Mark's Cleaning Service to Kevin: YOU'RE FIRED

The first job I ever had was at St. Luke's Nursing Home. It was also the worst. In a small, crowded kitchen, I was yelled out for not knowing what I was doing; insulted for not wanting to touch half-eatten food; and generally in misery. So I quit after two days.

The second job I had was Acme, where I spent almost nine soul-crushing years working for the Man. Public Storage came after that, my favorite of all and currently the one I plan to stick with for at least a little while.

I have never been fired . . . until today.


Here's how the saga went:

I picked up Mark's Cleaning Service because I desperately needed the in-come. Tricia on bed rest, baby on her way, pressure to pay off some bills, more bills added . . . I needed the money.

I went to the interview and was told the place I would be cleaning was just over on Home Ave. Great, three minutes away. Went back to the office the next week and found out that I'm in fact not working there, but instead out in Wadsworth, where I would be working Saturday and Sunday's, 7-9:00 PM. Cleaning parks.

Driving 20-30 minutes out to Wadsworth, I found out that I was in fact really working 8:30-11:00 PM. I had one day of training, as my trainer crapped out the second and no one else could be bothered to come out to help me. I had to throw in the towel after 90 minutes of driving through Wadsworth not knowing where I was going.

Parks wasn't too bad once I got into the swing of things. But this was when things were getting scary with Tricia's pregnancy. I wasn't comfortable being so far away in case there was an emergency. So I asked for something closer to Akron. They found me something in Fairlawn. You can read about those adventures in my previous note.

I need to point out a few things at this point:
1) No one showed me how to clock in or out
2) I never recieved my ID badge
3) My vacation/time off request (which I ended up not even taking, but that's besides the point) was never even looked at
4) The woman who trained me at the doctor's office and medical building didn't say squat about the job I was doing; she actually more rude than educational

So anyways, I was just starting to kinda figure out what I was doing at the offices when my boss called me today. He said that the doctor's office wasn't pleased with the job I was doing. He listed off some stuff like not changing the lining in the garbage cans (something I was told not to do during training); not sweeping thoroughly (I can agree with this -- I sucked [no pun intended]); and some other stuff I missed. Apparently.

He wasn't a dick about it, which I appreciated. He was honest and the doctors office did threaten to cancel their contract with Marks. I really wish he had given me a second chance, but I guess I understand. The boss seemed pretty fair and worked well with me (he had previously apologized for the parks training fiasco and approved my request to transfer over to Akron from Wadsworth). He said over and over again that it wasn't personal and that he had to do what he felt was best. "Cleaning just isn't your thing" was the dominant part of the conversation. I told him I understood and that while I was disappointed, I agreed with his decision and would arrange to get the keys back.

I'm not the kinda guy that likes to blame other people, but the sheer lack communication seems to be an issue here. Clearly, the company lacks that. I wasn't trained properly at either location, I don't care what anyone says.

Ultimately, though, I did suck. I mean, even as I was working I couldn't help but think I was cut out for cleaning. I got no beef with the company itself and I guess this could be used as a testimoney to their dedication to a good days work --- they'll fire anyone who slacks off.

My personal belief is that you're never going to work a job that won't teach you something. That's why whenever someone I know bitches about not having a job, but refuses to take anything that's beneath them, I scuff. Customer service builds people skills and improves communication. Any office experience is good experience, skill-wise. What did I learn from this job?

I'm not a janitor.

Up, Up and . . . CRASH

When I was 12 years old, I decided to create a super-hero. Sitting in my Dad's basement, sitting at the exact same desk I'm typing this at, I drew this super-hero and proceeded to draw him teaming up with the X-Men.

When I was 13 years old, I started writing short stories about this character, as well as other new characters. I finished these short stories early in the 8th grade, collected them in a binder and proceeded to write three sequels over the course of the year. I call this Version One.

I started Version Two the following Fall, just as I entered high school. Version Two was basically Version One, just with the first two books re-written. At the end of that year, I kicked off Version Three. Version Three was kingly. At this point, I had all my character down pat, I had revised my approach to the story and really put some serious work into building their universe. After I finished the four major books, I moved on and did sequels.

Sometime around the beginning of Junior year, I decided it was time for Version Four. Version Four was the culmination of all the re-writes. It was perfection in a black binder. I had friends read it at school and even had one of them do a wicked ass cover. Pre-Mrs. W even drew a picture of the main character (he looked nothing like how I pictured, but it impressed me).

I then did something stupid. Instead of going back re-writing it, I tried to write sequels to Version Four. What's worse, I wouldn't stop! The first sequel sucked and I knew it. I should have gone back to forumla, but instead . . . I tried for a trilogy. It stunk.

After Version Four, there have been numerous attempts at this story. Comic book scripts. Attempts to introduce the main character with amensia. Establishing the characters as they're a team as opposed to bringing them together.

Last year, unexpectedly, I ended writing a 12-part story about these characters. It was nothing too exciting and not my best, but I loved writing them again. It took place a few years after the story that's been attempted to be re-told a million times. Like I said, I loved it.

So I thought "Man, this is it. You had a good time writing them again, so let's go back to the beginning and start from ground zero."

And I wrote one chapter. And it was okay. Then I wrote the current chapter. And it was crap.

It's like this lightning in a bottle. I just can't write it anymore. I try. And try. And try and try and try and try and just can't get it right. I screw it up somewhere and the whole thing just collapses. Sentences are akward, paragraphs are too short, dialogue is funky, and I lose the ultimate direction I was moving in. Outlines don't help. "Beta" readers don't help (well, I have one and that's my wife). I stare at it and I see the letters melting to the bottom of my page in one digital blob of badness.

Ugh.

Dear Hipster . . .

Dear Hipster,

I called you about fifty times, telling you about your storage unit. You haven't been paying for it and you haven't visited since last month. What the hell, man? Why did you even get it if you weren't going to pay or use it?

Well, anyways, just like I said in my voicemails, the lock cuts came and went. Your unit was full of abandoned goods -- unless you wanted to that really horrible loveseat that looked like it survived a war. Other than that, the remains of what looked like your sentimentality was left behind.

Today I threw away the following:
- a MOC (mint-on-card) Han Solo from the 1997 line of Star Wars figures
- a vintage "Empire Strikes Back" coloring book with at least 1/3 of the pages colored (mostly inside the lines)
- 12-13 beat-up copies of "Rolling Stone" magazine, all from around 1999-2001
- an Altell bill in someone else's name
- four post cards
- ten cards and letters
(I didn't read them)
- no less than four broken records
- a beat-up, inside-out cabby-hat
- a "Poor" issue of "Web of Spider-Man" # 3 (featuring Doc Ock)

Needless to say, this is all in the garbage. I have to ask you, Hipster, was this the last of your days as such? Did you shrug this off because that part of you is peeling away? Are parts of your Hipster image breaking off? Will I find your love of an independant coffee shop in my parking lot when you pay your balance? Will you will leave behind your Liberal Arts degree next time you get a storage unit? Perhaps it will scattered with your indy comics and empty casette cases. Was leaving us this mess a sign that you no longer wished to "go green?"

I admire Hipsters. I do. I wish I was one, but I don't have the credentials to back that up. I wonder now if you truly were one or perhaps it was yet another mask you put on to impress one of the many girls your notes were addressed to. My biggest indicator is the indy-produced magazine entitled "The Hipster." Issue 5 was found amongst shards of records and dirty clothing, photocopied and illustrated by someone who may have been from Highland Square. Why did you need this? A guide to the culture you wished to infiltrate?

I wonder what guise you will take on next? Business man? Nerd? Will your next storage unit be filled with "Esquire" or "Wizard?" Will you have "X-Men" # 3 or "Iron Man" # 3 in your unit? Will you have an MOC Lando in your next unit, to indicate that you have moved into the wheeling and dealing aspects of business? Or perhaps yet another Stormtrooper so that you can someday amass an army?

I'm just curious, is all.

In the end, I hope you pay this bill you left us. It took me way too long to throw your crap out.

Sincerely,

THE MAN

I love "The Office" -- It Needs to End

I really do love "The Office." After six seasons, the show is still very funny and is still chock full of cringe-worthy moments of embarassment. The problem is, the show hit its creative high last season (agruably) and everything seems to be slowly slowly winding down.

In terms of character arcs, no one but Jim and Pam have been developed. And Jim and Pam are pretty much locked in unless something were to happen to the baby -- a move that would be extremely bad. This is a good thing, of course, but since their very sitcom wedding, the couple hasn't had much to do other than be in love and get ready for baby. They've given up on their bigger, more exciting dreams and integrated themselves into the company they both were so apathetic about in the beginning. There's no place to go with them unless something very drastic were to happen.

As for the rest of the gang . . . the drama level has dropped. All of the previous relationships (Dwight/Angela, Andy/Angela, Michael/Jan, Michael/Carol, Michael/Holly, Kelly/Ryan, Kelly/Daryl) have pretty much concluded and without it, there's this sort of "well, now what?" feel to the show's side characters. I'm not completely excited about an Andy/Erin hook-up.

Don't get me wrong here. The show is still very funny and I think the current subplot involving Dunder-Mifflin facing bankruptcy is what the show needs to continue through the end of this season. But honestly? Let's wrap it up.

My concern is that it'll lose it's luster, much like "Scrubs." Was "Scrubs" still good in its later seasons? Yes, but it lacked the charm and energy of its earlier seasons. I'd rather not see that happen to "The Office" -- I'd rather see it go out like "Seinfeld," and simply bow out before the characters became cliched versions of themselves.

So, let's do that. Let's conclude it.

Let's take through the end of the season. Push out one more season, where we start to bring the characters and the company itself to its end. Give Jim and Pam their baby. Find someone for Michael (Leslie Knope, I swear I ship this) and give Dwight a promotion. And then turn off the lights and lock the door.

-----

What inspired this? I had a dream I worked at Dunder-Mifflin, which emphasised how much I relate to Jim and Pam. Remember the arc when Pam moved to NYC to go to art school? Some of those scenes were like they transcripts of when Mrs. W lived in North Carolina -- in particular the one where she flunked out.

In addition to that, it also shows how the two of them have had to adapt and do what they must, even if it means not leaving the company. I feel ya.

We Can Rebuild It . . .

I'm considering relaunching this blog as something more along the lines of the adventures of a college drop-out. After numerous attempts at finishing college, success has eluded me. Now I'm twenty-seven, work and live at a self-storage facility in Akron, Ohio. I spent nine years in the grocery business. My dreams of writing a best-selling novel has manfested in piles of Star Trek and He-Man fanfics.

Wow. That's depressing.

I can't say I'm happy with all the decisions I made. I try not to regret my life after high school, as I can't sit here and tell you that I didn't try and that I don't have anyone to blame for myself. Too many negatives there. Sorry.

Let's try this again.

I think that the idea of never finishing college will always haunt me. It's kind of a complex issue. I never had the opportunity to live in a dorm and do college-y things. I never got to learn the things I always wanted to learn. I live a life of financial instability and with the constant hope that something will happen that will boost me up to the next step.

But this is moot at this point. Let's be honest, I have no one to blame but myself when it comes to college. I was never able to prioritize it. I was never able to devote the kind of focus I needed to have on it. Part of that was my ADD and part of it was just me. Will I ever go back? I dunno. I can't afford it anymore. My wife tells me she wants to go back . . . but that determination seems to last about a week before it goes quiet and nothing gets said for another two months when we have a big, dramatic conversation about it.

Oy, but let's focus on me, huh?

Anyways, so I'm not pleased with myself in the college world, but it's not like I'm living the bad life. I have an apartment that I don't have to pay for (I did take a significant pay cut though), so as long as I have a job, I have a roof over my head. I have a job that has generally "okay" benefits. And hey, I'm getting some office experience, right? That'll help me when I finally get that mail room job I'll be gunning for in 8.5 years. ;)

I like this, actually. We're in it now and you're stuck wth me. Read this blog and know what happens when you drop out of college and need to wallow in your nerdiness to keep yourself feeling better. Read this blog and know what it is to be happily married, even if your backyard is the space between a golf cart garage and the first building in a self-storage property.

Read this blog and know the good life.

It'll make you do your homework.

Summer Romance - Part Two: July

PART TWO: JULY

One

“Wow, Sam, your boobs got really big!”

Samantha laughed and glanced down at her cleavage. “Ohhh yeah.” She looked at all of her other friends – Kelly, Melissa, and Andrea – and they looked at her breasts. “What, are you guys men now?”

They laughed hard. “Well, y’know it’s gonna happen to all of us,” Melissa said then.

“Not if we don’t get pregnant,” Andrea responded.

“I thought you wanted kids?”

Andrea shrugged. “Well, yeah, sure, but that doesn’t mean I want to get pregnant. I could just adopt.”

“I suppose that’s an option,” Kelly said and pressed her hands on Samantha’s belly. “It feels so strange.”

Samantha nodded and patted it herself. “Tell me about it.”

The girls were all in bikinis, ready for an afternoon dip in the ocean. They were simply waiting for the boys to come back with beach snacks and suntan lotion. Samantha had surprised herself by wearing a two-piece at this point in her pregnancy, but she figured ‘what the hell, right?’ Who was she trying to impress? She was married and Alex was all for it.

“Whoa! Someone’s got some pretty powerful legs!” Kelly suddenly gasped.

“I think that’s his arms, actually,” Samantha replied, hands pressing on her belly, trying to get a feel as to where the baby was.

“Wow, crazy.”

“No kidding.”

“So are you ready for this? This whole Mom thing?” Melissa questioned.

“Oh hell no!” Samantha answered with a laugh. “No way. But . . . but . . . I think I’m going to be when it comes screaming and pooping into my life.”

“What about Alex? How’s he doing with all this?”

“You’re kidding, right? Alex is all kinds of geared up. We went Target the other day and he dragged me into the sports equipment section and was going on and on about what he wants to buy when the little guy gets old enough to hold a ball.”

“It’s so weird to think of Alex as a Dad,” Andrea stated. “But that’s cool.”

“Yeah. It is.”

And it really was.

The front door suddenly opened and all the girls got their feet. Samantha was struck with how much she missed them; even though Andrea went to Luthor College across the state. Considering how bored she had become since she and Alex moved down here, they made for the perfect distraction and a fantastic new source of interest for her. She had missed these women, these friends.

Two

The last time they were all gathered together was at Alex and Samantha’s wedding.

It was a small wedding and while not really what Samantha had dreamed of having, it was still quite lovely and it warmed her heart every time she thought back to it. Nestled in a bed and breakfast resort in the Blue Ridge Mountains, she was married to Alexander and took his name. On Valentine’s Day.

The wedding played out in a lodge. Half of the resort had been rented out for this event. The room was a decent size, though with everyone in it, it became rather cozy and warm. Huge windows gave the wedding goers a beautiful view of the valley below and the mountains that curved around it. Snowflakes poured constantly from the heavens, coating the mountains and bare trees in thick white layers. A fire chirped and crackled next to the windows and that’s where Alex and his Best Man, Jimmy stood. A Pastor was there, also, a round, bald man who smiled genuinely at them and gave no sense of judgment. His kindness gave Samantha a leap of faith.

The room was filled with about thirty-odd people in all. A few friends, but mostly just family. Uncles, aunts, cousins, and a grandparent.

Donald was given one task and one task alone – to enter the room and turn on the CD player. He did so and when he did and music began to pour out, the precession began. Dusty, Melissa; Staci, Roger; Rachel, David. Todd, Kelly, and Andrea were all in the audience.

Everyone watched, then, as Samantha came down the aisle. Her belly was starting to show, but it wasn’t quite prominent yet. An empire waist dress hung gently down across her middle, hiding the belly (for the most part). Her fourteen year old brother Jack was giving her away; she hadn’t seen her father since she was twelve and hadn’t heard from him since she was eighteen.

The ceremony was simple and straight-forward. She vowed herself to him and he vowed himself to her. It was brief, it was quiet. It was unplanned, it was put together fast, and it wasn’t what she dreamed of as a little girl growing up . . . but it was a wedding and she really did love Alex.

She really did.

Their first dance was to Bryan Adam’s “Everything I Do.”

Dinner came afterwards in the next room. The evening sunlight came into the room briefly; the sky outside was gray and thick above the snowy mountains. The food was decent, but nothing to write home about. She watched as wine was poured into everyone’s glasses but her own. It wasn’t exactly fair – she had turned 21 and was finally allowed to legally drink . . . only to be stuck being without it for nine months.

The gift from Alex’s father was a check for $20,000. He also told them: “Spend the summer at the beach house. It’ll be one big fling for you before parenthood. I’ll make all the arrangements.” He did so and they raced on down once the semester ended. Samantha switched doctors and Alex got a job at his father’s chain. The baby would be born here and they would then move back up to Maxwell – in an apartment of their own. It was all so nice and neatly planned.

Three

Just like at her wedding, Samantha watched as alcohol was poured all around. She watched jealousy as her girlfriends and the boys stood out on the porch, getting hammered. The sun above dipping into the horizon and music pounded from an expensive stereo. The porch door was open, allowing cold air to escape and mosquitoes to enter. Samantha shut the door, stopping both. She turned her back to the party she was hosting but wasn’t a part of.

Maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s time to put this behind you . . . even though you didn’t get a chance to really get into it.

Samantha’s back ached and she walked over to the couch. The day at the beach had been a ton of fun, but exhausting all the same. She plopped down and took in a deep breath, regarding the thought that perhaps she spent her last summer being a party girl was last year.

As if on cue, Kelly and Andrea came stumbling in. “Hey girl! What are you doing in here? Party’s outside!” Andrea exclaimed.

“It’s hot.”

“It’s summer! Wooo!” Kelly lifted a margarita to her lips and downed it.

“Well done,” Samantha stated and smoothed out her shirt against her stomach. “The baby likes the music. He moves a lot when the bass gets loud. Oh! Like that!”

“Awesome,” Kelly replied. “Rock that uterus out!”

Andrea put her hand on Samantha’s womb. “Oh yeah, wow. He must think he’s at a sweet-ass rave party or something.”

Samantha laughed. “I guess so.”

Kelly made herself busy in the kitchen as Andrea took a seat next to Samantha. “Still going back to school?”

“Yeah, definitely. A semester off, then we’re going to figure out a schedule that’ll let us both go to school.”

“Will you be working?”

“I’m not sure. If I do, it might not be much. Alex is going to be full-time or something back up at the ‘Fish, Bird, and Fresh Market’ near Maxwell. I really want to concentrate on college and the baby.”

She didn’t tell Andrea this, but there were times – irrational times – that she was angry at the boy in her belly for messing up her college plans; for delaying her and making things already harder. She would deny this irrationality for as long as she could, though, and it would (in time) fade away.

“Here ya go! Virgin margarita even though you’re not!” Kelly laughed, placing a glass on the coffee table.

“Really?! I had no idea!” Samantha responded, laughing and taking the drink.

Kelly started laughing uncontrollably, nearly spilling her drink. Samantha looked to Andrea, who shook her head in amusement.

“You’re pretty drunk, ain’t ya?” Andrea questioned.

“Drunk and pretty, yep!”

“HAMBURGERS AND HOT DOGS ARE DONE!” shouted Alex suddenly barging in with a plate baring such grilled meat.

“I’ve got buns!” Kelly yelled back and smacked her own ass. Todd walked over to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Okay, babe, let’s get ya some food . . . and maybe some water . . .”

“Wooo!”’

Four

Samantha cried Monday night, when her friends jetted back home. She wasn’t exactly sure why, nor why she hid it from Alex. She sat in the kitchen and cried for a while, then went upstairs to the loft. Alex was sitting on the couch, watching some mindless summer replacement show. It was reality TV.

“You all right?” he asked, looking up at her.

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worrying about it.”

“I . . . I’m just hormonal, I guess. I had such a good time with the girls and everyone and I really missed them.”

He patted the couch and she sat down next to him. “We’ll see them again soon,” he said to her with ease. It did nothing for her and he may have known this on some level. Known it and ignored for whatever reason guys ignore things like that.

“I miss my old life.”

This jarred Alex and he turned to her sharply, but not with anger. “What?”

She hugged her belly. “I’m . . . I don’t feel ready for this. Any of this. Do you? Are you ready to give up what we had yesterday? I . . . we’re so young, Alex. We’re not normal. Andrea, Kelly, Todd . . . all of them. They’re normal. They know what they’re doing, right?”

“We know what we’re doing, Sam.”

“Do we? We have everything so nicely planned out, but what if it goes to hell in a hand basket? What if we fuck it up somehow?”

He reached out and took her hand. “We’ll fix it.”

“What if something is wrong with the baby?”

Alex’s face turned inward with thought and feeling, as if the words that he needed to say were buried just so very deep in his brain. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of!” she said loudly. “I don’t know if we can handle that. I don’t know if we can handle a kid that’s retarded or sick or . . .”

“We’re young, but we’re not kids,” Alex answered. “We can figure something out if things get messed up.”

“It’s not just you and me anymore, Alex,” she said, cuddling up to him, putting her head on his chest and hugging on his middle. He kissed her head.

“It hasn’t been for a while,” he replied.

Summer Romance - Part One: June

SUMMER ROMANCE

By Kevin Woodside

Author's Note:
I wrote this story last spring. Some random Sunday morning, I was at work and the words just kinda dripped into my brain. On my lunch, I got on laptop and just started writing. Those that read this bare in mind that this story isn't meant to disection. Don't look at it and think "what was Kevin thinking when he wrote this?" Furthermore, the story is my own. Do not post it elsewhere without my permission.

PART ONE: JUNE

One

Samantha stood alone on the beach, the cool ocean water reaching past her feet and up to her ankles. She stared at the hypnotic rolling and breaking of the water as it crashed upon the beach. It ran over her toes and their pink chipped toe-nail polish. The sand beneath her feet became soaking wet.

The sky was a hazy non-color shade of gray. The sun itself was a vague glowing shape somewhere behind the haze. Her tan shorts were open at the fly, allowing her pregnant belly to hang out nakedly into the open air. Her blouse was opened at below her chest, further exposing it. Her left hand held her flip-flops and in the right was a hair tie.

Her sandy blonde hair suddenly blew around her face as a strong sea breeze swept over the beach. It broke her stare and took her from her brewing thoughts. Samantha looked around. To her right and down a bit, three kids were playing kites. It was a good day for it; the wind was strong.

An elderly couple were coming her direction wearing wind-breakers. A little dog yapped and looked to be hauling them forward on a taunt leash. From the direction of the kids playing with their kites came four young teenagers that managed to look Emo even in just swimming trunks.
‘We only swim when it’s cloudy out,’ she mocked them in her mind. She felt a sudden automatic hatred towards them. Who did they think they were? This was an island full of rich people. And while her situation wasn’t exactly full of financial hardship, it was certainly a lot worse than what these kids were trying to project. Samantha sighed and tried to calm her moment of hate – she didn’t know them, maybe they were abused, etc.

She wasn’t sure why she was out here on her own. Samantha had been to the ocean since she and Alex came down here two weeks ago, but this was the first time she came alone. Since they moved (or fled, as she liked to think of it) from Maxwell University to here, Samantha felt as if she was in a daze. Emotional. Physical. Maybe even spiritual, if she really did believe in that (it depended on the day, really).

She hoped that just getting out of the house and going somewhere other than just the mall and the grocery store would help break her out of the funk. She wasn’t sure if this was doing it or not, but she felt better just going . . . someplace natural.

Samantha also wasn’t sure why she let her belly be exposed. She supposed that if she was going to be at the beach, she might as well show off the body she had no problem with a year ago (hell, six-seven months ago). It was still her body, just with a baby inside of it.

Samantha looked around again. There was a flock of seagulls overhead, crying out, wishing that more visitors would come to the beach and drop some food for them. Her eyes followed them. The kids were still playing with their kites; and the elderly couple were walking on and on, their dog yapping at everything that moved even the slightest centimeter. The Emo kids were vanishing on the horizon.

Then there’s just me, Samantha sighed internally

Not anywhere near where she thought she would be a year ago.

Samantha shoved that thought away, but really only managed to move it to the outer orbit of her mind. It would linger there for a good while.

She turned away from the ocean and tossed her flip-flops onto the cold but dry sand. She slid them on and headed back to the boardwalk. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and walked up the stairs to the boardwalk. There was a cute little beach shop right in front her. She and Alex had been in it at least three times since they got down here.

Like those other times, there was a woman in her mid-to-late 50s with a face that was starting to really wrinkle and dark gray hair pulled into a thick, awkward looking bun behind the counter. The woman smiled as the bell above the doors chimed and Samantha entered.

“Hi!” the woman greeted.

“Hello,” Samantha responded meekly.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing there, but she had found the store charming during the previous visits. The tables and shelves were filled with knickknacks and memorabilia. T-shirts hung from racks, advertising in so many different ways, Parma Beach, South Carolina. There were a few squirt guns, kites, towels . . . you name it.

Samantha saw a necklace made out of seashells and smiled. It was cute. She wondered what Alex would think of it – ‘Hey, my little beach babe.’

“I’ll just take this,” she said, walking up to the register.

“That all?”

“Yeah.”

The woman nodded and smiled sweetly. “How much further you got, honey?”

“About three months.”

“Trying to get in one last vacation before the baby comes, huh?”

“Guess so, yeah.”

“Well, you enjoy yourself.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Samantha took her receipt and left.

Two

The child was that was curled up in Samantha’s uterus was not planned at all. She refused to call the event that brought sperm and egg together an accident and it was certainly not a mistake. It was, simply, not planned.

The events that brought about the pregnancy were complicated. Her Mom had lost her job and thus, lost insurance, meaning Samantha couldn’t afford her birth control pills. During the time that her Mom lost her job and before she could get her new one, Samantha and Alex had sex. Samantha knew better, but the power of desire and the intoxication of a bottle of wine prevented them from reaching under Alex’s bed for the condoms.

The act was beautiful.

Unplanned.

But beautiful.

She found out she was pregnant right before Christmas. Samantha told Alex before they left for Winter Break. He didn’t know what to do. But he didn’t say abortion. He only said adoption once and that was barely in context. Samantha, scared that he would leave her, abandon her, shove her away, fell in love with Alex all over again.

They parted for the break. He went to North Carolina to tell his parents. She went to Brookings, Oregon to tell her Mom. He never gave the details, but she knew that telling his parents was hard for Alex. He was the oldest. It helped that he and Samantha had been going out for a year and a half, but it didn’t exactly ease their troubles.

Her own mother was hurt by it and blew up at her. The night her Mom found out about the pregnancy, Samantha took refuge at her sister’s place. Rachel was supportive and understanding, instilled with that sisterly wisdom of experience. Rachel herself was married and had two children of her own; she was married to a quiet guy named Donald. When Donald found out that Samantha was pregnant, it was really one of the few times that he had something worthwhile to say.

“Having children is hard work, but it’s worth it. Every second of it. It’s worth it. I think you’re brave for wanting to take this on, Sam. Braver than a lot of girls in your situation.”

Rachel then made a joke at her husband’s expense, but Samantha ignored it. She simply focused on what Donald had said and would continue to keep that in her head for months to come.
The next morning, after sleeping on the couch and spending some time hovering over the toilet puking (with Rachel being sweet enough to hold back her hair), their Mom showed up crying. She swept Samantha into her arms, kissing her cheeks. She apologized for yelling, but reiterated her disappointment. But she told Samantha “what’s done is done and I’ll support you in every way that I can.”

Samantha returned to her mother’s house. That night, the youngest of the three children, Jack, found out. He was only fourteen. He and Samantha talked long into the night about sex. He knew the basics and had heard all sorts of lessons about absetince. But Samantha told him how important it was that, if he were to become sexually active, to use a condom. And to not just ‘bang every girl you can find; make sure it’s someone special and important.’

That next day, Samantha heard from Alex. His parents were really quite angry, but two nights worth of sleep had calmed them and had them thinking rationally. Alex’s father was a high-up with a huge grocery company and was pulling strings almost immediately.

On New Year’s Eve, Alex flew to Brookings. He had never met Samantha’s family, but they embraced him with open arms. The whole family – her Mom, Rachel, her kids, Donald, Jason, Samantha, and Alex – had a New Year’s party that evening. At midnight, when Samantha turned to kiss her boyfriend, she found him down on one knee, holding out a box with a diamond ring inside.

“I love you.”

“I . . .”

“Will you marry me?”

“I’m . . .”

“It’s not just -- ”

“Yes!”

She cried and hugged him and kissed him hard.

Three

Samantha walked down the road from the boardwalk. They weren’t staying very far; down the street and around the corner. She hadn’t really noticed, but her walk was progressive becoming a waddle. By the time she got to the beach house, she was exhausted, her ankles swelling a little, and back aching a bit. Her new seashell necklace jangled around her neck.

The beach house was almost embarrassingly large. Three bedrooms – the master bedroom on the first floor, two more on opposites of the second story loft.

She got in the shower. Samantha put the same shorts on, but changed shirts to something that covered her growing middle. Hair up in a towel, she made her way around the beach house, trying to find something to do, something to keep her busy. She was too young to just sit around and eat bon-bons.

Samantha started gathering up the massive piles of laundry that was growing in the bedroom. She hefted the basket against her hip and made her way to the laundry room. As she proceeded to load up the washer, she realized exactly what she was.

Sammy, sweetie, you’re a housewife.

It struck her fast and she fought a bizarre need to start crying. She told herself that it was just the hormones, that after they had the baby and it was old enough for daycare, she would go back to school. Get that dream job. She could still do that.

Oh, she begged herself not to cry. Not to be like this.

Samantha leaned against the washer and started weeping uncontrollably.

“Fuck it,” she said and tossed the basket to the ground. “Fuck it!”

She spent ten minutes in the laundry room crying alone.

Four

Alex came home around 5:20. The drive from work took that long; that’s the way things were outside of Charleston – spread out and far off. He arrived home, his tie a thing that hung loosely from his neck. In his hands were two plastic bags that with some groceries. Since they came down here, their trips to the grocery store had been almost endless. It didn’t help that Alex worked there now.

“Sam?”

Alex came into the living room, finding his wife on the couch, facing at the TV. There were a few crumbled tissues lying next to her. Her eyes were closed and her body was sprawled out.

“Sammy?”

Her eyes opened slowly. “Huh? Oh . . .” She eased herself up. “I must have fallen asleep.”

He smirked a little. “I guess so. That’s okay.”

Samantha got up and followed Alex into the kitchen, stretching and yawning, her shirt riding up her belly a bit as she did. “I can start dinner in a few minutes. What do you want?” She opened the refrigerator.

“Oh I got it, Sam. It’s okay.”

She turned to him, surprised. “What? Really?”

“Yeah. Spaghetti and meatballs!” He said this with a toss of a box of spaghetti into the air. He meant to catch it, but missed horribly. “Whoops.”

Samantha giggled. “Do you want some help?” she asked after he recovered the box.

“Nope, I got it covered. You just go back out there and relax, okay?”

“You know not to use the whole box, right?”

“Uh . . . yes.”

“You do now, huh?”

“Heheh, yeah.”

She sat down at the dinner table and picked through some mail. There were a few ads that she glanced through.

“It’s unbearably humid out there,” Alex said, bringing the water to a rolling boil. “I was so glad I was inside. I thought Greensboro could get bad . . .”

“I went out to the ocean today.”

“Oh yeah? Did you go swimming?” The water was spilling over the top of the pot, but he got it under control quickly.

“No. Just went and looked at the water. Wanted to get out.”

He nodded and added the noodles. “Ah.”

“Oh! I got this too.”

Alex looked over and saw her holding up the necklace. “That’s cute!”

“Isn’t it?”

The dinner was done after a few more minutes. Alex and Samantha were soon sitting across from each at the dinner, eating. It was a little watery, but it was still good.

“So, I was thinking about having some of the guys down here for the fourth.”

“Who?”

“Todd, Dusty, Jimmy, maybe David, maybe Lorrel. Definitely Roger.”

“That’s fine, but only if I can have some of my friends come down too.”

“Like?”

“Melissa, Staci, Andrea . . . and Kelly.”

“Kelly’s going out with Todd.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot.”

Alex nodded with an amused smile. “That’s okay. I thought I read somewhere that pregnant women tend to get a little forgetful.”

“Watch it now, mister,” she warned. “We also get angry faster.”

“And horny too, right?”

“Well, aren’t you Mr. Educated?”

“Haha, I just call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

Samantha smiled.

Five

Outside, it was starting to rain. Underneath a thin sheet, Samantha’s naked body was laying next to Alex’s. The love-making had been passionate and fulfilling, if not a little fast. Alex was exhausted, but Samantha seemed to be woken up by the act; she was feeling restless and uncomfortable just lying there.

“Alex? Honey?”

“Hm, yeah?”

“I was wondering - ”

“Hrm?”

“I was wondering, do you think . . . do you think that maybe I should get a job?”

“A job?”

“Yeah, like . . . I don’t know, I mean, I know your Dad gave us that $20,000 and you’re working and everything, but . . . babies are expensive and we’re going to need all that we can get.”

“Honey, we’re fine. Just fine.”

“It’s not just that. I get so bored around here. None of my friends are here and, my family is literally on the other side of the country. Maybe I should just get a little job. Just something to occupy myself with.”

“Hrmm. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

That was the last he had to say about it. Alex went quiet after that and Samantha dropped the subject. She laid back, awake and mind racing, running, screaming. Alex really started to doze off, but Samantha couldn’t sleep. She stood up, the sheet slipping off her body. She pulled on a pair of boxers that she had stolen months ago from Alex and a tank top.

Downstairs, she made herself some herbal tea and then stood at loft window, watching as the rain came down in sheets and a thunderstorm rolled on in.