“We’re sorry, but your profile is not what we are looking for.”

The voice at the other end of the phone line sounded almost meditative, like crushing the hopes of other people had become so routine that it conferred a strange trance-like state on its owner.

“On behalf of Dymo I wish you good luck with future applications,” the voice continued, rounding of with a tone of expectation. Expectation of consent.

“Okay,” Carrie said.

“Goodbye,” the voice said.

Carrie hung up. Then she went back into the living room, walking slowly in her bare feet, trying not to touch the floor.

She had taken the call in the tiny hallway. Somehow it felt better to have taken it there like she was in a sheltered place. In reality, the house was protective in the same way a prison was, and she knew it.

She sat down on the sofa and noticed the dust had become so thick that it was also on the armrests, not just the window sills which were easier to ignore. Jon didn’t mention it anymore.

In fact, he didn’t mention much about anything anymore. Just buried himself in work, and, of course, paid the bills as his reward for the effort.

Work …

Carrie looked at her cell phone, which was almost out of power. Then she hurled it away into a corner.

So of course they had not hired her. Her resume sucked.

So why the feeling of surprise and disappointment?

Fortunately, she had other strategies. She thought of going upstairs to draw in the attic, but then she noticed the corner of a pad, sticking out under the sofa.

One of the kids must have pushed it out, trying to find some toy or other. Probably Michael. Emma was too old but Michael still played with his model cars, for hours.

Michael could also play with an empty bottle for hours …

Carrie bent down and took out the drawing pad. There was no pen, but sure enough – there was the last drawing she had made – six months ago. Somehow nobody had cared to pick it up and give it to her. Or nobody had dared.

She had cared, but she had just been too busy.

Her head exploding a million times a day with job applications, chores, arguments with Jon and her mom and Emma, and dealing with Michael’s autism.

She looked at the only picture on the pad. Did she really like it?

Then the phone rang, and Carrie had to scramble to find it before it was too late.

When she saw the number, she figured that it had been a mistake to rush.

And there was only 5 percent power left.

With Jenna … Carrie thought to herself. 5 percent is not enough.

She answered it. “Hello?”

“Carrie – daaarling!”

“Yup, it’s me.” Carrie slumped down on the sofa again.

Why talk to Jenna – now?

Maybe because it was so easy.

“I called because you left the messages.” Jenna was all bubbly.

Carrie breathed deeply but felt like she was breathing quicksand. She had forgotten those messages. It had to have been at least two weeks ago.

“Yes … I didn’t hear from you, and there was nothing on Facebook, so I thought … ” 

“We’ve just been away for a while. Steve and I.”

“Oh.”

“You know. That hotel in Phoenix. I got mom to take care of the kid.”

“Sure.”

“Your mom still coming by to look after Emma and Michael?”

“She started in the summer, every other week. But her and Marcus are traveling in the Christmas month here. But no …problem.”

“Okay, well, it was a totally great weekend for us. We really caught up, if you know what I mean.”

“I know.”

“So how are you and Jon?”

“Oh, you know. We’re … ”

“Hey, why don’t you come over?”

“Sorry, the power is getting a little low here. I’ll message you.”

Carrie hung up. For a moment she rested her head in the palms of her hands. Then she slowly let her fingers slide through her hair and was reminded that she really needed a bath.

Like she needed a zillion other things. But there was never enough.

For a long time, she watched her cell phone as its remaining power died. It felt morbidly calming.

And as if she had just won a little strength test of her own will, being able to concentrate for that time, and not think about Jenna or the people who had shredded yet another of her job applications.

*

Outside, a pale Yuma winter sun hovered over the quiet suburb. The neighborhood was like a warehouse for empty houses that were stowed away for the day when life had left them, lost by people who were looking for all the wrong things, and buying all the wrong things.

Carrie slowly stood up and went over to the window facing the road. There was a barbecue grill standing solemnly on the lawn of Beth Hanson’s house, for some reason.

She hadn’t seen the bitch in a while, or her loud guests, because it wasn’t that time of year, anyway. Perhaps Beth had a lot of traveling to do, too?

Carrie went to the kitchen, found the cranky laptop, and got it going, albeit under protest as usual.

There was the folder: “Passion bizz”.

In it, she found all the scattered litter-like notes about how and when she would draw more.

Because when she would be able to do that then she could also film it and put it online … as a course or something.

Monetize via short videos on YouTube about the process or … any of the crapload of other things that seemed to work so well for everyone else ‘living from their passion’.

Everyone who had managed to escape the need to apply for a job.

And to be honest, she didn’t fucking need to try to find a job when she had a fulltime job already in the house and with Michael.

But money didn’t grow on trees, especially the spindly corpses they had in their garden.

First, however, she had to create an alternative income stream — before she could completely let go of trying to squeeze a job into 24/7 autism parenting.

Piece of cake …

Carrie looked at the date of the most recent document with her business plan.

It said 2014.

She closed it quickly.

Then she found the empty YouTube channel she had set up for this specific purpose and the blog, which still only had one entry.

Obviously, there was nothing on them, because she had not had the time or the head to produce something, but they were there waiting. Waiting for success …

The Twitter account and Facebook pages were also empty. Obviously. She knew that. Why did she have to look?

But she would start today. Today would be the day she would turn things around. She could write a blog post about that. Or do a video.

Then she felt like concrete. She still had a long list of jobs to apply for. And all the other shit. If she could just gain some measure of stability. How could you start a business if you had nothing to invest?

So maybe I am never going to live off my passion?

It was a shame she had blown it with that grant from her stepfather’s organization. Or maybe it wasn’t. More strings attached. Right?

Maybe I will never be free again?

The thought was almost scary because it felt like … relief. She quickly choked it.

She had to live from her passion.

She had to transit from the rat race of jobs to her own creative online business.

While also doing a shitload of other things that absolutely had to be done.

The phone in the kitchen chimed.

The landline. It had been ages since anyone had used that. Except …

*

Carrie snapped the phone from its hanger. “Yes?”

“It’s me.”

She could hear the distance in his voice immediately. “Oh God, Jon … What’s happened?”

“No, no, it’s all right. I mean, yes, something has happened but it’s all right. I wanted to tell you before it hit the news.”

She quickly found the local channel online, but there was nothing. On any of them.

“It’s a fucking mess,” Jon continued, clearing his throat more than once. “They had to fly Jefferson to Phoenix. He’s going to make it fine, but … ”

Carrie was now scrolling feverishly through the AZDPS news feed. “Why is there nothing on any of–oh …”

When she reloaded the browser it came on.

For a moment, Carrie forgot to breathe.

“Like I said, it’s over, honey.” Jon sounded firm like he had to stop a bleeding somewhere. “It’s over.”

Maybe he had. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a bit roughed up, that’s all. After I got his gun out of the way, he hit me right in the face. Think that damn tooth may have come loose again.”

She grinned, but her eyes were full of tears. “You know the dentist. No escape from her, ha-ha.”

Jon chuckled. “Life’s a bitch, ain’t it.”

“When are you coming home?”

“We need to make the report. The Chief will let me off for the day then. Will you call Emma and Michael? I’m afraid Emma may already have seen it. She shouldn’t even be allowed at her age but what can you do …”

“She has class now. She would have called if she had seen it,” Carrie said, feeling again some odd measure of control in stressing a pure belief as if it mattered more than getting off her ass and calling her children.

“Sometimes, I think she has that phone transplanted to the palm of her hand,” Carrie continued. “Sometimes—”

“Yeah, she’d love that,” Jon said without missing a beat. “So how was your day, hon?”

He was never good at being funny.

Carrie wiped tears off her cheeks. But she also smiled and hoped he could feel it, even if he couldn’t see it.

She felt relief again, and it was overwhelming. A different kind of relief but no less valuable. Absolutely no less …

“I … made a decision,” Carrie tasted the words.

“A decision?”

“I didn’t get the Dymo.”

“Damn … ” Jon sounded like the news hit him harder than the guy he had arrested this morning. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Carrie said. “It was shit, anyway.”

“Most jobs are. Except policework, of course,” Jon deadpanned.

They both laughed at that. Fragile laughter, but laughter nonetheless. More relief.

“Ernesto found you that mike,” Jon then said. “For your YouTube Channel. But I forgot to tell you. There’s been so much …”

“It’s okay,” Carrie said. “Forget about that.”

“Forget about it?”

“Look …” She breathed deeply. The air was dry but at least the quicksand was out of her system. “I’m – I’m going to look for another shitty job, something that I can squeeze in while Michael is at school. I will draw when I can. For myself.”

“For yourself? I thought you already did that.”

“Well, apparently I didn’t. Not so much as I thought.”

“You were very keen on it this summer.”

“What can I say? I feel back into the trap of trying to escape.”

“It’s not–“ Jon started.

“Let’s not go there,” Carrie said quickly, “but this is what it is: I … am not going to kill myself anymore trying to find that business idea. I miss just drawing. What time did you say you were home?”

“It’s probably going to be a couple of hours.”

“Okay.”

“There’s one of your drawing pads under the sofa, by the way.”

“I know. It’s out now.”

*

CARRIE & JON, December 2016

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Cover photo by Taylor Harding on Unsplash

Woman – photo by Michael Dam on Unsplash

Couple in bed – photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

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Soundtrack: Sandra – “Secret Land”

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Nobody knows how I try not to tell another lie
Anybody knows in the end, I’ll find a secret land

*