Chapter 1
TGIF
Julie glanced at her PC clock and nervously calculated that the weekend would begin in precisely thirty-eight minutes. This time it was going to be different, she thought, and all day she was anticipating this Friday evening’s drive home. The day had seemed endless and she found herself checking the time as if it was a countdown to a rocket launch. As the moment grew near, the mental clutter of the day’s work was briskly whisked away. She briefly fumbled with the papers on her desk, in a distracted effort at organization. Pens and pencils were dropped into a cracked, purple coffee mug. The day’s files, stacked like losing lottery tickets were quickly herded into an empty drawer in the bottom of her desk. She slipped her shoes back on and fumbled nervously in the clutter of her purse searching for the reassuring sensation of her car keys.
Again, she checked her watch, and this time, reached for the light switch above her desk. With a single move of her finger, the day ended and the screen of her computer went dark. All around her, cubicles were going black, one by one, like light bulbs burning out in some huge sign.
She joined her co-workers; waiting for the elevator. She was nervously tapping her foot on the hard terrazzo floor as the doors finally parted. The car was crowded, but Julie had no intention of waiting for the next one, as her fellow workers had chosen to do. She pressed and wiggled her way into the car, ignoring the annoyance and frowns of the other passengers.
Julie walked across the parking lot, keys in hand. She squeezed the unlock button, prompting the horn and headlight flash from her Honda. As she got closer to the car, she noticed a pink note tucked under a wiper blade. She retrieved the note and opened it. “Tonight’s The Night,” was scrawled across the paper and signed, “Rach”. She quickly shoved the note into her purse and opened the car door. She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat. She needed some music. Her favorite Cheryl Cole disc was already in the player. She turned it on and cranked up the volume.
The eleven-mile trip home seemed to be so much longer than usual. Cheryl did all she could to shorten the trip but had no effect on the drive’s duration or Julie’s sweaty palms gripping the steering wheel as if her feet were dangling over the edge of a cliff. After a forty-minute drive of weaving her way through rush hour traffic, she turned into her apartment complex and guided the car into her reserved space, stopping it with a jolt. She quickly headed for the stairs to her unit, only to have to turn around and return to the car to retrieve her purse. Finally, she was at her front door.
Julie’s apartment was on the second floor of a vast network of second floors. It was her little niche in the world; hidden away within a maze of niches, each being occupied by unknown faces, behind countless numbered doors. Julie’s door was number 208.
Her apartment was simple; a one bedroom, one bath, with a living room and small kitchen. The bedroom had a double bed and a battered oak nightstand, which held a bedside lamp, an alarm clock, and the family bible. That bible meant the world to Julie’s mother. It was a treasured memento and always rested close to Julie’s dreams.
The only pictures adorning the walls were that of her parents’ wedding and her aunt Teresa, sitting on the beach on her trip to the Bahamas three years ago.
The sofa in the living room was left to her by her grandmother when she passed away. Julie saw it as an old Victorian monstrosity that she kept and tolerated only because of her deep affection for her Me Ma. Along with the old sofa, was an overstuffed, tattered chair and ottoman. This arrangement was Julie’s private oasis, her buttress against the waves that might be pounding her world. It was used often. The imprint of her delicate frame could be seen etched in the creases and folds of the blue corduroy fabric. A reconditioned computer sat on a simple desk and a printer rested on the floor beneath it. This piece of furniture was a makeshift landing strip for everything from a pair of pliers she had used to tighten a lamp base last week to a torn pair of pantyhose she had never gotten around to throwing away. A stack of papers, a stapler, and an empty wine glass were haphazardly arranged on top of the computer. The printer blinked a single red eye, trying to tell her it was out of paper. Several pairs of shoes, a pocketbook, and an umbrella also shared space under the desk. In fact, most everything that didn’t have a home or ran away from home usually ended up on the desk or under it. The desk was an out of place thing and didn’t belong, among its neat and tidy neighbors. It was one of those eccentric pieces of flotsam that bobbed up and down in Julie’s life. A table under one of the windows held a collection of Mickey Mouse memorabilia that she had been collecting since she was a young girl. Her mother got her started on a trip to Disneyland on her fifth birthday. She had been picking up pieces here and there ever since. It helped to occupy her time and mind and always reminded her of her mother. She kept the ones that her mother had purchased separately from the rest. The walls were decorated with only two pieces; an enlarged, framed photograph of her parents and her, taken at her First Communion and her Associate’s certificate from Juniper Hills Junior College.
The kitchen was also a bare-bones affair, providing a simple two-seat eating area. There was a vintage chrome legged table, secured from the Goodwill, and two simple ice cream parlor chairs. The counters held a coffee maker, a toaster oven, and a six-bottle wine rack. The rack was always full and a re-corked bottle usually rested beside it, at the ready.
