Surrender (34 page)

She really needed for things to go right for once in her life. It seemed nothing had lately, so she decided to gaze blankly up at the ceiling tiles through blurry eyes instead of thinking about what was beyond her control.

Her long, dirty blonde hair splayed across her pillow, her body tucked tightly into the crisp white linen sheets and white goose-down comforter. Her hand was still gripping the letter as it hung over the edge of the bed, and thankfully, she began to drift back to sleep.

Just as the paper touched the floor, a loud crack and ominous rumble shook the apartment. Instantly startled awake, Monica looked around to see what was happening. She could hear a slight tapping on her window that was increasing in tempo. Fall was quickly approaching in Seattle and it wasn’t uncommon for thunderstorms to occur at this time of year.

Being raised in Africa, Monica was no stranger to massive thunderstorms and was always intrigued when they happened, instead of being fearful like so many people.

She moved her gaze from the streaming water cascading down her window, to the clock beside her bed. It now read eight fifteen and she had to be ready and at work by nine.

“Holy crap, I'm going to be late,” she cried as she jumped from the bed, flinging her blankets to one side. Sprinting toward the bathroom, she nearly slipped on the abandoned clothes that were scattered across the hardwood floors.

Next, the cold, broken tile of the bathroom sent chills up her legs as she bolted through the doorway. The bathroom was small and quaint, complete with toilet and a single shower stall and vanity that barely managed to hold her hairbrush and few pieces of makeup. It was a good thing she wasn’t like most women with massive amounts of salon products, because she didn’t have the space to store any of it.

She turned the faucet in the tub on, then pulled the lever, bouncing on her toes as she waited for what seemed like forever for the small hot-water tank to send the heated stream through the rusty pipes, and start trickling out of the shower-head. When the water was above freezing, she jumped in, and then sighed when it finally reached body temperature.

As the warm water ran down her frame, she couldn’t help but think of how her life had gotten so off track.

She honestly didn’t understand how she’d arrived at such a juncture in her life. She had a terrible job, a crappy little apartment, well, at least for a few more days, and nothing in her savings. She was single, broke, and downright depressed. She reminded herself that she didn’t need a man to make her happy. That didn’t help make her feel better in that moment, though.

Preparing herself for the cold, she shut off the water, and quickly jumped from the small stall and grabbed her towel, getting the water off her before the cool air could turn it into ice.

Monica moved in front of her cracked bathroom mirror while wrapping her hair in the towel. She looked at herself wondering how a good girl, the daughter of missionaries who’d lived all over the world in mostly poverty stricken countries could be where she was at. Didn’t she get some bonus points for her sacrifices? On the other hand, it wasn’t like her current predicament was anything that she couldn’t handle. She’d been through worse and still managed to walk with her head held high. Maybe she should just go stay with her parents.

Her mother had called just last week, telling her Aqaba was beautiful this time of year. It was a resort town, complete with golf courses and scuba diving in the Red Sea. It was much different from the many countries they’d stayed in while she was growing up and accompanying them on missions throughout the world.

She’d been a little offended at first that they’d gone to such a stunning place, when she’d been to third-world locations her entire life, but then her petty thoughts had been withdrawn as she realized they were aging, and it was their time to enjoy a few extra comforts.

Here Monica was – twenty-six years old, still single, and living all alone in the low rent district of Seattle. She thought it was time she tried to pull herself together. She was too afraid to
tell her parents how much she was throwing her life away. She vowed to make some changes, starting immediately.

Monica stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed in her run-of-the-mill barista uniform, consisting of typical black polyester pants and a white polo shirt. She was already late enough, so near panic struck when she couldn’t find the final piece of her uniform, the maroon apron. She couldn’t imagine where she’d tossed it. She did a frantic search through the apartment, even dumping out a couple of laundry baskets and quickly digging through the piles.

At that moment she was about to give up and be forced to purchase another one, something she’d already had to do three times, a thick strap caught her attention, and she pulled it from the pile. With a relieved sigh she slipped the colored apron over her head, and then tied her hair up into a sloppy bun while next looking for her keys and airport identification badge.

Unfortunately, her stressful morning wasn’t uncommon for Monica as she was great at multi-tasking, but a very poor time-manager. In the very last place she could think to look, she grabbed the tan, woven basket by her front door, which seemed to collect everything from receipts to hair ties, and spilled the contents onto the table.

Nearly smiling, she picked up her blue lanyard and keys from the mess, thinking she really hated the large picture of her face plastered across the front of her badge. Knowing she had no more time to linger, she stuffed her acquired belongings into her purse and bolted out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

She made it to the front of the elevator at the end of the hallway before it dawned on her that she’d forgotten to lock her door. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she did an about face and sprinted back to her apartment. She made quick work of locking her door, and then bolted back to the elevator. A door opened a few apartments down and Monica's worst fear stepped out.

“Hey Monica. Where you off to in such a hurry?” It was Todd, the creepy, annoying college dropout who always made her uncomfortable. On this frantic morning, she refused to let him faze her, though.

“Not now, Todd,” she replied as she sprinted past him, avoiding eye contact. Monica knew that her building elevator was as slow as molasses so to prevent any additional interaction she opted for the stairs, feeling his gaze boring into her back the entire way. As she bolted down the stairs, she kept her ears tuned to the sound of opening doors, a bit frightened the creep would follow her.

She was now becoming severely late for work and every moment could potentially cost her the job. Her subconscious kept giving her the annoying reminder she’d been late to work three times in the last two weeks. She’d been warned that if she was tardy one more time, she was out of there.

She burst through the lobby stairs entrance just as another flash of lightning and loud clap of thunder rumbled through the old building.

“Sounds like another typical day in the Pacific Northwest,” shouted Mr. Sherman, Monica’s next door neighbor and “resident grandpa” figure, who was having a seat while waiting for the mail.

“Yep.
Sounds like it,” she responded, sounding less enthusiastic about the storm as she saw the rain sheeting off the awning outside. Though she still loved a great storm, she preferred watching them while inside a warm building.

“What's got such a pretty girl on the run?”

Monica slowed and turned, walking backward so she wouldn’t offend Mr. Sherman who was always nice to her.

“It seems that's how my life is, constantly in fast forward.” Mr. Sherman, always full of knowledge from his life experiences, stood up from his bench.

“Well, you know, Darling, if you don't learn to slow down a bit, you'll pass right on by all the good parts of life.” Monica, now slowing to an almost stop, took his words to heart as she began to think over what he’d just said.

“Thanks, Mr. Sherman, I’ll think about that. Have a good day.” Monica waved as she pushed the door open with her back and squared her shoulders for the upcoming soaking she was about to receive.

She stepped out the door onto the sidewalk, which was already pooling with water from the broken gutters. She knew that she had to just go for it, as there was no way she could get to work without getting drenched, so holding her purse above her head in a weak attempt to stay dry, she stepped into the tempestuous weather.

“Taxi!” she shouted while waving her arm, trying to get the attention of one of the nearby cab drivers. The cab pulled up promptly, which wasn’t that common in her part of town. Flinging the door open she, plopped into the seat. The driver glanced in his rearview mirror, and seemed to smirk as he noticed her already tousled appearance. She knew by just her short time in the humid rain she’d be soaked, and her unruly hair had to be slowly starting to frizz-up and pull away from her hasty bun.

“Where to, Miss?” the cabbie asked as he straightened out his expression.

“SeaTac airport, and please hurry,” she responded in an urgent tone.

"You got it," The taxi pulled away from the curb to the sound of splashing water, chirping tires, and honking horns.

***

As he watched Monica's cab drive off in the torrential rain, Mr. Sherman pondered life, and in particular, this curious case of a young woman finding her way. He’d always felt she was a nice girl, always willing to give him a hand, even at the end of a long day, when he could see she was barely able to stand up.

It was such a shame that she was living all alone. His hopes for her were to find a nice young lad who she could live happily-ever-after with. After all, he’d spent sixty years with his beautiful wife before the Lord had decided she was needed elsewhere. He’d missed her every single moment since. He only wanted Monica to have the same kind of blissful love he’d been privileged enough to enjoy.

With a bit of a sad heart, he continued gazing out at the heavy rain, leaning heavily on his cane, thinking his old body just wouldn’t do what he needed it to, anymore.

Mr. Sherman was the quintessential image of an old grandpa. A stout man, bent over a cane, his body withered with age, a square jaw, big nose, and even bigger ears. Yet, bright blue eyes magnified through his thick framed bifocals, showing a depth of knowledge and wisdom that could only be learned through many years of trial and error.

He always wore one of two cardigans; brown or forest green. The only thing that varied in his wardrobe was his variety of multi-colored plaid shirts, and polyester pants. His outfit, no matter what he chose, was always accompanied with the same pair of rusty brown walking shoes.

He was downstairs for his daily walk to check his mail, people watch and to get some fresh air. He used to be a pilot, soaring high above the clouds, leaving all his cares on the ground as he sat behind the controls of a powerful jet. He’d give just about anything to be up there again, trying to beat the morning sun as he jetted down a runway.

His thoughts continued as he reminisced more and more of his earlier, accomplished life. Being retired, he reflected frequently on his long career that had brought him so much joy.

The older he became, the more sentimental he seemed to get. He turned and shuffled toward the wall of mailboxes. Reaching in the pocket of his polyester pants, he retrieved a gold key affixed to an old blue keychain with the faded letters Pan American printed on the face. He opened his box, pulling out his mail, and with true loyalty to his ritual, shuffled to his bench and sat quietly, continuing his people watching.

***

The taxi pulled up in front of the terminal after a nauseating ride, swerving in and out of traffic and around single minded travelers. Monica tossed the driver his money and leapt from the cab, running straight for the front entrance.

She was all set to begin her average day with its monotonous routine. She was one of the baristas at the small latte shop, Republic Coffee, located in the Seattle Tacoma International Airport – more commonly known as SeaTac.

The small and quaint café was nestled in-between the food court and the local gift shop that was filled with native knickknacks, souvenirs and reading material. Monica had been at her job for only three months, but it seemed to be a record amount of time for her keeping a job. With her tardiness, she wasn’t going to be extending that record too much longer.

The airport was a bustling mad-house with a sea of endless people on what seemed to be a busy travel day. The Republic Coffee shop stayed fairly busy throughout the day as it was located near the top of the escalators and the main entranceway to a majority of airline gates.

As Monica stepped off the escalator she was immediately bombarded with oblivious passengers, the smell of coffee, and the sound of a gate agent getting reamed by an unhappy customer.

It was at this point that Monica knew it would be another long day of coffee drudgery, pushy passengers and egotistical pilots. Making coffee and dealing with obnoxious people didn't really bother Monica nearly as much as dealing with the arrogant attitudes of the pilot’s.

At first, while working at the bustling airport, she’d noticed that a great deal of them were sexy, confident and downright charming. It didn’t hurt that they were well paid, flashing bulging wallets at the coffee-house and wearing expensive watches and sunglasses. By her third month, though, she’d learned they generally made no secret about wanting one thing only. She’d discovered many of the pilots had a different girlfriend in each city they regularly visited. She absolutely wanted no part of that. She’d rather be single than be an arrogant man’s play toy. So after turning down several of the men, they’d finally taken the hint and stopped asking her for dates. She was relieved as she’d rather be a little lonely, than a lot jealous.