Chapter 9: Joe

Joe's usually long drive into Indianapolis had flown by that morning. The miles of open fields had disappeared, and the brick buildings of the city were beginning to spring up. While he drove deeper into the cityscape, he pushed his thoughts of Elizabeth away. He wasn't sure how to handle all that he was going through, and he had gotten pretty good at swallowing his feelings, so he quickly shifted his thoughts and traded his memories for views of the city.

Joe loved the city; he could move through the masses quietly and unnoticed. It was nothing like his hometown. He had often thought that growing up in a small town had its advantages but going unnoticed wasn't one of them. The fact of the matter was that his small town made him crazy. Harrison was your typical Midwestern town where everyone knew everybody, and they knew all the insignificant details about your life, even the ones you wanted to forget. But it wasn't like that in the city.

There, Joe became who he wanted; he was only what he told people, which wasn't much these days. He had often dreamt that after moving back home when he returned from the war, that life would be different, but when he got back, it seemed life had stood still.

As he drove through the sprawling city, he tried to understand what had led him back home. He realized his dad was there, and he thought his father needed his help. When he had been gone during the war, home was all he'd dreamt of, but now he enjoyed being away. His escape each day to the city was peaceful, but for some reason Joe found himself driving back to that big old house and his dad each evening.

When Joe finally rounded the corner to his office, he was blinded by the sun shining off the white limestone and glass of the building. He squinted as he looked ahead of him and pulled his truck into one of the shaded parking spots near the steps that led up to the building. He watched as a steady stream of people came and went, and then he looked over to the passenger seat, seeing his pictures strewn everywhere. Joe shook his head as he reached up, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He reached over collecting his photos and then grabbed his camera and bag.

Joe stepped from the truck, shifting the folder he held in his hand and made his way up the steps. When he walked into the building, he could see his editor's office on the far wall. Joe glanced down to his watch; his stomach dropped as he realized how late he was. Joe's boss was a stickler for the rules, and he was extremely pointed about being on time. As he walked toward the doors to the stairs, he could see his editor sitting there with his back to the large plate glass that faced the lobby. Joe didn't want to draw any undue attention, so he tried to hurry past.

As he was about in the clear, his editor turned in his chair as if he had a sixth sense for his late workers. Joe turned toward his door to make it look as if he was going to see him, but his editor wasn't buying it. He glanced at his watch and then to Joe, glaring at him over the top of his glasses. It instantly made Joe feel like he was eight years old and caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

His editor stood up from his desk and walked over to the door. Joe tried to say good morning, but his pleasantries were met with a door slamming in his face. Joe jumped as it smashed into the jamb only inches from his nose. He looked at the nameplate on his editor's door and read it aloud.

"Mike Carlson, Editor-in-Chief"

Joe reached up and pointed at his editor's name.

"Yep, that's his name right there."

He shook his head in disbelief as he began to mumble.

"Way to start the week off, Joe."

He took a deep breath as he turned from the door and walked toward the stairs. He flew up the three flights of steps to his work area, skipping two or three as he went. When he emerged from the stairwell, he hurried down the hall toward the staff work area and, as he reached the door, he shoved it open with both hands, causing the door to bounce off the wall.

When he entered through the crashing door, the staffers in the work area all stopped and looked at him. He reached up shielding his eyes from the onlookers and focused on his desk in the distance. As he made it to his workspace, he tossed his camera bag into the spare chair and plopped down in his seat. He casually looked around the cavernous work area. Everyone had returned to their work at hand. He rubbed his neck again and leaned back in his chair.

Joe looked at his desk finding several assignment sheets. His editor would personally write them up for the photographers and leave them on their desks. Joe got most of his editors' pet projects and he figured that was a good thing, most of the time. He snatched the papers from his desk, studying them for a moment and looked at the times written on each of them. He grabbed his note pad and jotted down a few notes. As he planned his day, he looked up to find Mike standing only feet from his desk.

Joe mustered a semi-jovial "Good morning" for him, which only irritated Mike more. Joe tried to ignore his terrible mood and continued like nothing was wrong.

"What can I do for you, boss?"

Mike reached down, grabbing the folder of pictures off his desk. He began to growl.

"I should have had these pictures in my office two hours ago."

Joe threw his hands up.

"I don't know about two hours ago, Mike. I got a late start and almost got myself in a car accident."

Joe instantly felt guilty for using the accident he almost caused as an excuse.

Mike put his hand up, stopping Joe's explanation.

"Save the excuses for someone who gives a damn. Look through your assignments and get going. You have a meeting with the governor, and you don't want to be late for that too."

Joe looked back at the paperwork and then back to Mike. He edged forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the desk, and lowered his voice.

"I'll be there on time, and I will have the pictures back to you ASAP."

Mike shifted his short and stocky frame and glared at Joe over his glasses.

"You'll forgive me if I worry a little about them being in on time. I'm sure you'll understand."

He turned his attention to the pictures as he quickly shuffled through the shots. He stopped at one and then flipped to the next. He studied it quietly for a moment and glanced back to Joe.

"These look good." He scowled at Joe over his glasses again. "They would have looked even better two hours ago."

Joe huffed and threw his hands up. Mike looked back to the pictures.

"Get the damn things in on time from now on- Some of us have deadlines."

Mike turned and walked away, mumbling to himself. "Damn photographers take too many liberties with my goddamn time."

Joe shifted in his seat, "I guess this day can get worse."

He quickly stood up from his desk, grabbing his camera bag, and beelined it for the door. He pushed his way back across the room and, when he was about to the door, he caught a glimpse of Mike accosting one of the other photographers. Joe watched as he threw his hands in the air and yelled. He couldn't help but laugh; Joe never understood what made his editor so angry, but he was glad he wasn't the only person who appeared to be screwing up that day.