Sleep deficiency was at its highest. A feeling of lightheadedness hitting him, the adult man cheerleader blinked his eyes. The batch of leaves in his view going out of focus, Jeffrey blanked out in his position.
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After the initial awkwardness of talking about their dead spouses, Lena approached Jeffrey at the end of the bereavement support group meeting. Standing at the refreshment table, a water cooler between them, Lena introduced herself. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” she said, extending her arm for a handshake.
Switching the paper cup to his other hand, Jeffrey reached out. He said, “Thank you. This has really helped.” Behind them, loitering around in small pockets of people, were other grievers and supporters.
“Things will get better,” Lena promised. Her husband had been gone for nearly a calendar’s worth of days, and every day after was a test. She said, “It took me a long time. I didn’t leave my house. I lashed out at my friends, my family, anybody whose life was happy.”
Jeffrey tilted his head, listening to his new friend. “When did you know you were going to be OK?” he said. “When everything would be fine?”
Grievers dispersed one at a time around them, leaving only a few still lounging around.
Shrugging, Lena said, “I don’t know if I’m even at that point, yet.” Looking at the remaining grievers in attendance, Lena smiled as a woman collected her belongings to leave. The woman waved to Lena and then receded out of the room. “Sure, I’ve moved on,” Lena said, returning to Jeffrey. “I had to. But ever really feeling OK? I’m not sure I am.”
The group leader waved to the general assembly, rotating left to right to include each person in the room. He vacated without saying good-bye.
Lena, waving without acknowledgement, said, “You have to find things that make you happy. People who support you. It’s very important you surround yourself with positive people.”
Moving in closer, the words making an apparent impact on Jeffrey, she said, “I would look at old photographs of when I was happy just so I could feel that way again.”
A man tapped Lena’s shoulder as he walked by and waved. A big smile to his direction, Lena said, “See you next week.” The man nodded and continued the trek to the door.
Refocusing on Jeffrey, Lena said, “There was a picture from back in the day where I was climbing on one of those indoor rock walls.” Excited, able to share her stories with another person, Lena said, “I totally forgot about that day. So, you know what I did?”
Jeffrey laughed. He knew the answer, but instead of finishing her sentence, he said, “I can’t imagine.” A woman lurking in the corner listening in to the conversation triggered Jeffrey to acknowledge her and smile.
“I went out and rock climbed.” An “aha” moment hitting her, allowing her to recapture that feeling again, she said, “That whole two steps forward, one step back saying? That definitely applies.” Her hands in between them, animating while she confessed her life as if it was one dark secret, Lena said, “For me to move forward, I had to go backward first.”
Waiting for a break in the dialogue, the woman lurking said, “Lena, I’m taking off.”
Addressing the woman, Lena said, “Oh, OK.” Lena and the woman hugged.
Turning to Jeffrey, the woman said, “Thank you for sharing your story. I hope this group can help you move on.”
Jeffrey, his memory jogging back to the session, lowered his eyebrows and said, “You’re the realtor with the twin.” Smiling in melancholy, the woman nodded her head. His eyes enlarging, Jeffrey said, “I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”
Her hands up, palms facing the new griever, the realtor said, “No, no, no. I know what you meant.” Smiling with her teeth, she said, “I’m not offended. Once you’ve been here long enough, you’ll realize that.” Turning to Lena, the two women hugged again. This time, deeper, more meaningful. Lena, closing her eyes tightly, pulled the woman into her. The realtor started to cry. The crying turned to laughing.
Releasing each other and withdrawing, Lena holding the woman’s shoulders, she said, “Take care of yourself.” The woman wiped her eyes and nodded. Lena said, “I’ll call you later.”
The realtor smiled at Jeffrey, excused herself, and exited the room.
Lena, turning back to Jeffrey, said, “If you can find people who will support you, don’t ever let them go.”
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Standing in his room, Jeffrey closed his eyes halfway and then opened them. His vision was going in and out of focus. The time elapsed without warning. Jump cutting through his brain.
His head swirling around, his neck began to ache from the sharp pulls and tugs of his head dropping. A jolt lifted his head up suddenly. Shaking his head, eyes blinking repeatedly, the fading of Lena walking back and forth gave Jeffrey a headache. Body fatigued, head falling back as his eyes closed, waning to black.
In and out of his head, Lena was saying, “For me to move forward, I had to go backward first.” Visions fast forwarding from when She died to when he met Lena played underneath as the words, “For me to move forward, I had to go backward first,” zipped through his mind. Flashing back to his childhood, his days in school, his teenaged life, all the way up to his current existence, Lena was saying how for her to move forward, she had to go backward first.
“For me to move forward, I had to go backward first.” Echoing in his brain.
The inner Jeffrey, it was saying, “For me to move forward, I had to go backward first.”
When Jeffrey came to full consciousness, Lena was gone.
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Tuesday:
A STICKY NOTE ON HIS computer screen saying COME SEE ME started off the work day. Being a controller for a manufacturing plant allowed Jeffrey to be tucked away in a corner office. The accounting team pushed to one side provided an intimate atmosphere separated from the rest of the company. This allowed for a much needed stretch of silence. Especially since Jeffrey had had only a few minutes of sleep in the last couple days.
The office’s open area fit a pair of desks. One large secretary desk in the center of an alcove. Loretta had been an administrative assistant for all of her adult life. Her retirement was counting down on her window saver’s marquee for all to see. Each day, Loretta, she would change the date to reflect the countdown, uttering to nobody that she only had three years, fifteen days, twelve hours, and forty two seconds left.
“Forty one,” she joked. Laughing to herself, she said, “Now, forty seconds.”
An older woman, graying hair to her shoulders, Loretta inputted orders and then printed out papers for truck drivers to sign for pick-up. The printer was always shooting out pieces of paper. Her whole day was a cycle. A recurring cycle.
In between the data entry, Loretta would humor the truckers who flirted with her while their trailers were being loaded. Married herself, Loretta bantered back. “It’s good customer service,” she would always say.
Sliding the paperwork under the open slot under the glass divider, Loretta said, “Just need a signature, sweetie.” Waiting for the trucker’s John Hancock, she said, “Go ahead and pull in.”
The trucker, smiling his toothless bottom of a mouth, said, “I’ll go ahead and pull in.”
Loretta smiled, laughing at the double entendre. She was always making the drivers feel at home.
The driver backed his twenty-foot flatbed into the bay. Once in place, the fork trucks maneuvered around the semi. Picking up sheets of metal with their forks, the trucks loaded the large grades of steel onto the bed of the truck. Metal rubbed against metal, sending out echoes throughout the plant.
The driver, he was yelling into the window. Over the screeching of the steel, screaming toward the office window, the trucker said, “Have a good one, dear!”
Loretta smiled. Standing with a blank expression, she gazed out into the plant.
The other workstation belonged to Kelly, the accounting clerk, whose desk was enclosed in a single pane
l workstation. Her cubicle was near empty. The only thing hanging was a calendar with various days circled. A stack of paperbacks in the corner, her current read with a piece of cardboard she used as a bookmark.
Poking his head into the area to address his employees, Jeffrey said, “I’ll be back.” The Post-It, in big block lettering for all to see, was in between his fingers.
Without flinching, her fingers tapping away on the keyboard, Kelly nodded.
Before Jeffrey could get too far, Kelly said, “I almost forgot.” Pulling out a piece of paper from the top drawer of her desk, she said, “Here is the recipe for your birthday cake I said I’d get for you.”
Collecting the recipe in his free hand, Jeffrey said, “Oh. I didn’t ask, but thank you.”
“No big deal,” Kelly said. Her attention zoomed in on the monitor, she said, “I brought it in yesterday but you didn’t come in.”
Eyes moving side to side, his mouth slowly opening, Jeffrey said, “I wasn’t feeling it.”
There was no response from his subordinate.
Drawing up an excuse from thin air, he said, “Didn’t anyone notify you that I wasn’t coming in?” When Kelly did not respond, Jeffrey dropped the conversation.
In the plant, through Loretta’s window, there was a worker parking a fork truck into a stall. Loretta observed the operator, still peering into the industrial facility. “Loretta?” Jeffrey said. “I’ll be back.”
With no acknowledgement, her back toward him, Loretta waved her fingers in his direction.
Swinging back into his office, Jeffrey threw the recipe into the garbage can. He pulled out several tissues and then wadded them up and covered up the sheet of paper so that Kelly would not see.
Returning into the common area, sticky note in hand, Jeffrey announced, “I’ll be back.” Loretta and Kelly said nothing.
Walking through the plant, his cheerleader skirt blowing up against his legs as he passed each cooling fan, Jeffrey crossed a plant worker. The subordinate whistled at Jeffrey. He said, “Nice legs,” and then he laughed.
The steel fortress, during the summer days, saw temperatures in the triple digits. Many loaders, they wore protective masks and heavy duty gloves. Covered head to toe in denim uniforms and steel-toe boots. Often times, the laborers passed out from the heat.
When the bodies collapsed, supervisors would drag the workers outside, laying them flat on their backs until they came to. After a dozen employees fell unconscious, the company stopped calling ambulances. A splash of water and some fresh air were enough to bring them back to life.
The controller passed the loading bays. In each bay were stacks of steel waiting to be retrieved by customers. The workers in their stations stopped as Jeffrey sauntered by. The heat made his legs sweaty. Perspiration dripping down the hair on his shins. Ankle socks were soaking wet, his white cheerleader shoes accumulating dirt on the bottoms. Careful not to touch any metal, Jeffrey did not want to dirty his uniform that he was so proud of wearing.
Fans bolted up in each section blew through Jeffrey’s skirt, giving each employee and truck driver a Marilyn Monroe moment they could write home about.
One trucker whistled. Another waiting for steel fired his air horn. The sound deafened the plant, ringing through the eardrums of each person. The note sticking to Jeffrey’s finger attached itself to his earlobe when he plugged his ears from the loud horn.
Cutting a look to the trucker, Jeffrey noticed the driver laughing.
Continuing through the plant, Jeffrey ignored the expression on each employee’s face. Each look alternated from shock to sneers. Mouths dropped open as Jeffrey passed; his focus was only to the front office on the opposite side of the plant. Usually he stayed hidden in his office, only associating with Loretta and Kelly. The rare times he was in the plant, it was because Jeffrey was getting clarification on a transaction. Or in this case, meeting with the head honcho.
The Russian Red lipstick began to run down his bottom lip. The black eyeliner dripped down his cheeks. Nose itching from the foundation caused him to wipe his face. Jeffrey’s hand, smearing the makeup, it was now a dark bloody color. His face showed a smeared expression side to side. Smudged around his lips, black eyes spreading outward, Jeffrey’s face was a slow motion scene caught in a photograph.
Venturing through the humid plant, Jeffrey still had a football field length to walk. The laborers whispered around him. Their laughs echoing through Jeffrey’s head. They were bouncing off each other.
“Hey there baby!”
“How much?”
The hilarity, it was increasing.
“I got something for you!”
Jeffrey’s knees got weaker. The dark eyeliner ran down his face like death tears. The sticky note on his lobe blowing as he passed each fan. Lightheaded from the extreme heat and lack of sleep, his face tingling from the makeup, Jeffrey became dizzy.
Metal being dropped by fork trucks into the stalls, the noise piercing his ears, Jeffrey started to slow down his gait. From the dizziness, he started to drunk walk the rest of the way. Wobbling periodically and taking each stride with one foot directly in front of the other as if he were walking a tight rope, Jeffrey pushed onward.
His forehead glistening a peach stain, the masculine cheerer wiped it dry with his wrist. A smeared peach color to match the rest of his tarnished face.
There was only a semitrailer distance left. Jeffrey’s hair, it had expanded from the humidity. Ripping off the wig, Jeffrey’s real hair slicked back on his scalp, he ran the rest of the way. The Post-It note dangled from his ear, eventually flying off and floating down to his forearm.
Running full speed caused his skirt to float up in the air. Employees from afar, they laughed at the sight of the accountant’s backside. One laborer whistled. Another screamed.
The brain of hair in his hand, Jeffrey brushed the note off of his arm. Floating into a corner, the sticky note was a feather falling to the earth.
Employees hollering from their work stations, their testosterone increased by the second. Their whistles and comments blurred through Jeffrey’s mind. The truckers blew their air horns. And Loretta, she yelled out from the window, “You go, girl!”
Entering the air conditioned front office, a blast of cool breeze on his skin, the lipstick hardening before him, Jeffrey placed his wig on his head. Crooked, adjusting it on the fly, his face drying to permanency, Jeffrey knocked on his boss’s door.
His eyes felt as if they had rolled back into his head but were looking straight on. A sharp pain in his forehead, the air freezing his face, Jeffrey stopped all action and closed his eyes. A brain freeze stunned him for a moment. The black of his inner eyelids in front of him, he could see transparent squiggly lines moving down the darkness. When the shrill sting passed, Jeffrey entered the office.
Greeting his employee, the boss said, “Jeffrey, have a seat.” Jeffrey’s skin shrinking from the cool air as he claimed a seat, the company controller pulled out his own chair and sat down.
Sitting in the chair, Jeffrey was face to face with his employer. The boss, the owner of the company, he had built the steel servicing center from the ground up. Awards for small businesses, excellence in service, they were framed on the wall behind him. A full page newspaper article featuring the company was professionally framed, hanging next to the awards.
The icy gusts of air, coupled with the coolness of the leather seat, gave Jeffrey goose bumps. Skirt riding high up his thighs, every inch of his legs was covered in pimples. His makeup was stiff like plaster.
The boss, his head tilted upward, looking down toward his accountant, said, “Jeffrey, I know you just lost your wife.” The boss’s stare locked onto Jeffrey. The gaze burning through Jeffrey’s skull, the president of the company said, “So, I just wanted to see how you were doing.” Squinting his eyes, his nostrils flaring, the boss said, “Did you have a nice day off yesterday?”
The front of Jeffrey’s wig facing toward the window, his real hair was seen i
n various spots. There were tiny bumps on his cheeks from the foundation hardening and then settling. Jeffrey’s eyelids were now sticking to each other. Eyeliner smeared to his earlobes. His lips, they were a deep red.
Crossing his legs, thigh exposed, his knee was pasty white. Nodding his head slowly, he said, “I did. Thanks for asking.” Adjusting himself on the chair, Jeffrey said, “As for how I’m doing? Well, nothing seems to be wrong.” Focusing in on his boss, his eyes piercing, Jeffrey displayed a professional demeanor.
With his eyebrows lowering, the boss’s attention moved to Jeffrey’s knee. Moving up his skirt, eying the cheerleader sweater for a brief moment, the employer’s focus drew to Jeffrey’s face. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
Head shaking, the chill becoming unbearable, Jeffrey said, “Feel fine.” His nipples pulling and twisting from the cold caused him to squirm in his chair. “No problems here,” Jeffrey said, his voice an octave higher and cracking. “You don’t have to worry about me.” Attempting to compose himself, Jeffrey straightened his body.
For a moment, his posture was upright. However, the pain from his skin being yanked by the cold air triggered a high pitch squeal from his mouth. “Ahh!” The discomfort nearly pulled him off the chair. His butt sliding off halfway. Catching himself, flexing his calves, Jeffrey slid back up into his seat. “Why do you ask?” he said.
The air conditioner vent pushed out a breeze of freezing cold air, hitting Jeffrey directly into the face. Falling out of the chair, sliding down until the small of his back hit the edge, Jeffrey’s knees crashed into the desk. “Oh my God!”
Patting down his chest with his palms, his nipples hard like Candy Corn, Jeffrey said, “I’m fine. Seriously.” His face wincing from the pain of crushing the stiff nipples into his chest, Jeffrey said with his mouth and lips frozen still, “Really.”
Standing over top of Jeffrey, behind the desk, the boss’s arms out grabbing to help, he said, “Are you sure?” Reaching out, extending his hands, he said, “You don’t look fine.”
Drama Dolls: A Novel: [Dark, Suspenseful, Fast-paced, Exhilarating] Page 13
