Fiction Fix Seventeen

In That Hear tless Valley 72
brothers back in Pottsville.
Mom, where do your prescription drugs rank?
Randy, where does a paint job for your truck rank?
Hey, I wanna help my family, but I’m deep in college
loans. Do I look like a money machine? Bill had
learned that in life, as in skateboarding, it
was a good idea to analyze one’s motives and
intentions, but not then, not in the middle of
another freaking layoff.
He heard time passing, the stockroom
breathing, and his life crashing under the
pressures of deadlines and debt. How could
he have forgotten his expense report when
every penny counted? Then he heard a door,
footsteps, and the rustle of her suit. She was
coming after him with her hatchet. It seemed
decisions were made, and empty space was
just empty space.
“Danny said you were back here.” Sylvia
studied him. “Why are you sitting on that
box?”
When he smelled her, he knew this was
not a fantastic nightmare. She was there,
she’d been drinking, and he couldn’t pretend
otherwise. She wasn’t the ruthless, callous,
detached person he’d imagined her to be, nor
a conniver born with a hunger to control people’s
lives. She was a girl who needed help.
As she squatted awkwardly, to be closer,
a strange look of understanding came over
her, and he wondered if this was a corporate
intervention or a personal one. Would she let
the hatchet fall or not? Was she intervening
in Bill’s pathetic life, or was he intervening
in hers?
“Bill, we can work this out. You don’t need
to interview people or spy at conference room
doors. Let me help.”
“Help?” He thought he shouted. But
beyond that, Bill was speechless. He wondered
if she knew how much her hand, resting on
his wide hairy knee had helped already. He lit
up. He felt an unfamiliar throb in his gut, not
like he was jealous of Danny, more like he was
suddenly human, and he was reminded how
interacting with people affects a guy. Was he
glimpsing the heart of a Hatchet Lady, or was
she just doing her job? Did she possess normal,
delayed, and deterred feelings too? Did each
layoff leave purple marks on her arms, hidden
like bruises under corporate suit jackets? Had
constant layoffs driven her to drink?