Halloween letter…
A short story…
It was Friday, October 31st. An hour or two after lunch. Incidentally, this year Halloween falls on a Friday again. Back to the story. She had asked permission to come in a little late. Her children had a Halloween parade at their school. After she came in, she noticed him walking around with a mysterious cream envelope on his dark jacket. Up and down the stairs he went. From one side of the room to the other he paced. Around and around he went. Her coworker announced she had to leave early to get a costume. Right after she left, he closed the door and the two of them were alone in the upstairs office. After much drama and prelude, he handed her the cream envelope. A typed letter. A formal letter.
Once she started reading, her eyes swelled with tears. The knot on her throat was tight and it got tighter with each typed word her eyes glanced. Could this be a Halloween prank? If it was, it was not a nice one but pranks are hardly nice. Let’s keep reading—she said to herself. It was a termination letter. Her senses were numb. She was not sure what to say. What do you say? It was unexpected but not surprising.
The company had sought her out because of her portfolio. The salary offer was too good to turn down. The agency life she had long wanted to take a shot at suddenly was knocking at her door. An hour commute each way could not scare her away, she reasoned. Nor did the fact that she had been teaching for more than five years would be enough to hold her back. Though, in her industry even six months could mean obsolescence. She did not care. Her excitement far surpassed any reasonable concern that could damper this opportunity. Her mind could only contemplate the opportunity as the all in all.
The first day was a little less than she had hoped. She chalked it up to first day jitters. Eager and hopeful for the second day, she ignored any small red flags. And as the first week ended, her flame waned. She knew. In her mind and heart she knew. Even on the first day she knew. Her gut, her instinct told her. But she resisted. She missed teaching. She missed her former boss, Brad. She missed the city. She missed the train. She missed the hustle and bustle of walking in the city. She missed the 32 ounces of freshly squeezed orange juice at the station. But most of all, she missed the studio class dynamic; the feedback sessions, the conversations with the students about their projects, helping them fine tune ideas, the back and forth, and the life of a studio class. Convinced she had made a mistake, she approached her superiors and opened up about her feelings. They did their best to encourage her and assure her.
Knowing that her old job was offered to someone else, she stayed. She had to make do, at least for now. The payment was good. At least there was that. Though her heart was drying up she never once considered that being fired would be on the cards. Then again, there were challenges: the unspoken and unexplained rules, the files that could never be found, and the pressure to go along with a particular social dynamic. Some days it was too much and she’d cry. Other times it was the intense anxiety of making a mistake. One night she woke up at 4 am convinced she made a mistake on a file which prompted her to call one of her bosses. She left immediately to the office, turned on the computer, found the file, only to discover that there was no such error.
The day before Halloween a joke was made. A joke that would create ripples. As the day went on, a brainstorming session was called up. Between ideas and thoughts, it was suggested to her to sit on her boss’ lap—as a joke. She was not surprised but she knew it was not right. Something had to be said in return even if it was a joke. Having grown up with boys taught her to offer a retort to make a point. She did. Not missing a beat, she said no because sitting on his lap would mean a lawsuit. And that was that. As it was her usual back and forth with her male family members, she thought it would stay there. But it didn’t.
The next day, on Halloween, when the letter was given to her, she was still thinking it could be a prank. Her eyes swollen up with tears, and with her throat tightened up, she read the typed letter. She was being fired with prejudice. She would not be able to work with them in any other form or capacity. To add hurt to injury, she was told she needed to pack up her things in the box provided for her, and was to be escorted out of the building. Nothing in her life prepared her for this moment. She had no words. Only tears and she did not want to cry. She held on until she drove off and then, the crying began and did not stop for the entire hour commute.
It was a brutal day. A friend told her she had been fired because of her joke. Though they told her it was because she was not as fast as her coworker, her friend assured that they had to blame her to cover the incident. It was perhaps one of the worst days in her life. She had bad days before and jobs that did not work out. But she had never been fired, let alone this way.
It was a sad day. Feeling like a failure. How would she ever teach again? Day in and day out she wondered the same thing. A dark cloud lingered for months over her. Teaching was possible but there was a wait of six months. The wait was long but helpful. She learned the hard way where she belonged: in the studio class. Still fear and insecurity clouded her thoughts.
After six months, her first day at the studio class was here again. She approached the class with hesitation and insecure but excited. She had over prepared. Trying to hide her nerves, she started lecturing. One of her students looked at her and said: “Don’t worry about doing it right or wrong. We will not know the difference. You can lie to us and we will believe you..” She wanted to cry so bad. But she held back. She looked at them who were eager to learn from her and willing to listen. She knew then that she was back home.
Love,
Alma