Changes in Life

In a way, the concept of life is weird yet special. No one is exactly the same, and no one has the same life. Life is different for everyone. People have different morals and goals in life. However, life is what  you make it. Life is exceptional. Also remember to spend time with people you love and live in the moment.

* * *

The sunshine peeks through my window. Slowly, my room begins to come alive. I see my wife in peace sleeping right next to me. I quietly unfold the covers and begin to dress. I put on my shoes. I creep into the next room over. I see my three wonderful children asleep: Aggie, Nicky, and Oliver.  I stand there for a moment. I embrace their innocence and adorable faces. I feel blessed to have my daughter and my two sons. I silently kiss each forehead goodbye. Before they wake, I leave for work.

I hop into my old green truck. I leave my warm tiny house. In thirty minutes, I am at the site. I scan my ticket into the time clock. I grab my hard hat and my goggles.

“Hey Laura...Nate, how are you?...Good Morning, Bill...How are the kids, Jack?...Pete...John...Maria..Mike...Dan…” With a smile, I say hi to almost everyone there. Here, I feel a family atmosphere where everyone is accepted and appreciated.

I start my job like everyday and have the conversation with my second family. They asked the typical questions about the wife, the kids and the news. I hop into my industrial line. The same job everyday, I connect the same two pieces over and over again. It may get boring, but I am fortunate to have this job.

Hours go by and it is noon. The production stops, and everyone starts to eat. I take my sandwich out of my overused brown bag. Inside a note from my wife: “Have a great day. I love you, Ash. “ I chop on some chips and finish my iced tea. Before the bell rings for lunch to be over, I am already at my station.

The day turned into night. My shift was finally over.  I was excited to see my family. I imagine the hot meal and smiling faces when I enter the room. I walked to my truck, put my seatbelt on and drove away from the building. Waiting for my green left turn signal, I played with the radio. I switch from country, rock, pop and ended with the good old eighties. Finally, the signal turn green. Slowly, I cross the intersection. Before, I turn my steering wheel. I heard brakes and felt a big push. Time slowed down, and seconds turned into hours. For a split of a second, I hear my children laughing and saw my wife smiling. Then, a big bright light appeared.

* * *

Money makes me happy. Money gives me a worth.  

I love money. I love my dull cubicle.  I love my job that allows me to boss and control people. I love to see people struggle then come to me for help. My job is my purpose here and I wouldn't want it any other way. I like to think that the world goes round for money. I know I do.

My alarm rings and I turn. It reads 4:55 a.m. I looked at my window, black. That’s how I like it. I like to be up before the sun. Most people work 40 hours a week and then continue to complain. People say I “overwork”. How can you overwork if you love what you are doing, making money? All I want is money. I want to have a big top floor apartment, a nice car and wear luxury top name brands. I want it all.

I don't have time to socialize. I don't go on dates, I don’t hang with my friends and  I barely see my family. I know some people think that it is important, but I rather be making money. I travel all the time for my job. I’ve been to China, India, Australia, Nigeria, and all over Europe.

I haven't had a so called “real” friend since I was in high school, Asher. Last time I talked to him, was after his wedding about 10 years ago. I remember the start of our friendship. We were inseparable as kids. As soon as I went off to college, nothing was the same. Now, he lives in the poorer side of New York and works as an industrial worker. I tried getting him a better job but he denied it. He didn't want to devote his time away from family.

I continue my morning routine. I take a quick hot shower. I put on my gray suit. I leave for work. My personal driver picks me up and drops me in the heart of it all, Broad Street.

“Hello, Mr. Edwin,” as I enter the lobby.

“Hi, Catherine.”

The greetings are continued as I go into the elevator and into my office where my assistant awaits with coffee and my schedule.

“Mr. Edwin, sir,  you have a meeting at 8 am, 10 am and 12 pm as she hands me my large black coffee. Also Mr. Matthew wants to see you at 3pm today. I think he wants to talk about the new deal with France. ”

Without eye contact, I responded with, “Thanks, you can leave now.”

As the same day continues with meetings, a lunch and tons of papers that need to be signed, 3pm came. I walked into my boss’s room. Matthew and I were acquainted. We spent  multiple dinners together and had many drinks under our belts. I knock on the wooden door that leads into his office.

“Hello, Sir. How are you? You called for me.”

“Hi Edward, I’m well. Please sit. We have things to talk about.”

I quickly scrabble to sit as Matthew was still my boss. I look at Matt. He wears his navy blue suit and a colorful tie per usual. Multiple coffee rings sit on his desk with a sea of papers covering the dark oak desk. The clock reads 3:02 p.m. Covering his forehead were tiny sweat droplets. His one leg was shaky pretty aggressively. He was nervous for some reason. I waited for his voice to begin.

“So, Edwin...I know you are one of most dedicated and loyal workers here. I consider you as a son. We love your hard work and time you spent here. However, we have to let you go…” I look at my now old boss. The clock continues to move. It now reads 3:03 p.m. I thought I was here for a bonus instead I am laid off. I don’t understand.

“Sir, what have I done wrong? I spent my 17 years here. I build my status from the ground up. Why? I just can’t believe, Matt. I was...I-I-I...” I was shocked. I couldn't form words anymore.

“I’m sorry, Ed. We just don't need so many people right now. Your department is going to disappear. We just wanted to inform you first. Slowly your department will be laid off or moved in a new section. But we just don’t need more leadership anymore. Please grab your things in the next 3 days.”

I leave the room. With a blank face, I carry myself to the elevator. I just leave without a word to anyone. I don't get my stuff. I notice some heads follow me. It was silence beside the ticking of the clock. I tell my driver, “home.” There were no questions asked or any suggestions for a meal. Just a simple nod was exchanged. A long ten minutes pass and I was in my apartment.

As I almost sat on my gray couch, a knock came from the door. The mailman was here with a small package. I signed, and he traveled to the next hall.

I throw the package onto my table and walked towards the tv again. I sat for a moment before looking at the package on the table. I thought about the last time I got a package this size. I walked up to the package, it was forever ago. I rip the package carefully with curiosity. Inside pictures of Asher and I as little kids: One of us on our bikes, one with us covered in mud and one of us on the first day of our senior year. With these pictures, the package also included two letters. One reads:

Dear Edwin,

This letter is to inform that Asher Pendleton has passed away. We are celebrating the life of this devoted husband, loving father and humble friend. Please join us to give your final farewells to Asher on April 11th from 9 am to 12 am. The burial will happen after the farewells. I hope you can come and say your goodbyes to Asher.

With love,

    The Pendleton Family

 

The other letter was more personal to me. An old letter that I written about twenty years ago. It was to help Asher. It reads:

Dear Asher,

Remember to spend time with people you love and live in the moment. I know you, Asher. Follow your heart and dive into your dreams. You can work your life away, but it will suck. You can make crazy memories, but you would have no one to share them with .

Always your best friend,

Edwin

 

As I remember this small letter I wrote. I remember my past life spent with family and friends. Since my mother passed, I changed into a workaholic to brush off the pain. Asher was my best friend. A friend that stood by my side and made me laugh. As memories flooded in, one by one, tears travel down my red cheeks. The letter in my hand becomes blurry. Yet, the memories in my head were clear as day. The times of us in the woods, riding bikes, going to prom, and walking to school everyday. The death of not only a great friend, but a genuine and kind person, was gone. I feel empty and sad.

The next day I brought the first ticket out of New York City and to my old town. I rent a car and drive. I pass my high school and I pass the restaurant of my first job. Finally, I approach a brick style house. In the driveway, the same old white car and the beat up basketball net remain. I walk up the walkway and to the door. I knock on the green door. The door opens. After fifteen years, I come to the place where I grew up. A man stands in the doorway. With watery eyes,  all I can muster is a “Hi, Dad.” In silence, my father opens up with wide arms. I never felt more at home.