SILVER LINING
Prompt - Silver Lining : Write about the good that happens in a bad situation
I offer thanks to that bastard of a landlord. His shitty actions have turned my life around. But I still hate him.
"We're having to let you go. I'm sorry." She wasn't. She was HR and that's what they were trained to say. But no matter how many questions I asked, no matter how much I pleaded or shouted, it wasn't going to change reality. I'd been made redundant.
Three weeks later Janet left me. And no matter how many questions, how much pleading and shouting, that too wasn't going to change. It had been hanging in the air for months, my sudden loss of employed status the final coin drop that pushed her over the edge.
There were no jobs, not for someone with my limited qualifications, and vague CV after working in the one place since I was seventeen. Loyalty, eh?
So I did exactly what I shouldn't have done.
Got.
Pissed.
Every.
Single.
Day.
I lost it. Totally. I can admit that now, but back then? No way? I was having too much fun feeling deeply, irritatingly sorry for myself. So the bills weren't paid, the jobs didn't get done, the man I was departed, replaced by this dirty, smelly, incoherent, self centred dung heap of a creature. Eviction inevitable. I deserved it. OK, maybe the landlord wasn't as much of a bastard as I made out. Still hate him though. There was no need to tell me I was... what I was.
Hostels, living rough, the descent complete, final. Hope walked off one night from under the boots of the guys who decided I'd be a fine bit of target practice. It's not like I was an actual human, was it? It. That's what I'd become now.
Every Tuesday and Thursday there was a van. Soup, company, even jokes. And these people who, bizarrely, cared. They'd ask us about our present, our past. Nobody mentioned a future.
Except one. Sara. She was there on Thursdays and she always wanted to talk, to ask, to know, to dig for the people inside these walking wounded. She asked me. I said nothing. Then a little. Then a bit more. Week by week she found out. Even told me a bit about herself. There was a darkness in her past. And a light about her now. Thursday became my day to live for.
This had been going on for about four months and there comes a day where she asks me to stay behind after the others have gone, she's got a proposal for me. Sara or not, I'm too numb to have the curiosity I'd once have shown. So I wait, and she says she'll take me to a cafe and we can talk. This is new. I didn't think they were allowed to do this. You know, get too close, get attached. But here we are.
"I've been asking a couple of friends of mine if they'd be able to use a jack of all trades, and one of them thinks he might have a spot. You used to turn your hand to anything, yeah?"
I stare at her, not understanding, knowing the meaning of each word and unable to draw meaning from them. It feels like a trap. But this is Sara. She tries again.
"When you were at work you were the odd job guy, weren't you? The handyman who could do a bit of everything, fix anything. That was you, wasn't it?
"I suppose so." Slow. Cautious. Wary.
"And some businesses really need someone like that, who can be there to keep everything working, keep on top of problems before they come up. This guy Martin Mackay needs someone like that, I said I knew just the man."
She was stubborn was Sara. Persistent. Teeth sunk in, she didn't let go. So my blank expression was there to be wiped away, whatever it took. She went on, explaining, repeating, cajoling, until it gradually sank in. She was offering me the chance to get a job. A job...
Once I'd realised, once I'd said yes, she was off again. She'd already given this plenty of thought. I'd need a home address to give, so I could use her. And I could come to hers to get cleaned up, get dressed for the interview. She'd buy me the clothes for now, I could pay her back later. I'd need to be interview ready, so she'd be happy to prepare me.
Overwhelmed. Grateful. Terrified. Amazed. Unbelieving. Faithless. But mostly terrified. She saw me through it. I spent a lot of time at her flat, she'd let me stay the night, I did a load of DIY jobs I spotted about the place.
"See, I knew you'd be good." I looked at her, once again baffled. "The odd job man. You haven't lost it, have you?" It took a while to sink in, what she was revealing. I'd been doing the things I used to do, without being asked, without thinking. I had a purpose again. I was getting back to being me.
I got the job. And I got the girl. Sara says she just got used to having me around. Ha! Doesn't want me getting too full of myself. But I'll take that. This woman saved me and I will do anything for her.
So there you go Mr Bastard. And Ms HR. I can be happy you did what you did. The arithmetic says that redundancy plus eviction equals Sara. The perfect sum.
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