Chapter Three, Part 2

If you're new here, or just want to catch up, the everything that has happened up to this point is here.




Back at my desk, I felt exhilarated. I’d figured out quite a bit, met a man whose life I’d saved, humiliated a lecherous pig and still had half the day left! Now, if I can just ferret out that interview thing, I’m set. The feeling gave me hope for this life-path. Better job than before? Check. Friends? Check! And only on my second new life-path. Wonder what the average is. I mean, if there’s an average – does Death do this sort of thing often? Probably wouldn’t tell me even if I did ask.

My computer beeped; an email had arrived. No sender name, no subject, just “Not often.” I looked around, but didn’t see any evidence of Death. I appreciated that he answered at least part of the question, though. To avoid wasting more time on pointless ponderings, I searched the computer in earnest, seeking more clues to what all I had done, needed to do, and would need to do.

An hour later, I’d managed to look up directions to my home address, and also the bus schedule/route, just in case. I didn’t have a bus pass, and I did have a car key in my purse. No image of a car to go with it came to mind, and I couldn’t begin to guess where I’d park. I could take the bus home, and then look around my house for clues to my car and try to make my brain remember where I’d parked, but worried if my car would be safe overnight wherever I’d left it. Well, not much I can do until it’s time to go home, and if I haven’t remembered by then, I guess I’ll just bus it.

I settled into my work fairly easily, a feeling similar to when a long-forgotten song come on the radio – as you sing it, all the words come back. By the end of the day, I’d actually accomplished several things on the day’s task-list, and felt good about the work I’d done. The clock on my computer showed 5:32, which seemed an appropriate time to quit for the day.

I’d just clicked on “Shut down” when a young woman poked her head into my cubicle and said “Oh, good, about ready to go? See you in the lobby!” and darted off. Guess I usually leave with her, I thought, glad that I could follow her to the bus stop or parking lot.

Even better, I carpooled with this pleasant woman, whose name rested just on the tip of my tongue. Begins with an M? but that’s all I could get. When we got to her car, she popped the trunk and waited for me, until I realized she expected me to put the bag in it. I did, relieved. Twice, today, I am saved by someone giving me a ride!. I slid into the passenger seat and pulled the door behind me. Molly that’s it! Molly chatted away about her day, her new boyfriend, the sweater she really wanted to buy, if it would only go on sale. I liked her in the way you enjoy a young cousin. Cheerful and full of energy even after a long day of work, Molly didn’t seem to notice that I barely said a word. Maybe this is normal for our ride home. I also wondered if tomorrow would be my turn to drive and how I’d figure out where she lived.

Molly dropped me off in front of a short, orange-brick building with “Blossom Avenue Apartments” in brown script letters over the door. Must be the place, I decided, seeing the number on the building. It looked clean and several balconies had flowerboxes, always a good sign. Molly smiled and said “Same time tomorrow?” to which I nodded and hoped that meant she’d pick me up then. Collecting my things from the trunk, I got a little excited to see my place. In each life-path, I got to start all over, and there’s always some thrill in that.

I strolled up to the building as Molly sped off. Fortunately, my driver’s license had the current address, apartment number and all, so I dug out my keys and tried each one on the locked glass door until one clicked and I could enter the lobby.

I don’t know why, but pretty much every apartment building I’ve ever been in looks the same – a gray entryway, with a couch or a couple chairs which have seen better days. A row of mailboxes - silver, a bulletin board with flyers all posted on top of each other and a door for stairs, or an elevator. Never any art on the walls, never an occasional table, a lamp, a mirror or one of those little plaques that says “Welcome!”. The sight always wearies me a little, and seeing no elevator wearied me further. Apartment 213, well at least it’s just one flight up.

I’d held the key from the front door, but it didn’t work in the lock of 213. The third key I tried did, and even as I let myself in and dropped my things by the door, my phone rang. I couldn’t help but smile remembering the loneliness of the last life-path and here, I already had a friend calling.

Predictably, the voice on the phone belonged to Karen, more of a relief to me than I cared to let on. She had called to hear all about my interview. Dang, dang, dang! How do I know how it went? Nice of her to ask, though.

“Oh, I think it went fine. I really don’t want to talk about it too much – might uh, jinx it, you know?” Bless her, she agreed, “But listen, I just wanted to tell you that I know I don’t say it enough, but I really treasure our friendship. It means the whole world to me, seriously.”

A long pause came after my little speech, which surely must have come as a surprise . “Uh, that’s great Lynn. Really, I mean it, I love you, ya know, but uh – what brought this on? You dying or something? Am I?” I chuckled at her humor.

“No, I just, well, let me tell you about today . . .” and I recapped for her the conversation with Franklin (Karen: “Wow. Dude. That’s. . . just. ..wow.”) and then admitted to her I’d been keeping a secret, one that had been eating at me. I came totally clean about the affair. I told her everything I could remember about how it started, every lie he’d told, every time I hadn’t been total honest with her so I wouldn’t have to admit what I’d been doing. By the time I finished, I assumed she’d hang up and have nothing to do with me ever again, but like the wonderful friend she’s always been, she didn’t.

“Geez,” She started, compassion in her voice I didn’t expect, “That’s probably been really tough on you, not feeling like you could tell anyone.” I almost cried at her kindness; thinking of my feelings first.

“Yeah,” I sniffled, holding back the tears, “I really hated myself for doing it and for not telling you about it. But I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“I sure would have!”

“And you’d’ve been right. I didn’t want to see it, but I knew. I knew all along he didn’t love me and it was wrong, but I just, I don’t know, wanted to believe someone like that could love me. Someone smart and rich and powerful.”

“Of course, you did. And you know what, not him, but someone who really was smart would love you.” We talked for another 20 minutes or so, until finally Karen said “Hey, how about if I just come over, we’ll get a pizza, I’ll pick up some ice cream on the way and just hang out?” Karen always knew exactly what I needed.

“Sounds perfect!” I hung up and changed out of my work clothes into the fuzziest, comfiest pajamas I could find. My enthusiasm for “just hanging out” might have seemed odd to someone who didn’t know I’d spent the last few weeks with no friends. I wished desperately I could tell Karen about the life-paths, but not even Karen would believe that, no matter how good a friend, and I assumed Death wouldn’t approve of me blabbing about it all over the place. Having her coming over, seeing her in person and talking to her – that was enough.

As promised, Karen showed up with two gallons of ice cream, triple chocolate for her, vanilla with mini peanut butter cups for me, plus a jar of hot fudge to heat up in the microwave and even a shaker of sprinkles. Before long a large extra cheese pizza and some jalapeño poppers were on the way from the local pizza place. We popped in “Say Anything” and curled up on the couch with our feast of fattening foods between us. All the gourmet food I’d had while famous didn’t taste half as good as greasy pizza eaten while giggling with a true buddy.

While we ate and half-watched the movie, I rehashed my whole sordid story to Karen. I expected some sort of recrimination, some lecture – at least a short one – about how I’d known better, how I’d been an idiot to get involved with a married man, how we’d always sworn we’d never do that. But none came. Karen laughed at the parts I could laugh at already, nodded knowingly when I confessed how I’d let it happen, passed the ice cream when I admitted that even knowing about his wife, I’d let myself fall in love. that’s a friend I told myself, and that’s what makes it all worthwhile.

That night will always been one I remember, not so much the specific conversations, the movie or the food itself, but the feeling. The warm security of having one true friend, a comfy couch and way too much food. Karen ended up staying over. At some point, we’d gotten into the beer and it wouldn’t have been safe for her to drive. We giggled again as we set her up on the couch and hoped we wouldn’t have hangovers for work the next morning.

Fortunately, I woke up fairly clear-headed. I remembered, finally, where my car was, but that I didn’t drive the “carpool” until next week. I still didn’t remember what I’d auditioned for, but figured I’d know when they called me either way. I could bring up the names of several more co-workers, as well as some incidentals, like where the nearest grocery store was and that I’d run out of hair conditioner the day before and not purchased any.

Even with unconditioned hair, I had a great day, one of those sit-com kind of days when little things go your way. I think I’m going to like it here.

* * *

Days later, I woke up in my bed and thought about how much I’d been enjoying this life-path. While in ways it was very similar to my original one, the subtle differences changed everything. According to my day-planner, I played my guitar at a few of the same places, but only once a month or so. Karen had mentioned something to me about volunteering at a nursing home, and I conjured up a few memories of singing “oldies” to a small flock of gray-haired ladies in an overly-bright room at the retirement home where Karen worked as a nurse.

It occurred to me that in the last life-path, I’d had all that money, and I’d done no good with it or myself. All the times I’d daydreamed about winning the lottery and how I’d support this or that charity, and if I didn’t have to work I’d volunteer here or there, and there I’d been, wealthy and idle and lonely and it had never crossed my mind to do something for someone else. Not that it did me any good at this point, but maybe I’d have made friends if I’d have volunteered somewhere. Maybe I’d have felt better about myself if I’d given some of that money to organizations that could have put it to better use.

Well, can’t change it now, but lesson learned. Idly, I wondered if lesson-learning was the point of life-path hopping, or just an incidental. I’d learned easily enough in the previous one that fame and fortune weren’t going to make me happy, and in this life I’ve already corrected the biggest mistake I’d been making. I had friends, family and a decent life.