About Me

A practising lawyer, living in London with his lovely spouse, and 2 dogs . Making a living of the law, while trying to find time to write and express

Sunday 22 July 2012

WORK FROM HOME


 Randall sat murderously quiet.  He heard the office door close and Jack Vanetter returned to his chair on the other side of the desk.  Jack tried to look compassionate.  He gave it a good try.
“Randy,” he started, and stopped.  Randall could see him struggling with the handful of words HR had prepped him with.  Randall thought that Jack was really not cut out for this sort of thing.
He said “Randy” again, and stopped once more.
Randall thought, ‘this could take all day at this rate.’  He let his mind wander as Jack looked for what needed to be said.
On the way in that morning, Randall got to thinking about Lizzie.  He pictured her standing by the door, wearing a serious look.  She had Sarah’s way of crinkling her forehead, but also the innate ability to smear breakfast all over her face.  The area from her nose to her chin seemed to be dyed a permanent shade of orange or red.  He couldn’t take her seriousness entirely seriously, but he did his best to seem sincere.
“Daddy,” she said, waiting to continue until she had his full attention.  “Will you be home to watch Idol with me?”
Randall weighed his options:  an unconditioned yes; a maybe; or the truth.  He tried to convince himself that today would be different, that he’d slip away quietly by 6 pm; that it would not take him over an hour and a half to make the commute home, all white knuckles and profanity; that he’d pull into the driveway before the sun had slipped below the horizon.  He knew she’d be at the window when he arrived, no matter what, so he said ‘maybe’, he’d do his best.
Even then, at 6 a.m., it felt dishonest.
On the way in he passed a small sign on the side of a hill next to an entry ramp to Highway 8.  In the fall and winter it had been clearly visible.  “Work From Home”, it exhorted.  No details or instructions, or perhaps the rest of the sign had fallen off.  Still, Randall thought, it made its point.  The tall grass of the hillside had crept up, so that only a bit of the white of the sign was visible.  But he knew its message was still there, unmistakable.
Across from him, Jack’s mouth was moving, but he was far away or underwater and the words were reaching Randall muffled and incomprehensible. “Not working out …”  Randall thought that maybe it was Jack who was drowning, seeing the almost panic in his face.  He made no movement, and he imagined that his silence was making it harder on Jack.  It didn’t matter, he told himself, the particular words.  He knew the gist.  He’d heard rumours.
Randall thought about the garden edging he’d bought on the weekend.  He’d need to start installing it this Saturday.  He put it on his mental to-do list, also knowing that he could count on Sarah to remind him of the tasks to be completed.  He imagined pounding the individual pieces of edging into the ground, with steady uncomplicated thwacks.  Randall pictured the smiling woman on the box.  He figured if the petite blonde on the box could install this product without breaking a sweat, he’d be up to the task. 
Randall wondered what Lizzie and Sarah were doing just then.  Eating mac ‘n cheese?  Doing laundry?  Building a princess castle in the living room with blankets and pillows?  He wondered what he was missing, putting the things he’d already missed to one side.
Jack’s mouth kept moving, and his brow furled and unfurled like a flag in the wind. “We need to think about the organization … package …”  This was serious.  Randall was again reminded of Lizzie’s question, and the sign by the road.
Thwack, thwack.  He drove in another piece of edging, separating garden from lawn.  Placing things in their separate categories.  Work:  Home. 
Thwack, thwack.
Randall thought of the million things he needed to be doing just then.  He started to get up from his chair as Jack continued to explain what the company was offering him, on the way out the door.   He told himself:  if Jack finishes up quickly enough, I can beat the traffic. 
Thwack.  Thwack.
I might even catch the evening news. 

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