was sort of up in the air. His parents had apologized for not personally telling most of us what happened, which led to the local news breaking it to everyone not so gently. It was understandable though. They were in shock the moment they heard. We all were. We were also all in this awkward holding pattern of almost mourning, but not yet. No one was really sure when his funeral would be because of the autopsy and stuff, but I’d been in front of the eight ball by planning ahead and getting my shifts at my other jobs covered until this Wednesday. I didn’t have to be anywhere after I finished the windows, and let’s be real, joyously rushing home for my appointment with a stern lecture wasn’t on my priority list. So, I decided to stick around and do all the rest of the finish work. Base boards, crown molding, window trim and flower boxes…all of it. Done. I might’ve been late to the job, but I finished it two days ahead of schedule.
Not bad if I do say so myself.
I check my watch and see I still have a few minutes before Mr. Mason gets home from work, and thus, pays me. I love paydays. I get paid under the table for these jobs too. It’s like bonus points. I get a fat wad of cash and I get to stick it to the man.
A spring in my step, I skip down the stairs and pop the trunk of my car to pull out a cold one from the cooler I keep back there. It’s bottled water, of course. I’m not old enough to buy alcohol on my own yet and drive around with a Coleman cooler filled with it like the Winchester brothers do in Supernatural . Leaning against the back fender of my car, I sip the water as if it’s a beer and survey my work from the outside…reflecting back on what it took to get here, just like Dean and Sam do after almost every case they were working on has been put to bed. Demons, ghosts, witches, wendigos, clinically insane rednecks; all bad guys, vanquished. The world saved. Again.
A wellspring of pride courses through my veins.
I’ve been working these little construction jobs for a while, but outside of the permits needed, this is the first one that is 100% all my accomplishment. I came up with the design, I sketched out the blueprints, I bought the supplies, I hammered every nail, and even the color of paint on both the exterior and interior walls is what I chose for them. Of course I talked to the Masons before I went ahead with anything, but they basically told me they liked what they heard and to go to town with it. So I did.
Mr. Mason gets home and we walk around the inside of my finished product, him nodding approval and making comments like, “Nice,” and, “Really like the detail on these trim pieces.” He shakes my hand, compliments my workmanship again by saying he would’ve never guessed the flower boxes weren’t store bought if he hadn’t seen me personally handcraft them with his own two eyes. He pays me and walks out the door, leaving me to collect the rest of my tools and sweep up a bit just as his teenage daughter, Maddie, comes tripping into the apartment with Destiny in tow. They make a show of wandering around, opening cupboards and testing light switches. Like they’re judges in a home improvement reality show. Destiny glides towards me; a chillier than usual air about her. I prepare for the camel’s expectorated sign of affection anyway by diverting my attention from her forward progress to the act of turning my back to her, yanking my wallet from my back pocket, and putting my hard-earned cash in it.
It works. Behind me I hear an indignant huff as a result of my unvoiced dismissal, but that’s it.
I gather and put my tools away and sweep up undisrupted while the girls mumble and whisper to each other. I don’t give a shit what they’re talking about; be it their dislike of the moss green and dark cherry wood I used in the bathroom or the wainscoting I put in the bedroom, I have no interest in them aside from exiting their presence. Something I do in short order only to
Not bad if I do say so myself.
I check my watch and see I still have a few minutes before Mr. Mason gets home from work, and thus, pays me. I love paydays. I get paid under the table for these jobs too. It’s like bonus points. I get a fat wad of cash and I get to stick it to the man.
A spring in my step, I skip down the stairs and pop the trunk of my car to pull out a cold one from the cooler I keep back there. It’s bottled water, of course. I’m not old enough to buy alcohol on my own yet and drive around with a Coleman cooler filled with it like the Winchester brothers do in Supernatural . Leaning against the back fender of my car, I sip the water as if it’s a beer and survey my work from the outside…reflecting back on what it took to get here, just like Dean and Sam do after almost every case they were working on has been put to bed. Demons, ghosts, witches, wendigos, clinically insane rednecks; all bad guys, vanquished. The world saved. Again.
A wellspring of pride courses through my veins.
I’ve been working these little construction jobs for a while, but outside of the permits needed, this is the first one that is 100% all my accomplishment. I came up with the design, I sketched out the blueprints, I bought the supplies, I hammered every nail, and even the color of paint on both the exterior and interior walls is what I chose for them. Of course I talked to the Masons before I went ahead with anything, but they basically told me they liked what they heard and to go to town with it. So I did.
Mr. Mason gets home and we walk around the inside of my finished product, him nodding approval and making comments like, “Nice,” and, “Really like the detail on these trim pieces.” He shakes my hand, compliments my workmanship again by saying he would’ve never guessed the flower boxes weren’t store bought if he hadn’t seen me personally handcraft them with his own two eyes. He pays me and walks out the door, leaving me to collect the rest of my tools and sweep up a bit just as his teenage daughter, Maddie, comes tripping into the apartment with Destiny in tow. They make a show of wandering around, opening cupboards and testing light switches. Like they’re judges in a home improvement reality show. Destiny glides towards me; a chillier than usual air about her. I prepare for the camel’s expectorated sign of affection anyway by diverting my attention from her forward progress to the act of turning my back to her, yanking my wallet from my back pocket, and putting my hard-earned cash in it.
It works. Behind me I hear an indignant huff as a result of my unvoiced dismissal, but that’s it.
I gather and put my tools away and sweep up undisrupted while the girls mumble and whisper to each other. I don’t give a shit what they’re talking about; be it their dislike of the moss green and dark cherry wood I used in the bathroom or the wainscoting I put in the bedroom, I have no interest in them aside from exiting their presence. Something I do in short order only to
Similar Books
