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Molly's Monday of Failures

Frozen Dreams

By Judey Kalchik Published 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 3 min read
17
Molly's Monday of Failures
Photo by hesam jr on Unsplash

Molly pulled the too-big thrift store sweater over her head and tugged the ends of the sleeves over her numb fingers.

The warmth of the pilling wool was slow to reach through the other two layers of her clothing, but she was determined NOT to adjust the thermometer. It would remain set at 62 degrees Fahrenheit all day; she wasn't going to squander money on heat when she could pile on another sweater. Or hat. Or leggings. Or socks.

She pulled the drapes over the windows, squinting through the plastic she had tacked across both the inside and outside faces of the drafty panes. Dusk was creeping up the street and stealing away the feeble sunlight; she could still see the frozen pond across the street but knew it would disappear into the frozen night within 30 minutes.

For the dozenth time that day Molly lifted the insulated carafe and poured a cup of weak tea. Making six cups of tea from one tea bag didn't create much flavor, but it was cheap and warming, satisfying the emptiness in her belly. It would do until Denny came home. No need for breakfast or lunch as long as she could trick her mind into thinking she was full by drinking tea.

It didn't take much these days to put off eating; she just had no appetite. Nothing tasted good and just thinking of eating simultaneously made her stomach cramp and her mouth water as the nausea crept up her throat. She held the warm mug in both hands, not feeling the heat as she closed her eyes willing the urge to throw up to pass.

Opening her eyes, she wiped the back of her sweatered hand across her clammy forehead. It had been close, but she had beaten that need to purge the tea from her system. It was a pitiful victory, but she’d take it. It was the only victory she had achieved in a day marked with her failures. Curling into the loveseat she counted them again her mind: Molly’s Monday of Failures.

It had started with the nipped off ‘chirp!’ of her desk phone, the line empty when she held it to her ear, not even a dial tone broke the echoless silence. A cold premonition inched down her neck as she turned to the laptop and powered it on.

After logging in she clicked on Outlook and entered her password only to receive an error code. Even before she heard the brittle ‘ting’ on an incoming text, she knew. Her time was up and she was frozen out of the system as surely as if her office chair had developed a rocket and shot her through the window and out of the building.

After hearing the rote phrases from her director she started packing with her numbing fingers the years' worth of…of what? Possessions? Awards?Stuff? She has nested into an office space that was no longer hers, honorary insulation accumulated over time and displayed to proclaim that she had a place, that she belonged? A lot of good it had done, she was uncovered and found wanting, cast out into the cold.

Taking a sip out of her mug she grimaced- it was the unpleasant cold that hot things assume when they should have known better. Taking a breath, she swallowed the dregs of the mug anyway.

It was what she deserved, cold tea. Cold house. One meal a day. Luxuries such as inching the thermostat higher, fixing a slice of toast to go with a good strong cup of tea with honey; these are things that she ruthlessly denied herself. They were things for people that were contributing. People that had a job. That had a paycheck. That still had their dreams of a place where they were wanted. Where they were part of a team, had goals, made things happen.

They were things for the person she was when she got out of bed this morning, full of plans for the week, for the day. For tomorrow. Now she sat in the darkness, waiting for her husband to come home, her eyes closed while she tried to find the end of those plans and dreams as they shimmered in her mind, just out of reach.

As soon as she fixed her mind’s eye on one of the dreams she had for her life it fractured and broke, glinting behind her closed eyes with the dying sparkle of the snow that slowly swept across the frozen pond across the street and whisked away and out of sight.

By Damian McCoig on Unsplash

Short Story
17

About the Creator

Judey Kalchik

It's my time to find and use my voice.

Poetry, short stories, memories, and a lot of things I think and wish I'd known a long time ago.

You can also find me on Medium

And please follow me on Threads, too!

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Comments (1)

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  • Cathy holmes9 months ago

    This is great, Judy. Sadly, it's reality for some.

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