her hand out the window.

A smile grows on her face.