Most weekdays after showering, she would quietly tiptoe on the old, rickety hardwood floor down the narrow hallway, past the boys’ bedroom, through the small living room into the small kitchen, for her morning cup of herbal tea.
This was the only time of day when Tamika could sip her tea in peace and quiet. Once the kids were up, it was hectic until bedtime. With the wooden floor so brittle in so many places, it was a constant challenge to not wake them each morning.
Arms spread out for balance, the mother of two resembled a circus tightrope walker trying to get to the kitchen. A few weeks ago, one of her long, thin fingers knocked a framed picture of her two sons off the wall, ruining any chance of a peaceful morning all to herself. Jamal, 5, and Dante, 4, were both light sleepers.
After eight hours, almost anything woke them. Then it was “Mommy this” and “Mommy that” until they left for school.
Not counting those infrequent accidents, with so much practice over the years, Tamika pretty much knew where to step and where not to. As long as she didn’t walk onto an unknown creak or crevice on the floor, or a cockroach or mouse her pet cat Cocoa hadn’t yet caught didn’t suddenly startle her, she was usually able to reach the small kitchen undisturbed.
Squeezing in sideways, her 5'5", 135-pound frame slid easily onto a brown corduroy throw-pillow placed inside a three-foot-deep bench built into the kitchen bay window. Tamika grabbed her teacup off the small table next to the windowsill, then draped a blanket over herself to cut off the chill pressing through the window.
This cozy little nook had become her favorite place in the apartment. Not only did Tamika do her best thinking from there, it offered the best view of the city—limited as it was—and the most sunlight for when she was reading. Mostly nursing books.
While most tenants lined their benches with makeshift gardens, kids’ toys, stuffed animals or various religious artifacts, Tamika kept only the oversize throw pillow and blanket there, in case she ever needed it. Jamal and Dante knew this was Momma’s place, not theirs.
Cocoa jumped up and snuggled next to Tamika. This was the feline cat’s daily way of informing her human guardian that she was hungry and wanted food.
Tamika stroked her fur, “I know you’re hungry, girl.” Cocoa got her name due to her unique chocolate-brown fur.
Waiting for her English muffin to brown, Tamika sipped her Ginseng tea trying to decide for the hundredth time which was more nerve-wracking; raising two children as a single parent in a huge metropolis, or driving a taxicab through it?
She took another sip of tea and concluded they were equally nerve-wracking. Raising two children as a single parent was a lot like navigating a New York City traffic jam. You always had to be on the constant lookout. Potential danger lurked at every turn.
Bottom line: you never knew what to expect on any given day.
When the toaster popped, Tamika plucked out the English muffin and smothered it with butter, then placed it on the table next to her tea cup. As the butter melted into the muffin, she filled Cocoa’s bowl with cat food.
Before sitting on the throw pillow again, Tamika paused upon seeing her reflection staring back at her in the glass window. Still visible in her thick and tightly coiled hair was a faint orange color from when she dyed it last Spring. Her hair was quite uneven, rising a few inches above her scalp in some places. Her dark skin was silky smooth, her face was round, and her brown eyes were almond-shaped. She had a plump nose, big lips and a slight gap in her front teeth.
Tamika sat down and took a bite of her food. Though she never worked on weekends, in order to have next Thursday and Friday off for Thanksgiving, she switched days with another driver. This was something she did each year. But it also meant she’d have to work ten straight days to have this cherished time with her family.
With numerous conventions taking place all throughout Manhattan this weekend, she just hoped the tips were good. With the holidays fast approaching she desperately needed the money. And business travelers were usually good tippers. Needed the money. What else was new, she thought, taking another bite of her English muffin.
Tamika took the boys shopping after school the day before for their Thanksgiving meal. As was often the case money always seemed to go fast at the supermarket, especially with two boys always wanting this and that. She had to put a few items back on the shelves when the money ran out.
But at least they got the turkey and some of the fixins. The boys looked at more than 20 turkeys before finally choosing what they thought was the perfect 15-pounder.
“Hopefully, I’ll have enough tip-money by Sunday to pay a few bills and get the rest of the things needed for Thanksgiving dinner,” she told herself under her breath.
As for dessert, she already placed her order three weeks ago with Mario Lorenzo across the street. No one’s pumpkin pies tasted like his. His reputation was legendary. To be guaranteed one of his freshly baked, mouth-watering pies for any holiday, orders needed to be placed weeks in advance.
Tamika ordered a pumpkin pie and an apple crumb cake. Sure, Mario’s cakes and pies were a little more expensive than the supermarkets, but it was one of the few ways she got to spoil herself and her two sons. The aroma from hundreds of freshly baked pies stacked on racks waiting to be picked up by hundreds of grateful customers was intoxicating.
“It was a smell to die for,” she often said.
Tamika heard the first waking sounds coming from the boys’ bedroom. Teatime was over. It was time to feed, bathe and dress her children before dropping them off at school.
Then it was off to transport strangers all over Manhattan and beyond and, in the process, not only be their driver but also their advice giver, shrink and fill-in friend. In the end, however, Tamika Moseley knew she would only be tipped for her driving.
Such was life in the big city…
2
SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY miles west of New York City, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, lived Brian Mulrooney. Driving eastbound on Route 14, in his black Hyundai Sonata hybrid, Mulrooney was mentally rehearsing his work schedule for this day. It promised to be a busy one.
Besides the many-scheduled check-ins, the business manager at the Marriott Hotel in Livonia, Michigan had three must-attend meetings. One was with an outside supplier. Another was with his General Manager, Susan Marlucci, no doubt to discuss crowd control stemming from this weekend’s Michigan-Ohio State football game.
The last meeting was with Carter Willis, the Upper Mid-West Regional Manager for Marriott. Though it would probably be a positive and productive meeting, everyone was on edge for it—especially Susan Marlucci.
On the job for nearly ten years, Brian Mulrooney spent the first eight years working the graveyard shift. He never enjoyed working all through the night as everyone else—including his girlfriend Renate McCallister—got to sleep.
He also disliked knowing that by the time his shift began, except for the late-night stragglers, most guests were already checked into their rooms. This left him to deal mostly with transferring phone calls to his already checked-in guests, scheduling wake-up calls, and the like.
In short: he often felt trapped dangling on the lowest rung on the corporate ladder.
When his promotion came eight years later, he jokingly thanked his bosses for finally trusting him enough to actually meet the people staying at the hotel. Of course, Brian knew it had nothing to do with a lack of trust on their part. He was simply paying the price for being the new kid on the block.
Now working the day shift, Mulrooney felt even more involved. A true people person, meeting his guests face to face was very important to him.
But the greatest benefit to working the day shift was that it allowed him to maintain a more normal relationship with his girlfriend of five years, and s
oon-to-be fiancée. That is, if Renate accepted his marriage proposal this upcoming Christmas. Brian felt pretty good about his chances.
Brian Mulrooney was a good-looking man. Thirty-three years of age, he stood a speck over six feet tall. He had light Caucasian skin and dark auburn hair which looked brown from a distance.
His eyes were deep set and pale blue. He had an average size nose, full lips and a typical Irish smile, to go along with a high jawbone and a slight cleft chin. The overall combination helped proportion his face nicely.
Mulrooney was really looking forward to this upcoming weekend. He was taking a week-long vacation, which would include being reunited with two childhood friends. The plan was to spend the weekend together in Michigan, before all three flew back to their hometown of New York City for a brief visit. Brian could already see his mother, Sarah, crying tears of joy over Thanksgiving dinner when he announced his intent to propose to Renate at Christmas.
But right now, he couldn’t think that far ahead. All he could think about was the next 24 hours. Having won first place in a customer satisfaction contest at work, Mulrooney was awarded two tickets to the Michigan-Ohio State football game.
The Michigan Wolverines were ranked #2 in the nation. The Ohio State Buckeyes were ranked #3. It was being dubbed by many as “the Game of the Decade”.
For most residents it was the only event that mattered in Ann Arbor and the surrounding areas this upcoming weekend. It was the big story on every local news and radio station; had been for many days, in fact. Even waiting in line at the supermarket or getting a drink at the water cooler at work, all conversation was zeroed in on one thing—the greatly-anticipated showdown.
Even Brian’s co-workers who weren’t avid sports fans had no choice but to focus on the game. The hotel was completely sold out this weekend—had been for months—mostly with crazed football fans and alumni from both respective universities.
Whenever 100,000 people invaded a small college town like Ann Arbor, many neighboring towns, cities and villages within a 30-mile radius also stood to reap some of the windfall profits. As soon as college football schedules were released for the upcoming season, hotel reservation lines lit up with fanatical fans looking for rooms.
Ann Arbor hotels were always the first to fill up for each Michigan Wolverines home game. Come game time, if you weren’t a celebrity, you weren’t with the press or television networks, or if you didn’t have personal connections, you had no chance of getting a room anywhere near Ann Arbor; especially for a game of this magnitude.
Once the relatively small college town filled up, many were forced to look elsewhere for lodging, and suddenly the Marriott Hotel—a mere 20 miles away in Livonia—no longer seemed so far away.
For the past two weeks, sports talk radio stations throughout southeast Michigan were flooded with calls day and night, all pertaining to the game. Sports fans frantically called in making various predictions. Players appeared as guests on these shows, along with graduates who’d played in games past. This served two purposes: it helped elevate the excitement level a little more, plus keep the nostalgia aspect alive.
Producers of these shows wanted to have all angles covered. Each time they went to commercial break, sound bites of top plays from past games tantalized each listener. It made for good radio.
All year, people from Michigan, Ohio and beyond, used this day to plan the rest of their fall and holiday seasons. In a sense, it was like a holiday, in that locals planned their schedules as either before the game or after the game. But nothing was planned on Game Day except the game.
More than 111,000 lucky fans would be fortunate to view the game from within the confines of Michigan Stadium. Countless millions more around the globe would watch it on television, the internet, MP3 players, i-Phones and i-Pods, sports blogs, and on the radio. The game would even be streamed in outer space.
Even the President of the United States of America, Jefferson Danforth—a huge Michigan fan and alumnus—was planning a get together with family members and friends at Camp David. Of course, the get together was put together because of the game.
The winner would automatically qualify for the playoffs featuring the nation’s four top-ranked teams. Come January, #1 would play #4, and #2 would play #3. The winners of those games would then play one week later for the NCAA championship.
The loser of the Michigan-Ohio State game would drop to as low as #8 in the national rankings. While it was still good enough to be invited to play in a major bowl game, it could never compare to having a chance to play for the national championship.
Truly, there was a lot on the line...
Currently, there were eight very good college football teams still in the running for one of the top four positions. The fact that all eight were scheduled to play this weekend only added to the overall excitement.
Players would give their very best come game time, leaving every last ounce of energy and strength on the field, as they inched and clawed their way into contention for the national championship.
As the college football world turns…
Fire and brimstone speeches were being delivered with great flare in locker rooms nationwide, as gruff-talking coaches made final preparations.
“Instead of focusing on possible bowl game scenarios, we need to focus on Ohio State tomorrow! The only team we have any control over is our own,” Michigan’s Head Coach Frank Mitchell, barked sternly to his players, trying to discourage them from paying too much attention to the various predictions being made by the so-called experts.
As it was, Michigan was only a one-point favorite, according to Las Vegas odds-makers.
For the athletic directors of these universities, playing in a major bowl game was the ultimate goal. Most good college football programs depended on being invited to play in a bowl game, because of the huge financial commitment corporate sponsors made to participating schools.
Naturally, the bigger the game the bigger the paycheck. In that light, the difference between winning and losing meant tens of millions of dollars for their respective universities.
Not a bad paycheck for a single day’s work. For the university, that is.
As for the students playing in these games, no one had to remind them that playing in a bowl game was a wonderful opportunity for them to showcase their talent on the field. Good players, especially, knew pro scouts looked to these games to see how they stacked up in the spotlight and handled the big-time pressure that came with playing in big-time games.
For most seniors playing in a bowl game, emotions were varied. Though honored and excited just to participate, for most, it served to end their careers as college football players. Only a small percentage—the elite few—ever made it to the next level, the NFL. Most would graduate like the rest and pursue careers in their chosen fields of study. Certainly not the NFL, but they’d nevertheless leave their respective universities with many great memories at their beck and call.
Compared to the few that made it to the NFL, perhaps it was only a consolation prize. But just to make it this far in their young lives put them in rare company indeed. Playing college football was something for which they could all be proud.
And, so it was, another eve of a Michigan-Ohio State football game...
Funnily enough, Brian Mulrooney wasn’t a Michigan Wolverines or Ohio State Buckeyes fan. A proud graduate of the University of Notre Dame, he was a huge Fightin’ Irish fan.
Each chance he got, he’d drive from Ann Arbor to South Bend, Indiana, to watch his #9 ranked Fightin’ Irish play. But thanks to his demanding job and active social life—which occasionally included being dragged off to environmental protests with his girlfriend and her best friend, Rachel Stein—trips to Sound Bend had become less frequent the past few years.
As much as Mulrooney would have liked to travel to South Bend, he had to admit, if only to himself, that the game in Ann Arbor was The Game. Much like the players being interviewed by the press, he sensed that he, too, would cherish the fact that he was fortunate enough to be there for the remainder of his life.
It wasn’t Notre Dame, but it was the Big Event, and Brian Mulrooney had two good seats on the 30-yard line, in section 44, row 13, seats 18 and 19.
Try as he might, he couldn’t contain his excitement. Like everyone else in Ann Arbor, he was totally consumed by it. Then again, not being excited would be an insult to the countless scores of fans who would do almost anything to have his tickets.
3
IN COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO, Justin Schroeder was just waking, very much feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. The lucky recipient of the second ticket, Schroeder was actually invited by default. Renate McCallister was Brian’s first choice.
But Renate had planned an all-day shopping spree with her older sister, Megan, long before he won the contest. There was no way she would cancel her plans; not even for an event of this magnitude! Besides, she wasn’t a football fan. Had she gone to the game, hers would have been a wasted ticket.
Justin Schroeder was the next choice. One of Brian Mulrooney’s childhood best friends growing up, it had been seven years since they last saw each other in person. Seven long years.
Just the thought of seeing Brian again filled Justin with great joy. Like Brian, after graduating from high school in New York City, Justin left the Big Apple to attend college, after he was accepted to the college of his choice, the University of Colorado.
Chaos in the Blink of an Eye Page 2
