Stations of Life

“We can fix this, June-bug. With a little bit of effort, things will get back on track. Everything will go back to the way it used to be. I promise.”

That was what Eloise told me last Thursday night, her throat and nostrils full of tears that reduced her boisterous voice to a low croak. That was what she said in her desperation; in the most pain that I’ve seen her in a long time.

But I still walked out the door.

* * * *

When I arrived at work this morning, my coworkers made no mention of my messy hair and the fact that I was wearing the same clothes I wore on Monday. Same blue blazer and black pants, but with little spritzes of cinnamon perfume soaking into the polyester fabric. Okay, it wasn’t a perfume, it was air freshener, but who was going to know the difference?

Since I left my wife, I’d been staying with my best friend Charlie, who lives in an apartment in downtown St. Paul. While his apartment has been newly renovated, which is nice, unfortunately he doesn’t have laundry in the actual building. I haven’t had an opportunity to go back and pick up more of my things, nor have I been able to run a load of laundry. Last weekend I was so numb, I just stared at the wall till I memorized the location of every stain and chip.

After leaving my backpack at my desk, I made a beeline for the break room. I fumbled through the cabinets until I located my coffee mug, the one that Eloise bought me when I first started here. It’s an obnoxious orange color, meant to mimic a prescription bottle. On the side is a white label for the patient, Mr. Java Joe Espresso. Honestly, I don’t know why Eloise got this for me. It’s not like I’m addicted to caffeine or anything. She’s just the type of person who can’t resist buying gag gifts. On the bottom of the mug she wrote her name in black Sharpie, along with a little heart.

I helped myself to a cup of coffee in the kitchen and rolled my eyes at my younger coworkers who continued to use the Keurig. All these different flavors, and for what? Do people honestly drink coffee for the taste? And do they understand how all these K-cups pile up in the landfills, since they aren’t recyclable? An environmentally conscious rage electrified every fiber in my body.

Suzie is one of my younger coworkers, a recent graduate of Augsburg University, a private university in the Twin Cities. She’s fairly sweet, somewhat naive. I watched as she made herself a cup of caramel-apple coffee. Nasty.

“June, how are you doing today?” Suzie asked, her nervous voice betraying her seemingly genuine smile.

Yes, let’s all continue to dance around the elephant in the room. I clearly am going through some sort of major life crisis. The cinnamon air freshener did nothing to fool you, Suzie.

“I’m doing fine. You?”

“A little bit tired. This is my second cup of coffee this morning,” she said, politely covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned. “My roommates kept me up late again.”

“Don’t they have work?”

“They claim that they do, but honestly, they party so often that I’m starting to doubt it. Thank God my lease is almost up. I’m going to try to find my own place.”

“No roommates?”

“Thankfully I’ve cut down on my loan debt enough that I think I’d be comfortable going without roommates.”

“That’s great. Well, best of luck to you.”

“Oh, June, by the way, I think your wife came by the office on Friday looking for you.” Suzie tapped the edges of her mug, averting her eyes.

“We’re getting a divorce,” I told her flatly.

Suzie’s eyebrows rose. “Oh my God, June, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. She has not been taking it well, clearly. I’ve had to block her number from my phone because she wouldn’t stop talking. Did she say anything to you?”

“She wanted to make sure that you got your meds. It was kind of weird so I didn’t pry. I gave the bag of meds to Vanessa at the front desk. She locked them up.”

My cholesterol medication. Shit. I haven’t taken it for a few days. My cardiologist will be pissed.

“She also mentioned something about a meeting? Or like a family reunion? She said it was happening on Wednesday.”

Goddamn, I forgot about that too. Tomorrow night my grandparents are hosting a reunion at Mancini’s, in celebration of their fiftieth wedding anniversary. What am I going to do? Should I cancel? Or do I tell Eloise not to show up? Ha. What a laugh. It’s not like she’ll listen to me. Once she gets an idea in her head, she’s going to see it through.