The Reset Life of Cassandra Collins

by Shawn Inmon

  This is it, right? This is when I give up and go crawling back to Jimmy and see if he’ll take me back. I could stay with Mom and Dad until Jimmy and I could build our nice house again, and I’ll have a maid that shows up three times a week to do anything I don’t want to do. I will never so much as have to touch a toilet brush.

  She contemplated exactly that for several moments, then threw her shoulders back.

  Nope. I can do this. If I don’t breathe through my nose, I can do this.

  She looked through the cleaning supplies and found a pair of rubber gloves and some industrial strength cleaner. There was a nozzle built into the wall she used to fill the bucket. She poured the cleaner in, dunked the mop, and set to work.

  When she began, the concrete floor was mostly black. To her eye, whoever had last cleaned the restrooms had given it a quick pass and called it good. The goo and mold that was everywhere looked as if it had taken many months to reach this state, if not years.

  It ended up taking her three bucketful’s of water and cleaner to restore the floor to its original ugly gray. The toilets were worse. She got through it by putting her mind on the last season of Dancing with the Stars that she had watched. She had been rooting for Donny Osmond. When she finished with the two toilets and three urinals, the sinks were a breeze.

  Finally, two and a half hours after she started, she was done. It didn’t smell rosy-fresh, but the stink was gone, replaced by the smell of the industrial cleaner she had used. The urinals were once again white, and half an inch of soap scum had been removed from the sinks.

  She delicately pulled off the yellow rubber gloves and washed her hands. She took a handful of towels from the roller and dabbed the sweat from her brow.

  There’s something to be proud of.

  She pushed the empty bucket back into the office, then reported back to Al.

  “All done. What’s next on the agenda?”

  Al looked at her incredulously. “Have you really been doing that all this time? I figured you’d quit and gone home. I better come take a look.”

  Al stepped down from behind the counter like a prince dismounting his steed. He walked to the bathroom and stuck his head inside.

  “Huh. How about that. I’d forgotten the floor was that color. No wonder it took you a little longer. The girl before you used to get them done in fifteen minutes.”

  “I could tell.” Cassandra paused. “Wait. Get them done?”

  “Well, yeah, of course. The women’s bathroom is always the worst. Don’t know why that is.”

  Cassandra held up her hand. “Never mind. I’m not done yet. I’ll be back.”

  Al had not lied. The women’s restroom was much worse.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cassandra knew that her mother had told Al to give her the worst jobs he could find, to try and show her the error of her ways. To show her what her life would be like without the silk-pillow-lifestyle that the Collins fortune would offer.

  She did the lowest work there was to do at the bowling alley. Beyond making it her personal mission to keep the bathrooms the cleanest in town, she emptied the garbage, used a scooper to empty the huge ashtrays scattered around the lanes, and cleaned out the deep fryer. Plus, Al was always more than happy to let a day’s worth of sweaty, lane-used shoes pile up before he gave them to her to disinfect and put back in the proper place.

  She did all that and more but learned something new. She found satisfaction in taking something awful and turning it into something, if not nice, at least clean. On her own, she went shopping for various-sized brushes to clean parts of the business that hadn’t been cleaned in decades. And, she did it in her ugly, misshapen uniform.

  Cassandra found herself somewhat at loose ends when she wasn’t working, though. She didn’t know if it was because of their true age difference, or if it was caused by something else, but she and Kristen didn’t spend much time together. Kristen always seemed to have other plans that she described in a vague way, or had promised to help her parents with one project or another.

  A few weeks after she started working at the lanes, she found out why.

  She was working the counter one Saturday afternoon, handing out shoes and charging thirty-five cents a line, when a group of teenagers burst through the door, a small tornado of chaos and laughter.

  Cassandra didn’t recognize many of them, which wasn’t uncommon. Even if they were people who she had known in school, it had been so long ago from her perspective that she had forgotten most of them.

  Bringing up the back of the pack were two people she definitely knew, though. Jimmy Coleman and Kristen trailed the others by a few steps and were very chummy. In fact, Jimmy had his arm around Kristen’s shoulders.

  Seeing her husband, the only man she had ever been with, with his arm around her best friend, caused a visceral reaction in Cassandra. She took a step back in surprise and shock before she recovered.

  The first of the group, a lanky young man, stepped up to the counter and said, “Hey, Cassie. I didn’t know you were working here this summer. Can I get a pair of size thirteens? Narrow if you’ve got them.”

  Another boy stuck his head around the first and said loudly, “Hi Cass! That’s why Harold’s nickname is ‘skis,’ you know!”

  Jimmy had been lost in an intense conversation with Kristen, who was giving him her undivided attention. When he heard Cassandra’s name mentioned for a second time, his head snapped up and he met her eyes. His mouth fell slightly ajar and he said, “Huh,” as if the air had been knocked out of him on the football field.

  Cassandra held his gaze for a few long seconds, wanting to go to him, to bury her face in his chest, and tell him what a silly girl she had been.

  Jimmy obviously didn’t know I worked here, but Kristen surely did. I guess this explains why she hasn’t wanted to be friends any more. She had other plans. I can do this. If I cleaned those bathrooms, I can do this. Same idea, I just need to breathe through my mouth and get through it.

  Cassandra gave Jimmy a look she hoped acknowledged the situation, then turned back to the boys at the front of the line.

  “Sure, I’ve got a thirteen narrow. Let me get it for you.”

  She helped two other boys with shoe requests, keeping one eye on Jimmy. She wasn’t the only one. Kristen’s eyes never left his face.

  Finally, it was their turn in line. “So, size eleven for you, Jimmy. What was yours again, Kris? An eleven as well, right?”

  Kristen’s mouth fell open, but she snapped it shut. She narrowed her eyes at Cassandra. “Six and a half, thanks.”

  “Right, right. Sorry. My mistake.”

  Cassandra grabbed the right shoes and set them on the counter. “I’ve got you guys down for lanes six and seven. Let me know if you have any problems.” She tore off a score sheet and handed it to Kristen.

  Jimmy still hadn’t moved or said a word.

  “How’s your summer, Jimmy? Apart from the obvious, I mean,” Cassandra said, nodding at Kristen, and giving him a small smile.

  Jimmy, you’re still a good person. None of this is your doing. I don’t blame you for any of it.

  “Uhh, it’s been a pretty weird summer. Not at all what I had planned.”

  “Have a good time.”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said absently. He followed Kristen like a puppy, then sat down at his assigned lane and changed into his bowling shoes.

  Cassandra was scheduled to close that night, so there was no escape for her. She watched Jimmy, Kristen, and their friends bowl line after line.

  Kristen, Kristen, Kristen. How mad am I at you? Do I blame you for jumping at your chance with the best catch in town? Or do I give you credit that you must have felt this way last life, too, and didn’t do anything about it?

  She doodled a circle, turned it into Yin/Yang, then filled it in completely.

  A little of both, I guess. I don’t really blame you, but it sure puts a crimp in a lifelong friendship, doesn’t it? We can be friendly, but I don’t t
hink we can ever be friends again.

  Eventually, the night passed, as did the summer.

  When Cassandra told Al she was putting in her two-week’ notice, he was genuinely sad to see her go.

  “I didn’t have much hope for you that first day, but I guess you showed me.”

  He had enveloped her in a hug that was redolent of cigar smoke and Brut cologne.

  Cassandra didn’t need to be in Berkeley for the start of classes until the third Monday of September, but by the end of August, she’d had enough of all that Middle Falls had to offer. She packed her clothes into three suitcases and fit as much of her cherished bedroom into a few boxes and packed it all in the backseat and trunk of the Mustang.

  Between what she had earned over the summer and what she had already put away, she had $2,200 in cash. Good as his word, Jamison signed the Mustang over to her before she left.

  On September 5, Cassandra said goodbye to a dry-eyed Dorothea. Jamison was already at work.

  She pulled out of the long driveway and turned south. She turned on KMFR and listened to it until the signal faded away. It was her last taste of home for a long time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was almost a ten-hour drive from Middle Falls to Berkeley. Cassandra didn’t want to arrive in her new home late at night, so she decided to layover at a midpoint. The easy route was to follow Interstate 5, but this second-chance life wasn’t much about taking the easy route. Instead, she cut over to the coast and drove Highway 101, hugging the Pacific Ocean most of the way.

  For as difficult as her life had been since she had woken up back in 1966, the drive balanced out a lot of that. Several times, driving high above the white-capped waves of the ocean, listening to the seagulls’ call, and smelling the saltwater air, she was overwhelmed by the beauty.

  I lived an entire lifetime and missed so much. Not this time. This time, I will do my best to drink from every cup.

  Her journey was slow, because she kept seeing new areas to pull over and marvel at what was laid out before her. She bought a loaf of bread and some bologna in a little store, then had her lunch sitting at a picnic table, listening to the waves crash.

  The seagulls somehow sensed an easy mark and landed right on the table beside her. As soon as she fed the first one a scrap of bread, her solitary moment was gone. Two and three at a time, gulls landed on the table silently pleading for more, more, more. She fed them until she was down to just the heel of her loaf of bread.

  I hope they don’t get ugly when I run out. I saw The Birds. I’ll never look at a flock of birds the same way.

  To counteract that, she tore the last of her bread into a dozen pieces and flung it as far away from her as she could. That resulted in a frenzy of caws and flapping of wings as they fought and argued over the crumbs.

  Back in her car, Cassandra crossed the California state line and felt a burden lift off her shoulders.

  I wondered what was waiting for me on the other side of this imaginary line for too many years. Now I can finally find out.

  She saw a sign that read, Crescent City, 20 miles.

  She glanced to her right and saw that the sun was already approaching the horizon.

  I really did dally today, didn’t I? Looks like Crescent City for the night, then.

  A few miles further along, she saw a handsome sign that read, Hartfield Military Academy, turn right.

  She glanced down a long driveway and saw a number of impressive buildings circled around a massive lawn.

  Military Academy. What kind of parent would send their boys off to a military school when young men just a little older than them are dying every day in Vietnam?

  Fifteen minutes later, Cassandra rolled into the tiny hamlet of Crescent City. She pulled into the first roadside motel she saw. The sign outside was flashing a neon-red Vacancy sign. That was all the encouragement she needed.

  She checked in, paid for her room, and sat on the edge of the twin bed. She sniffed, then recognized the smell of the same cleaner she had used on the bathrooms at Middle Falls Lanes. It made her feel instantly nostalgic for a place she had been glad to leave behind only a week earlier.

  But, a girl’s gotta eat, right?

  She pushed the curtains back from her window on the parking lot. A few cars and pickups scattered around. To the left was the motel office, quiet for the moment. To the right was an empty field—long grass blowing in a slight breeze. Directly across the highway was a restaurant and bar with a sign flashing Maureen’s out front. She recalled a sign at the front desk which had read, 10% discount at Maureen’s Coffee Shop. Just show them your room key!

  “Sold,” Cassandra mumbled to herself. She swept her room key off the night stand, made sure the door was locked, and walked to Maureen’s. She didn’t notice the cherry-red tip of a cigarette that glowed inside the old pickup truck as she passed by, or that the head of the man inside swiveled to follow her.

  It was the kind of little place that almost every small town on a highway had. The smell of coffee and fried food permeated everything. The booths were high-backed, and each one was equipped with a tiny little jukebox. A wide opening at the back led into a bar, where honky-tonk music played, and neon signs blinked.

  An older woman stepped from behind the cash register. She was thin, with her silver-gray hair cut short. Her name tag read “Marva.”

  “Just you, hon?”

  Cassandra nodded. “Just me.”

  “Table or booth?”

  The tables seemed exposed, as if everyone would see her and think, “Here is this single lady, eating on her own, unescorted.”

  “A booth would be nice.”

  The silver-haired woman led her to a booth at the side and asked, “Coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I’d like to sleep tonight, I think. Just water please.”

  “Coming right up. Special tonight is meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

  Cassandra slid the menu right back to her. “No need for this then. That sounds wonderful.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Cassandra glanced around. The place was less than half-full. A family with two small children were finishing a meal across from her. Several men sat on bar stools at the counter, hunched over newspapers or cups of coffee. She leaned slightly to her left. The bar didn’t seem to be doing much better business. She could see a bartender pouring a beer, but no customers were in sight.

  Mental note. I should bring something to read with me when I’m eating alone. That way, I’m not reduced to just gawking at the surroundings.

  She flipped idly through the jukebox but didn’t see anything worth her nickel to hear. She was becoming accustomed to the movies, music, and television shows of the sixties, but she still missed her Enya CDs.

  Soon enough, the waitress brought a platter filled with a slab of meatloaf, vegetables, and mashed potatoes and gravy. A large roll tilted precariously on the edge.

  “These plates should come with sideboards,” the waitress said with a smile, when she saw Cassandra’s expression. “Anything else I can get you?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. I think that’s enough to last me several days.”

  “No one ever leaves hungry.”

  The food was good, but as she had first thought, Cassandra found there was way too much of it for her. She considered the odds of whether she would be interested in leftover meatloaf the next morning and felt a little queasy at the thought.

  Starving children in China or not, I’m just going to have to let this food go.

  She picked up the check and saw that it came to $1.75. She looked through her purse, where she found two one-dollar bills and two quarters. She left the quarters on the table and took the check up to the register. She stood waiting for a few moments while Marva delivered a load of plates to a couple in another booth.

  Looking around the restaurant, this time Cassandra did briefly notice the man standing back in the shadows of the entrance to the bar. He was standing quietly, leaning against a cigaret
te machine, watching her.

  Cassandra smiled at Marva, thanked her for the meal, then realized suddenly that she had to use the restroom. She didn’t even think she wanted to wait until she walked back across the highway to get to her room.

  “Can I use your restroom?”

  “Of course, Hon, it’s right over there,” Marva said, pointing toward a back corner of the restaurant.

  Cassandra thanked her and found the door marked “Ladies.”

  She finished, washed her hands, smiled at Marva on the way out and walked across the street in the full dark. When she emerged, the man in the bar was gone and she immediately forgot about him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was a beautiful night with not much traffic on the road, but Cassandra did have to wait for an eighteen-wheeler to roll past her.

  While she was waiting, she tried to remember her room number, but couldn’t so she grabbed her key out of her pocket.

  Oh, bother. I forgot to show them my room key for my 10% off. I’m not a very good coupon clipper, am I? I’m going to have to get better, and right away.

  She held the key up and saw the number 17 printed in gold on the hard plastic key tab. She veered to her left and walked by a pickup parked in the middle of the parking lot.

  As she approached the truck, a man stepped out, directly in front of her.

  “Oh! You scared me!” Cassandra said. She stepped to her left to move around the man.

  He took a step to his right, blocking her path.

  “’Scuse me. Didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wondered if you might do me the honor of having a drink with me.”

  Cassandra’s blood ran cold.

  She looked away, averting her eyes.

  “No, thank you, my husband is waiting for me back at our room.”

  “Is he, now? What kind of a man would let a pretty little girl like you out of the room by herself?”

  The man wasn’t big, but he looked wiry and strong. He had several days’ growth of beard stubble and an unpleasant expression on his face.