fathom."
"I know." My voice was hoarse from the emotional overload. "I know. I just wish I understood why life has to be this way. It's hard to accept."
"It is," Doc chuckled. "I won't deny that for a second."
My thoughts drifted back to my father. I no longer thought of him as an immature and stubborn womanizer, though there is plenty of truth in that. I saw him as a sad, lonely, broken shell of a man trying to piece together the shattered remains of the life he could've had. How could I have not seen the change? I had stayed in that house nearly two years after Mom died. He was barely ever home. I remember stacks of bills on the table every day, but if he hadn't been paying them, we should've lost everything. Holovision service, electricity, telephone, all of it! I was so wrapped up in my job and my search for both an aeromobile and an apartment that I didn't even stop to think about it.
"You alright?" Doc asked after a minute or two.
"I had no idea. I had no idea what was going on behind my back. Or right in front of my face, for that matter."
"Most people don't, Herbert," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It is human nature to make our judgments based largely—if not entirely—on what we see."
"I just assumed that Dad continued in his selfish ways after Mom was gone. It never crossed my mind that her tragedy might have brought about a positive change in his life. I had told myself over and over again that the events of my life served God's purpose, but did I ever actually believe it?"
"That's what it means to have faith. That's where real joy, peace, and contentment come from. When you know—and I mean know—that things happen for a reason. A good reason."
"How can anyone find that kind of peace without seeing the positive outcome for themselves?"
"Many don't," Doc told me. "Many live their lives just as you have. They're miserable, hurting, and searching for answers. They can't accept the answers God gives because the pain is just too deep. They want more. They need more. Something more solid than another lecture about submitting to God's will. The problem is that they expect to be able to understand everything. And when they can't, they dismiss the whole notion of God and assume He must not be there to begin with. But that peace that they're searching for is there for the taking. All they have to do is surrender everything to Him."
"You make it sound like it's the easiest thing in the world," I grumbled. "It's not quite so simple."
"No, it's not simple. Far from it. But if they can do it, they'll find that life can be far more pleasant, more joyful, and more fulfilling than they ever thought possible. If you can do it, Herbert, your life can be something you probably never thought it could be. You can be someone you probably never thought you could be."
"So how do I do it?"
Doc stood and smiled down on me with that fatherly warmth. "You're well on your way. Just a couple more blocks to go."
Friday – Day 10
It should come as no surprise to anyone that I couldn't afford to go to college. Likewise, I didn't have the money for an aeromobile. That meant that the only jobs I could try for had to be within walking distance of my house. Sure, I probably could've taken the aerobus to reach more distant locations, but I was trying to save every penny toward both an aeromobile and a place of my own. On top of that, the aerobus mass transit system was only a few years old at the time, and the prices were still pretty high. Having to pay that fare twice daily would've taken a significant chunk out of the already meager income I brought home each month. So I walked.
The day I graduated high school was the happiest day of my life. No longer having to bear the abuse and ridicule of my fellow students, I was free to start fresh, begin again, and move forward with a clean slate. My only concern was that I'd run into the same types of troubles in the workplace that I'd encountered at school. I prayed and prayed to God that there wouldn't be any bullies, any cliques, or any of the juvenile torment that had plagued my high school years.
My fears were all misplaced. I shouldn't have been worried about my coworkers.
I should've been worried about the customers.
I spent the last few weeks of school pretty much going from door to door asking businesses if they were hiring. I knew I needed a full time job with as many hours as they'd be willing to give me if I was ever to get out on my own. I couldn't tell you how many jobs I applied to, but the majority of them never called. I believe I ended up getting five interviews over the course of the fall. Three rejected me because of my lack of experience. The forth rejected me due to lack of education. The fifth was the grocery store I work at today. They hired me on full-time as a cashier. Nights and weekends. Ah, the joys of retail.
But seeing as how I didn't have a personal life to speak of or any friends vying for my time, working those hours was just fine with me. My only focus was getting an aeromobile and an apartment so that I could get as far away from Dad as I could. So I showed up early every day—hair combed, uniform clean, ready to work. And work me, they did.
When we stepped out of the Chronopod—now disguised as a parked aeromobile—the sight that greeted us wasn't all that different from the job I walk into nowadays. The old Grocery King sign had yet to be replaced, and the broken front door that constantly jammed still stood between customers and their purchases. Both issues have since been fixed. If only I had known back then that I'd be here today watching over myself!
Okay, that sentence made my head hurt.
We wore our invisibility belts today. During the earlier years of my life, we could've gotten away without them in a public place. But now, Herbie and I looked too similar. It was better to be safe than sorry.
"So," Doc began as we leaned against the wall beside the entrance. "What's going through your mind?"
"Nothing special," I told him. "I was thinking—" I paused as a young lady passed us. "I was just thinking about how nervous I was the first time I walked through these doors as an employee."
"That's only natural. Most people feel that way when they start their first job. When they start any job, actually."
"It was more than the job, though. This was my chance to show not only myself but the rest of the world that I was not a reflection of my parents. That I was my own person—responsible, independent, strong, and able. But there was a voice, a hissing whisper of a voice, that had been telling me for years that I would turn out just like my father. I had this self-imposed weight on my shoulders that I'd never amount to anything, so when I got this job, I told myself that I had to work harder, longer, and better than anyone else who had come before me."
"That's quite a bit of pressure to put on yourself, don't you think?"
"Not for me. Not when the only examples I had to follow came from my parents. I had to be different. I know it sounds strange, given that I'd never touched a drop of alcohol, but I had to at least prove to myself, if no one else, that I was not going to turn out to be a violent drunk. That I could go places they never did. I was so scared that I'd turn out like them."
"That doesn't sound strange. We tend to—"
I hated to interrupt, but Herbie had appeared at the end of the block. "Here he comes." He was biting his lip and staring at the ground as he walked, fists gripping the brown paper bag that carried his lunch. "Wow, do I always wear my fear so openly for the world to see?"
"It's not a well-kept secret," Doc admitted. "But it's not abnormal, either. Most people have telltale signs of fear that manifest themselves whenever they're uncomfortable."
He didn't look up once. Like a prisoner marching to the gallows, he walked at a steady pace, eyes locked on the pavement right up until the moment he walked through the doors. Doc and I followed as he made his way to the customer service counter and asked for a manager. Dean Shenwitz, a cocky man with a loud voice, shook Herbie's hand and led him through a door behind the counter.
"That's the cash office," I told Doc. "He'll be in there for a fe
w minutes filling out paperwork."
"The manager seemed pleasant. Was he a good guy to work for?"
"He was a spineless two-faced coward of a man." I shuddered, remembering some of the arguments I would eventually have with him. "He managed through intimidation. Rather than motivate, train, and encourage people, he simple told us that he'd get someone to replace us if we couldn't do what he wanted."
"You weren't motivated by that? I'd think a desire to avoid termination would drive one to work harder."
"For some people, it worked. But very few. In my experience, I've found that employees are far more likely to work hard for someone they respect. If they don't respect their supervisor, they won't care about the supervisor or the job."
About twenty minutes later, Herbie emerged from the back room carrying a brown and green Grocery King collared shirt. We followed as Dean brought him to the back of the store and into the warehouse. The lunch room and employee lockers were back there, as were the bathrooms.
"Change into uniform and meet me in aisle three," Dean said. His patience seemed to be wearing thin. I don't doubt that he was anxious to pawn me off on someone else so that he could go back to his office to make more spreadsheets and chat on the phone with his wife. "Eric is going to show you how to merch the shelves. I was going to start you on register right away, but the