Good-Bye World

            My alarm rang to wake me up for my shower. Like every morning, I woke up with difficulty and dragged myself to the bathroom. My 7-year-old daughter was still sleeping. I crept around the house to get as much alone time as I could.  I quietly made myself a cup of coffee and enjoyed the time I had to read the newspaper.  I had to wake up Jackie, and take her to school. Ever since my divorce, getting through a day had become a lot harder. I didn’t have any support or help with Jackie. I made it through the door, finally, and headed out to my small car. I took Jackie to school and gave her a kiss goodbye. I struggled to get her out of the car. Since her father had left she had been experiencing separation problems. From up above, I see why she had so many issues. My ex-husband’s mentality was inhuman, and unlike any father. I finally got her out of the car and headed out to the adult world.

       The rain hit the ground hard and loud. The streets were filled with rushing businessmen and women with their umbrellas, hurrying though the crowds of people. I made my way through the many people. I walked down the street to the little café I call my second home. Like every morning about ten minutes to eight o’clock I pushed open the door to the cozy café, rang the bell, waved to Mr. Popple, my grungy, always angry manager and smiled to the early bird customers. Although I didn’t get along great with my boss, he really created a very homey environment at the café.

       As I did every morning, I went to the employee’s lounge, put my belongings in my locker and put a crisp black apron on. Waitressing was a get away from the real world- my daughter, debt, and the divorce. The most interesting people came in and out of the café. The café got a lot of regular customers- one homeless war veteran, disowned by his parents, living on the streets for eighteen years. Using the change he earns on the street, he came into the shop for a cup of hot tea and a muffin every morning, insisting the “beautiful waitress” serve him, implying me. Watching him from above reminds of horror, fear, anger, and hatred. I had another regular customer, an older woman with a hat and purse for every occasion.  For the six years I had worked at the café, I’d never seen her wear the same hat twice. I found myself talking to the customers as they’re lifelong friends. Work was a time for me to reflect and think about my chaotic life. My coworkers had become my friends, my listeners, my advisors, and my mentors. When I had issues about Jackie they’d always listen. Especially Biggy, the homeless man, he loved hearing about Jackie. He wanted to know what she was doing in school, where she went to school, what did she did when she wasn’t at school. At the time, I didn’t realize the strange interest in Jackie Biggy had been abnormal. Biggy wasn’t much of a mentor, but more of a listener. The hat lady, who always kept anonymous, was my mentor. She was such a wise, and insightful woman. Let alone her knowledge in fashion, she was always up to date on current events and the latest celebrity gossip. She didn’t judge me, think low of me, she was always very supportive of me. Now, looking down at the people from the cafe, I know they miss me.

      Around ten o’clock, I took a quick break from the morning rush hour and found a minute to sit down and take a breath. The break usually rushes by and the lunch hour arrives quickly. The rush of the same businessmen and businesswoman rushing to work in the morning had their lunch break. The customers are always in a big hurry and are very rude. They aren’t like the relaxed morning customers. They almost never tipped. For that matter a job as a waitress wasn’t a good profession to support my daughter and me. I was looking for a job ever since I was fired from the prestigious law office six years ago. I had been missing a lot of work because of Jackie. That year was the year from hell. Then it felt like I was living below. Thank goodness I never ended up there. It all began with the divorce. Jackie was just a year old and it became impossible to parent with a man I constantly fought with. My ex-husband was selfish, arrogant, and very unhelpful. He was always at work, or out getting drunk, smoking cigars, and playing poker with his buddies. It felt like I was a single mom, while working a nine-hour day.

      Life really took a turn for the worse after the divorce. Jackie and I had to move to a small apartment. We lived from paycheck to paycheck with very little extras. We really lived with the bare minumum. I had always dreamed of a white picket fence. I had a vision of my children running in the yard with the other neighborhood kids. I never expected myself to end up in a run-down one-room apartment. I thought my ex-husband would give me that dream life. I thought we had it great, until Jackie came into our lives. Jackie, as much as we loved her, brought my husband me a lot of extra stress. Before we got married, we both lived alone, and had our own schedules. Having a daughter was a lot of work, more then we could handle at the time. We always fought. “You change her diaper!” “No, you change her diaper!” “Go get her. She’s crying!” “I got her lost time.” Our constant fighting took a lot of love and care away from Jackie. She didn’t get enough warmth and nurturing because of our fighting. 

      That’s what led me to Moe’s, the café I waitress at. I just get through my day as best I can. Like every morning my alarm clock rung, I crept to the shower, had my morning coffee, and drove Jackie to school. I kissed Jackie goodbye, struggling like always to get her out of the car. After a few minutes of my “Jackie, it’ll be no time till I pick you up” speech I headed off towards the café. That morning Jackie told me about something she did in school. Jackie didn’t usually tell me much about school. She was a quiet, very reserved girl. She told me about a project in class they were making. The project was about the student’s family, making a family tree. The worksheet had place for both parents, one side for her mom and one side for dad. While explaining about the project, Jackie bursted into tears.

      “That’s what happened, mommy. I cried. In front of the whole class.” Jackie said through her sniffles.

      “I’m sorry that happened, honey. It’s hard living a different life. I’m glad you told me about this Jackie. I love you very much.” I told her, feeling extremely guilty.

      Jackie had never met her father; she was very young when he and I divorced. Her father had no need to stay in Jackie’s life. He moved to the east coast, probably met some new young woman. He didn’t keep any contact with Jackie or me. It had always been very hard for me to explain to Jackie where her dad was. Thinking about what she told me about her family tree project, I finally decided she deserved a real answer.  She was getting older and was ready to hear the story of her father, and our divorce, and him leaving. I know it is my responsibility to explain to Jackie where her father is, and why he isn’t in our lives anymore. I struggle every time I attempt to bring Jackie’s father up. I erased my ex-husband from my life and bringing him back I thought would be extremely difficult.

      As I was getting ready for work, like I do every morning, I thought about what I wanted to say to Jackie. The ride to school had been our special time to talk. I thought it’d be a good time to talk to Jackie about her father. My morning routine went a little faster then usual because of my racing heartbeat. I slicked backed my hair in a tight ponytail and proceeded to wake Jackie up and get her ready for school.

      On our drive to school Jackie and I sat in an uncomfortable silence. I knew she could tell I was hesitating to say something. I finally took a deep breath and began to talk.

“Jackie, there’s been something on my mind that I need to talk to you about,” I said as clearly and unemotionally as possible.

      Jackie did not respond. She sat there looking at me blankly.

      I continued, “Well...” I paused, “When you told me about your experience at school it made me think.”

      “What experience?” Jackie said, confused.

      “About your father.” I paused again.

      “Uh huh…”

       “His name was Austin. We got divorced when you were just one year old. He lives somewhere near Grandma and Grandpa. He is a very nice and caring man. He has beautiful green eyes just like you. When we were married though…” I paused again. I took a deep breath of relief. I couldn’t believe I finally said it. Austin. Austin. I finally said it.

      “When you were married what?”

      I hadn’t anticipated ending the conversation just yet, but we arrived at her school and I needed to get to work before Mr. Popple give me a ten minute lecture about punctuality. I felt horrible that I couldn’t finish telling Jackie about Austin. I knew it was unfair to leave Jackie in suspense.

      “Bye sweetheart, we’ll have to finish this conversation later,” I said as I gave her a kiss goodbye.

      “Love you mom!” Jackie said as she hopped out of the car towards her innocent world.

      I waved goodbye, watched her skip into her get-away from the real world. I headed off towards work replaying my incomplete conversation with my poor Jackie. In my head, I knew she deserved a mother who could suck things up and gave her the truth. She deserved her father in her life. She deserved a lot more then I had gave her. I failed. I failed as a wife. I failed as lawyer, and now I was failing as a mother. I demanded myself to change. I had to do something soon.

      I parked my car in the near by parking garage that smelled of urine. I walked down the stairs. I rushed once again down the street to Moe’s, my adult world. I smiled to Mr. Popple making it through the door exactly at 7:50.  I walked to the employee’s lounge. I took out my black apron and swung it around my neck. I greeted Lynn, my closest friend at Moe’s.

      “Hey, Hun! How’s the fam?” I asked her as I do every morning.

      “You know, same old same old,” she relied in an upbeat voice. “But, how are you?”

      “You know. I’ve been better,” I replied.

      Lynn and I had become real close. We always gossiped about the other employees, and complained about Mr. Popple. We called him a male Cruella de Ville. Lynn kept me going through my day, reminding me that life had its downs just so it can have its ups.

      Before I finished tying my apron, Biggy, the homeless man walked in for his daily muffin and hot tea. He came over to me and forced a hug. I always served Biggy; he insisted I brought him his muffin and cup of tea. Otherwise he wouldn’t eat it. He got his nickname from his height. Biggy was about six feet five inches. He is a stocky man, with huge muscles, and enormous legs. Biggy was a friendly man who loved talking about his past and telling stories. His parents disowned him when he was just sixteen years old. In high school his parents thought he was hanging out with the “wrong crowd” and told him to stop hanging out with his friends or they’d kick him out. Sure enough, he was kicked out of his house. After eighteen years, Biggy still hadn’t gotten his life together. He was in and out of shelters, different minimum wage jobs and occasional relationships. The only thing Biggy had consistent in his life was his flirtatious visits to Moe’s. He always gave me a creepy wink and way too long of a hug. He asked me personal questions and always wanted to know what was new with Jackie. I did my best to keep our interactions purely professional and leave as much out about my personal life as I can. It became hard though. Biggy had an unusually friendly personality. He’d be able to strike up a conversation any time and about anything.

      “So…gorgeous,” he started of saying.

      “Yes, Biggy. What is it?” I said knowing he wanted to have one of his deep conversations about nothing.

      “I want to tell you a story. Yesterday, I saw this little girl. She was maybe seven years old, Jackie’s age. Right?” He paused so I could answer.

      “Right. Go on.” I thought to myself: he thinks about Jackie? I didn’t like that.

      “She was walking her little dog. It was the cutest thing. I wanted to hang out with them. I decided to follow them,” Biggy continued his story.

      I didn’t like there the story was going.

      “Biggy, I’m sorry I am gonna have to cut you off. Maybe you can finish later. I have other customers.”

      Biggy grunted. He wasn’t happy I was leaving him.

      Biggy’s interest in my personal life sometimes worried me. Lynn was always telling me not to stress about it.  But, since my divorce I had been having the hardest time interacting with men. I can’t trust Biggy, not just because of my past but also because of the person he is. I try and keep my distance. I wish I wasn’t always the one to serve him. That’s one of the many evil Mr. Popple tendencies. He knew Biggy wouldn’t come if I didn’t serve him. Mr. Popple only cared about himself and making money for the café. 

      I started going to therapy once a week. My life was in shambles; I had no handle and needed help. I didn’t have a husband, or any source of support. I finally decided feeling bad for myself wasn’t a good solution. My doctor recommended I start seeing a psychologist to help “sort things out”.  I was having constant nightmares. I was having the hardest time sleeping. I had fears of never waking up in the morning. I also had horrible thoughts about things happening to Jackie when I fell asleep.   Every time I was alone I would keep checking behind me to see if someone was there. When Jackie fell asleep strange noises would fill the house and make my heart race. My therapist thought it had to do with Biggy.

      As I did everyday, I went to work. It was an ordinary Monday. As I did every day, I took Jackie to school, and headed off to work. As I did every day I walked through the door of Moe’s, waved and quickly walked by Mr. Popple. Soon after, Biggy walked through the door. He sat down at his usual table. Mr. Popple, like always, rudely pointed at Biggy to tell me to serve him. My therapist suggested, I told Mr. Popple I didn’t want to serve Biggy anymore. My lack of explanation wasn’t effective with Mr. Popple. The rude man as usual, scolded at me and said, “At Moe’s the customer is first. Ignore him and just bring him his food.” I didn’t know how to respond, so as directed I continued to serve Biggy.

      “Well, hello there dear,” Biggy said in his seductive, raspy voice.

      “Good morning sir,” I responded with as little emotion as possible. I walked away retrieving his daily order of a muffin and hot water.  I went back to his table and delivered his food.

      “You look nice this morning,” he grunted without any articulation.

      “Thank you Biggy. Enjoy your breakfast.” I walked away fast once again.

      Mr. Popple called me over later that day. He told me Biggy complained. Oh great, what now? I wasn’t friendly enough. I just had no handle on my life. I had no chance in controlling anything. I wanted so badly to explain to Mr. Popple what was going on with Biggy. I just couldn’t find the courage to tell him. If I didn’t have proof, or give him exact examples, Mr. Popple wouldn’t listen. Mr. Popple was not a compassionate person; he wouldn’t have understood anyway.

      I went back to my weekly appointment with the shrink. He was really disappointed in my lack of courage to tell Mr. Popple my situation. But, like any shrink he was supportive of me anyway. He tried to help me think of a way to communicate the issue to my boss. He suggested I write him a letter, explaining Biggy, and his flirty wink, and his interest in Jackie. I took his idea, and thought about it, and kept thinking. I never wrote the letter.

      After a long day of work, I went to Jackie’s day care to pick her up. The day had felt a little off. I drove recklessly, eager to see Jackie and return to the comforts of our home. I continued on my way to pick up Jackie. I parked my car and walked towards the front of the day care center. I said hello to the head of the center and asked where Jackie was. She led me to the playground to find her. She wasn’t on the swings, or the monkey bars, and not on the tire swing. She wasn’t inside drawing, and she wasn’t playing with the pet rabbits. She wasn’t where she usually was when I picked her up. I checked the bathroom and she wasn’t there either. The stupid women at the center didn’t know where my daughter went. My baby, Jackie, was missing. They let my seven year old disappear, run off, get lost. She was missing. I immediately ran to the phone to call the police.  I frantically tried to tell them what was wrong. My heart was racing, I was crying and I could barely put sentences together. How could she be gone? Who took her? How could no one see that? What kind of day care center Jackie at? I had too much going on in my head I couldn’t communicate to the police officer. The head teacher took the phone and calmly explained to them the problem. Through my crying, I listened to her conversation with the police. She told them a suspicious man had been hanging around the center. I ran to my car, and sped off to Moe’s. I had a vibe. Biggy. It had just clicked for me. I remembered that the other day he had asked what Jackie did after school. I should’ve never told him. I drove as fast as I could to the Café. I flashed my life in my head. I repeated all my mistakes, my failures, my divorce, everything I had ever done wrong, hurtful things that I had said. Everything was flashing before me. I lost control of my body. I wasn’t thinking about Jackie anymore. I wasn’t really thinking at all. I drove to a look out point. I got out of my car. I stood on the edge of the cliff looking out on the open view. I looked down at the huge drop. This was my destiny, I thought. Good-bye Jackie, good-bye world.

      I look back now at my life from a supernatural world. I think back at life of sorrows, unhappiness, and failure. I question my decision in taking my self out of my misery instead of a higher being taking me out. I live now with regrets. I live now with a dream of what life could’ve been. I take the past as a lesson learned and a preparation for another life.