A Peck of Gold

"Rare Asian Walrus Asphyxiates After Eating Trainer's Shoes"

He stared at the headline in frustration, and crumpled the paper in his hands. How did it come to this?, he asked himself sorely. I was a serious journalist! I busted my ass in college and internships and I've got the debt to prove it! When did I become such a sellout? Such a loser?

With an angry sweep of his arm, he sent papers flying off the desk, until the surface was clean. He didn't want to look at the dozens of ridiculous headlines and articles that littered his office anymore. He felt shame and depression at the thought that his name followed such literary sludge. The walls of the seedy little office seemed to close in on him, and he buried his head in his arms.

"Feeling sorry for yourself again, Campbell?"

"Screw you," came his muffled reply.

"Let me tell you what your problem is. You write an absurd article about something you could care less about, then you beat yourself up about it for days. And the next week, instead of getting out there and writing something worth reading, you just write the same article again. You're all whine, and no change."

Campbell glared up at the woman standing in his doorway. "I don't need this from you!" he said hotly.

"Look. This job, well, it's fine for some people. It's just a job to them, they don't worry about anything but clocking in and out, and taking a paycheck home at the end of the day. Then, there are people like you."

"People like me? And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"Oh, come off it. You know you're different from most people around here. You have talent and you're just squandering it here in this joke of a paper."

"But that's it, don't you get it? I don't have the talent! I don't have anything to say anymore! Maybe I did at one time, but now I'm just old and washed up, and..." His voice trailed off.

The lady eyed him with contempt. "Excuses. You're just afraid."

"Why do you even care?" he asked sullenly.

"That's a very stupid thing to say," she said. "Every day, you die a little bit here. It's time to leave."

"I know," he said quietly. "But I miss you."

Her face softened, and her words were almost a whisper. "Campbell, life is about having and losing things. Now, it's time to let go of the loss. Time to start living again. Time to start caring about things again."

"I don't know if I can do that. Not without you."

She smiled at him, that old familiar smile, and it made his bones ache. "You can," she said. "You were always the strong one."

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was gone.

He sat in the office by himself, looking at the objects that had marked his recent career. The plaques, the coffee mugs, the occasional award, and then his eyes settled on the framed picture that had landed on the floor along with the other papers.

The woman in the picture smiled up at him. Three years, he told himself. Three long years you fought, but in the end, the cancer was too much. You say I'm the strong one, but really, it was you.

He looked around again, trying to decide what was worth taking from this dark period of his life, what was worth remembering. He picked up the picture and traced the outline of his wife with shaking fingertips. You always knew how to set me straight. You never let me feel sorry for myself. Thank you, sweetheart. He clutched the frame to his chest, and turned his back on the room, turned his back on the life he'd sunken into since her death.

And with that, he left. Time to start living again.

Posted by Shannon at March 21, 2004 05:02 PM | TrackBack