The house is empty when I get home. No Kurt. No Chloe. No one with whom to revel in my newfound freedom. I do a few laps, slap myself a few high-fives and sink into the couch to reflect on my grand mistake.
This is one of the most economically depressed areas in New York State, if not the whole world. Businesses are clogging the highways at all four winds trying to get out. What can I possibly do for work? What can I possibly do for money? My options don’t stand on the side of the law. Maybe I can find someone to hire me, but it’ll no doubt end up being a job just as infinitely terrible as the one I just escaped. In a trait typical of fascist governments, the businesses hold more sway than the workers because it’s those same corrupt corporations that put the politicians in power. Workers are trod underfoot, and as they are crushed and discarded, it is labeled as ‘free market economy’ and ‘healthy competition.’ Then, when those workers have to rely on the State to survive because no jobs exist for them, they are declared trash and a burden on the ‘good workers’ whose jobs haven’t been cut yet. I’ve just jumped head first into the pool to become one of those burdens. It’s ‘healthy competition’ when a decent working man can’t feed his family. It’s ‘healthy competition’ when the unemployment rate skyrockets and this is somehow the fault of the unemployed. They just weren’t good enough workers to convince that greedy CEO that he shouldn’t vote himself a pay raise and take an extended vacation, and send their jobs to Mexico. Then, on top of that, it is somehow the fault of the Mexicans who are just happy they can put food on their own tables.
There are no phone calls, nothing from Alicia. Nothing from Alicia. I check it a third time to be frightfully sure. Nothing from Alicia. I consider calling her, but I’m sure she is still too furious to talk to me, and who can blame her? You really fucked up this time, Valentine. Of course, she would be gone in less than a month. Still...
Nothing left to do but check my e-mail.
Two ads for porn. One letter from a friend in Atlanta. A rejection from Remission Press. I open it up and read:
Mr. Valentine,
We recently reviewed your novel, Can I Go Out and Kill Tonight, and we liked it very much. We are interested in speaking with you concerning a publishing contract for your work. If the novel is still available and you are interested, please contact us at the address I have provided. We look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Jayne Sawyer
Remission Press
That’s not the rejection letter I would expect to receive. I read it again to make sure it’s actually what it says. Then, I read it again. My brain is stuck. This is not what I expected to be reading. I’m not exactly sure how to react. How does one react? How does one react? How? They want to print my novel. I’ve made it. I’ve actually made it. The glamor, the glitz, the ritzy late-night gala parties at the New York apartment of some under-appreciated celebrity. It was all right before me, right in my hands, waiting for me to grab it and run for the goal. I could almost wrap my fingers around it.
But not yet. If I was going to wrap this story up well, I had to get the girl, right? Can’t let that detail go unnoticed if I’m going to write, “Happily ever after,” right? I stare down at the phone on the end table for a minute or two, drumming my fingertips together in front of me. It’s time to make this day worth remembering after all. The terrible job is gone, the book deal is dangling in front of my nose, and all that’s left is to reclaim the girl and ride off into the sunset. I punch in her number and hold it to my ear. It rings once. Twice.
“Hello?” asks a winded Alicia on the other end.
“Alicia,” I say. “It’s Rubin. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a couple minutes.”
“Sure,” she says apprehensively. “Go ahead.”
And we did. And it was good. We went off and did things. I went to Phoenix for a time. Then California. Then I did some other things that weren’t really pertinent to this story. I may have been with Alicia for a while, or may not. Again, it’s not all that important here. What really needs to be focused on here is that for all intents and purposes, with our without each other, all the characters in this story lived happily ever after.
END
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