When the Fairytale Ends (11 page)

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Authors: Dwan Abrams

BOOK: When the Fairytale Ends
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Standing up from his seat, Greg's boss extended his hand to Greg and said, “I'm gonna miss working with you, buddy.”
Greg clenched his jaw. He stared at the stiff hand before him and contemplated smacking it. He thought the better of it and shook his hand anyway. Then he walked out and found a box from a storage closet so that he could clear out his cubicle.
As he made his way to his soon-to-be former workstation, he noticed that some people were teary-eyed, others were crying, and some gathered around expressing their shock and disbelief. Greg tried not to get caught up in the emotion and cleared out his desk without talking to anyone. While removing the items from his desk, he felt an overwhelming sadness. He wondered how thirteen years, worth of stuff could fit in one box as he picked up his stress reliever ball and shook his head.
“Lot of good you did,” he said to himself, giving the ball a squeeze, then tossing it in the box.
He knew it was just a matter of minutes before Franklin appeared in his cubicle.
“Man, this better be a rumor about you getting cut.”
Greg swooped a hand around his bare cubicle, which no longer held a trace of his presence. “Does it look like a rumor to you, Mr. You Are What You Speak?”
“Don't try to throw my words back in my face. I ain't the one who fired you.”
“No, you're not. And also, you're not the one who got fired. So you can go back to your cubicle and leave me the heck alone.”
Franklin sincerely looked hurt.
Too angry to apologize, Greg ignored his friend and pretended not to see the pain in his eyes. He pulled tape across his two boxes, stacked them on top of each other, and left his cubicle. He carried his boxes stuffed with office supplies, personal photographs of him and Shania, notebooks, and assorted papers to his convertible Mercedes and popped the trunk. He placed the boxes inside and considered going back to apologize to Franklin but changed his mind. He didn't want to go back in that place and see the looks of pity from individuals who would undoubtedly keep their jobs. Besides, he didn't feel like being bothered. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Since he wasn't one for emotional outbursts, he just got in his car, dropped the top, and headed home.
As he drove along the interstate, panic kicked in. For the first time in his adult life, Greg didn't have a job. So much of his identity had been tied into his professional accomplishments. What was he going to do? he wondered. Making a mental checklist, he figured that he could live off his severance package while he looked for a new job. Maybe he'd solicit the services of a headhunter. Perhaps he'd do some market research for a start-up company.
Feeling a slight throbbing in his temple, Greg grabbed the bottle of pain medication that he kept stashed in his center console and took two pills, which he washed down with a half bottle of Sprite that had been sitting in the car for only God knows how long; it tasted like lemony spit water. He grimaced as he forced himself to swallow it down.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a median separating him from the oncoming traffic. The thought that the median was the only thing keeping him from colliding head-on with another car nagged at him like a hangnail. So much in his life was so wrong; his wife and he weren't getting along for the first time since saying “I do” on Valentine's Day; he had just intentionally thrown a jab at his one and only best friend; and for crying out loud, he had just been fired. The image of him turning his steering wheel all the way to the left, crashing into the block of cement, and smashing his car like an aluminum can flashed across the screen of his mind. For a fleeting moment, suicide seemed to be the solution to his problems.
Greg gripped the steering wheel tighter and shook his head. Through clenched teeth he mumbled the words, “The devil is a liar.”
An image so vivid of a crying and inconsolable Shania popped into his brain. It seemed so real that he wanted to reach out and touch her. He had never seen so much pain etched in Shania's pretty face. Then he saw Franklin, tears streaming from his eyes, no laughter in his face as he stood over his friend's casket and said his final farewells.
Oh, Lord, and what about his parents? He could see his dad, trying to stay strong; his mother, lost in despair. Just the thought caused him to shudder. He realized that taking his own life would be the most selfish and faithless thing he could ever do. Too many people loved him for him to cause them such pain.
The sad realization that by even contemplating killing himself demonstrated Greg's lack of faith in God and what He could do made Greg call on his Savior's name. He began repenting and apologizing for thinking that his circumstances were greater than the one he served. Greg wondered when he had developed such a lack of faith. He spent the rest of the drive having an intimate conversation with his Father.
By the time Greg rolled up to his house, he felt mentally drained. He wished he could say that he felt at peace about the situation, but peace eluded him. Feelings of embarrassment and failure weighed him down.
When he came into his home, he could feel a calming presence there. The smell of aromatherapy filled the air. Flickering candles greeted him throughout. Struggling to put on a brave face, he paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.
“I thought I heard you come in,” Shania sang out. “You're here pretty early.”
She went to hug him, and he retracted.
Frowning, she said, “If this is about last night, you're already forgiven. I just . . . my emotions just got out of control, and I didn't know how to handle the situation. I'm sorry for being a nag. I'm sorry for hanging up on you, and I'm sorry for giving you so much attitude all the time. You forgive me?”
He kissed her offered lips. “Yes, I forgive you. And do you forgive me for not at least shooting you a courtesy call about my whereabouts?”
“Yes, I forgive you,” she said and held the back of his head while she gave him an even deeper kiss. She cut the kiss short, then retracted her neck a bit. “What's the matter with you? Why are you still acting so strange? Everything's cool now, right?”
Greg fell silent for a moment, then shook his head. “No, babe. No, everything's not cool.” He glanced away from her before choking out, “I got fired.”
Shania parted her lips on a gasp. “Honey, I'm sorry. Tell me what happened.”
He grabbed her hand and led her into the media room, where they sat on the couch. Unable to look her in the eyes, Greg reclined on the couch and closed his eyes. For a split second he escaped into thoughts, hoping and praying that this day had been just a bad dream. When he opened his eyes and saw that Shania had fixed her gaze on him, he knew his world had changed. He went on to explain that under the directives of corporate, half of his office had been downsized.
“There was no rhyme or reason.” He sounded frustrated. “There were top performers and average performers. Some people had lots of seniority, and others didn't. I guess I got the short end of the stick.”
“What about Franklin? Did he get cut too?”
“Puh-lease.” Greg rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Franklin is their gold mine. They'd have to be a fools to let him go. But me . . . I guess I was just mediocre.”
“You were not mediocre,” she promised him, rubbing small circles in his back. “They just didn't realize your full potential. But it's okay, babe. If God closes one door, He'll open another.” Shania continued to comfort him with her touch and her encouraging words.
He knew that she meant well and wanted to help, but he wasn't in the mood for any pep talks. Since Shania had never worked for anyone other than herself, he figured that she had no clue how he felt. She couldn't possibly relate.
He wanted to clear his mind, so he left Shania sitting on the couch while he went to change into his riding gear. While he was changing, his cell phone received a text message from Franklin. It read:
Wanna go 4 a ride?
The timing couldn't have been any more perfect. Greg texted him back an affirmative, and told him to meet him at the stoplight by the park. He then told Shania that he'd be back and jumped on his bike to go meet Franklin. When they met, they exchanged no words, simply nodded at each other, and took off riding, with Franklin leading the way.
As they drove in peaceful silence, Greg allowed himself to become at one with nature. He focused on the charcoal gray rock and cement and broken white lines that seemed to go on forever. He wondered where the road would lead him, if he just stayed the course.
Biting his lower lip and swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he compared the road to life's journey: mysterious, filled with unknowns, unpredictability, yet in a strange sort of way, exciting. Although he would've preferred to change his plight in life, he understood that if he stayed on track, he'd be okay; God was in charge, and He knew what lay ahead.
After riding on the open road for thirty minutes, Franklin signaled that he needed to stop for gas, and Greg nodded because he needed to stop too. As they pumped the gas, pollen swirled in the air, tickling Greg's eyes without relief. Franklin offered to pay for the gas, but Greg declined the offer. He capped off his tank and secured the cap before going inside the store and buying a soda. He paid for the soda; then he popped the top of the soda and tilted his head back to quench his thirst. While he drained the can, he glanced outside and saw a throwback car roll in front of the convenience store, and the car would've been in mint condition had it not been for the blubbery piece of rubber that represented the back passenger tire. Greg emptied the can, belched, and tossed the aluminum into the trash; then he stepped outside.
By the time he made it outside, Franklin had gone over to the vintage car, probably more so to talk about the make and model rather than help with changing the tire. When the driver stepped out of the car, Greg's jaw dropped, and so did Franklin's. Even with her hair swept up into a bun, Greg immediately recognized her as the brown-eyed girl from church. Franklin had hearts in his eyes, and he might as well have had “in love” stamped across his forehead.
“You, uh, need help changing your tire?” Franklin asked, making it very obvious that he was impressed by both the car and the woman who drove the car.
“No,” she said in her soft voice. “I know how to change it.”
“I'd hate to see you get your hands dirty. You're too beautiful for that. Please, ma'am, I insist.”
She smiled at Franklin with her lips and her eyes. “Well, since you insist,” she said and gave him a little bow as she stepped out the way.
Franklin turned and looked at Greg, biting down on his index finger hard and saying with his eyes, “Greg, this chick right here is
hot
.” Greg smiled at his friend and went and sat on his bike while Franklin helped the young lady. He thought about offering to help but then decided not to because he didn't want Franklin to think that he was game-blocking. What should've taken no more than ten, fifteen minutes at the most took a whole half hour, mainly because the two were chatting about the different makes, models, and years of vintage cars that they owned.
Greg tried to wait patiently, but after a while, he gave Franklin a birdcall and motioned with his head that he was leaving. Franklin gave him two thumbs-up, a wink, and yelled that he'd catch him later.
Sincerely wishing his friend the best of luck in his pursuit, Greg put his sunglasses and helmet back on and headed home. When he arrived, he sat in his driveway and counted the bricks on the house . . . anything to take his mind off of being unemployed. For as far back as he could remember, he'd always had a job. As a tween he had a paper route. Then he mowed lawns in the summer and shoveled driveways in the winter to earn extra cash. His parents used to praise him for being an “enterprising young man,” as they often called him.
He let out a loud sigh as he prepared himself to go into the house. Knowing Shania like he did, he figured that she'd do whatever it took to cheer him up. Although he appreciated her care and concern, he wanted to work through this in his own time, in his own way. He didn't want to be reminded of things he already knew. Nor did he want to be made to feel guilty for feeling the way he felt. He just wanted to be . . . left alone.
Nine
Shania didn't know what to think when Greg came home and breezed past her without saying a word. She tried not to show it, but her feelings were hurt. She understood that Greg had a lot on his mind, and she wanted to be sensitive to his emotional needs, yet she could feel him shutting down. She hoped that he wasn't slipping into depression. She wondered if she should try and talk to him. “No,” she said to herself. One thing she had learned from being in a relationship with Greg was that men tended to mull things over in their minds and tried to figure out solutions to their problems themselves, unlike women, who liked to talk about their problems.
As difficult as it was for Shania not to be all up in Greg's face, trying to get him to communicate with her, she sat alone at the dinner table and ate the bow tie pasta with shrimp and salad that she had prepared for two.
When she finished eating, she put away the leftovers, poured herself half a glass of blackberry wine, and relaxed on the couch in the media room. She thought about what she could do to make Greg feel better. She tried hard to put herself in his shoes and imagined how she would feel if she had been let go from a company to which she had given years of faithful service. She determined that she would feel humiliated, confused, and, of course, sad.
After she took a sip of wine, the sweet flavor lingered on her taste buds. Shania decided to call her first cousin and best friend, Rayna. She needed Rayna's input on the situation at hand.
Thankful that Rayna answered after the second ring, Shania skipped the small talk and went straight to the heart of the matter. She told her cousin all about Greg losing his job and how he seemed to be sulking. Then she asked for some advice on how to handle the situation.
“Cuz, I'm sorry that Greg lost his job.” Rayna's tone sounded sympathetic. “This doesn't have to be a huge setback in your relationship. You know you and Greg have that whole fairy-tale-type relationship going on.” She chuckled.
“What do you mean?”
“I'm just saying. You prayed about that brotha and waited until you got married before you gave him some. You did it right and waited for your prince,” she said and then paused. “Did you read Steve Harvey's book
Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man?
”
“Yes, I did,” Shania admitted.
“Then you should remember the part where he talks about men being simple. He said that men are driven by who they are, what they do, and how much they make.”
Shania remembered reading that and wanted to laugh at her cousin for sounding like she had quoted Bible verses.
“I mean, come on, think about it, Shania. Up until this point, Greg had fulfilled his destiny as a man. He had a steady job and made a good living. Then he went to work one day, and the whole bottom fell out.” A pregnant pause followed her words. “You shouldn't be surprised by his reaction. As a man, he feels the need to provide for his family. And how's he supposed to provide without a nine-to-five?”
“Actually, it was an eight-to-five.”
Rayna smacked her lips. “You know what I'm trying to say, Shania.”
Shania nodded her head, and when she realized that her cousin couldn't see her nodding through the phone, she added, “I get that, Rayna. I really do.” She took another sip from her wineglass and let the bittersweet flavor play on her tongue before swallowing. “I respect my husband. Although I want my man to work, I don't want him to feel pressured to provide for me.”
“This isn't about you, cuz. You remember when you first met him? The thing that attracted you to him the most was the fact that he wasn't impressed by your bank account. He wasn't concerned about what all you had to offer him. He wanted to show you what he could bring to the table.”
Again, Shania nodded. Her cousin was right.
Rayna continued, “It would be different if Greg was some playboy looking for a woman to take care of him, but he's not that guy. He's decent all the way around. He's not going to be happy living off your money.”
Shania traced the rim of her glass with her finger. “He doesn't have to live off me. He could help me run the business or start his own. It's not like we don't have the money for it.”
Rayna chuckled. “I hear you. But is that what Greg wants?”
Sighing into the receiver, Shania said, “I can't really say. He's never talked to me about wanting to start a business. As far as I know, he likes getting up and going out to work every day.”
“Exactly.” Rayna sounded like she had just announced a victory. “Some people aren't meant to be entrepreneurs. They like the security of getting a steady paycheck every couple of weeks.”
“My company has a steady cash flow, and I earn regular paychecks too,” Shania defended.
“You're the exception, not the norm.”
That was why Shania loved talking to her cousin. No matter what, Rayna always brought clarity to the situation. “So . . . should I help him find another job, or should I—”
“You should,” Rayna said loudly, clearing her throat, “shut up, sit back, and let that man be a man. If he needs your help, he'll ask for it.”
“True.” Shania finished off her drink, rubbed her finger along her chin, then added, “Well, what if we took a vacation to get his mind off his problems?”
“Shania! What happened to shutting up, sitting back, and waiting on him?”
“What?” she exclaimed, smiling. “It was just an idea.”
“Okay,” Rayna said, laughing. “That wouldn't have been my first thought. However, that could actually work. Must be nice,” Rayna teased. Then Rayna questioned her about the wedding Saturday and asked her if she had everything ready.
As Shania settled in front of the computer, she hurried her cousin off the phone so she could surf the Internet and scout out a few possible vacation locations. She spent an hour researching different islands and finally settled on Jamaica. She had never been and wanted to go. Excitement bubbled over inside her as she clicked on photo after photo of white sandy beaches and water so clear, she could see the tropical fish shimmying beneath the surface and starfish clinging to the ocean floor. Then she imagined herself splashing in that same water in an all-white two-piece, her skin bronzing beneath the glow of the sun. She calculated the package price for flight tickets, transportation, and a one-week hotel stay, and the calculation placed a smile on her face.
No matter how tight Greg might try to be with money now that he'd lost his job, even he would have to agree that such an economical price for such a breathtaking getaway was unbeatable. She shot her travel agent an e-mail, asking her to see if she could find tickets to Jamaica at a cheaper price than what she'd already found. But she knew that before she could purchase tickets, she'd have to touch base with Greg. In his sour mood it would probably take a whole lot of persuasion to get his consent. What better time to start the persuasion than now?
Shania went upstairs to her bedroom and noticed that Greg was already asleep. She tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Careful not to blast the water, she took a shower, dried herself with a warm towel, and crawled into bed next to her husband. He turned over on his side and faced her. His eyes popped open, and she smiled at him.
Touching the side of her face, Greg said, “I love you.”
She leaned in and pecked him on the lips. “Want a massage?”
He grinned as he lifted the covers. “Why are you naked?”
She shrugged, then watched his eyes fall closed and listened to the low timbre of his moans. He let her love him in that special way that she only offered to him on occasion.
“I love you, babe,” he breathed into her mouth, and she hungrily swallowed every word. She prayed that for this one moment in time, he would set aside all his worries and anxieties and give her all of him: heart, mind, body, and soul. And he did. They reached their peaks together and collapsed back against the bed, clinging to each other as though their bed was a storm-ravaged sea, and they were each other's only anchor.

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