Committed

When one gets to the end of one's rope, and all one can do is let go, one might finally realize that there really is something that will break the fall.

We got off the bus at the end of the block, crossed the street, and had to walk back to the opposite end of the block to get to the building we were seeking. My wife Debra hefted up the baby and smiled at me... a tight little smile in which she pursed her lips and dimpled her cheeks, which didn't mask the look in her eyes... and I took the bag of baby supplies that was always with us wherever we went.

It was difficult not to dwell on the circumstances that had brought us here. After a series of failures at holding on to my terms of employment, I had been left with no other recourse than to pursue some sort of assistance for my family and myself.

It seemed as if every job I'd held, there had always eventually arisen some sort of misunderstanding; either I didn't understand what they expected me to do, or they didn't understand my rationalizations for doing things the way I did.

And then, they would let me go, telling me usually that I was no longer needed or I just wasn't fitting in. Or I would walk out in sheer frustration, angry, and feeling the dread of facing my wife again, with the same bad news.

We were walking against a bit of wind. I always liked the way her hair billowed in the wind. But her eyes had a tired look to them, and I felt a tinge of shame to be putting her through this last milieu of humiliation.

There was a gust that came at us then, pelting my face with grit, and I had to shut my eyes and lower my head. When I raised it and looked around, it occurred to me how bleak this neighborhood appeared.

The building we were going to was a gray, cubic, unattractive edifice; and as I looked up at it now, it seemed to loom largely and imposingly, as if it was the only building on the block.

And indeed, the street suddenly did appear rather stark, like a ghost town, with no noticeable traffic or pedestrians, and all the storefronts lifeless. And all this became surrealistically distant, as if the street had widened somehow. And the street itself stretched towards a horizon that loomed far away, like a point of infinite vagueness.

The only things moving in the immediate surroundings were bits of trash and litter, animated by the wind. But then, the entire area seemed to shift or fluctuate as I gazed upon it, and I felt a wave of vertigo and faltered in my steps.

Debra looked at me with that soft determined look of hers. "Come on, honey, we're almost there." And she smiled at me, as if to reassure me.

Reassure me of what? That we were doing the right thing? That she was still there for me... after everything I'd been putting her through?

At least I still had the presence of mind to open the door for her. We found ourselves in a small and rather drab lobby, with no one around. It had the look of a waiting room, and she readily settled herself on a sofa that looked like it had been there for decades. Everything in the room seemed old, faded, overused, and unmatched. It occurs to me now that this is how I have always seen the world... old, faded, overused, and eclectic somehow... and if it didn't, it would in a short time.

We both looked around. Leading off, directly away from the door that we had just used, was a hallway; it seemed to be the only option that led anywhere, into other parts of the building.

Debra set the baby down beside her and looked up at me. "Why don't you go on ahead, honey; I'll wait here." She gave me that tight little smile again.

I nodded, gave her a quick kiss, and looked at our baby, who was sleeping soundly, completely unaware of the goings on around her and blissfully unconcerned.

Stepping over to where the hallway led off, I saw a couple of people sitting in individual little desks, like the ones we used to have in school. The hallway was dimmer farther down, and it didn't seem to go anywhere; there was just a gray wall of cement blocks at the end.

I walked slowly, uncertainly. The first person was a heavyset woman with unkempt hair, whose physique didn't fit in the little desk very well, but which she had managed somehow. She looked up at me as I walked by, showing no expression and offering no greeting, except a popping of her chewing gum.

They both appeared to be filling in some sort of forms, presumably the same thing I'd be doing shortly. Seeing them out here in the hall gave me some sense of expectation that perhaps I'd be able to bring the application out to the waiting room with me, so I could be with my family while I filled it out.

As I approached the second person, I hesitated and stood there, staring at the gray wall ahead. I felt confused, because that hallway really did seem to come to a dead end straight ahead.

The second person was a lean, bony, balding black man with a stubble of hair on his cheeks. He looked up at me with unusually avid eyes and nodded a greeting, "Just go on in, man. It takes a sharp right up there, and then it goes up to the elevator door." And he went back to his scrawling.

"Thank you."

The hallway did indeed take a turn to the right at the gray wall; one just couldn't see this in the dimness. As I took that turn, I glanced back and wondered how they could read or write anything in such gloom.

I walked up to a metal elevator door, pushed the button, and the door opened halfway and then stalled there, skipping and trembling and whirring in place. The car was out of alignment, and I had to step up about five inches to get in. The space inside was so confined, it didn't seem capable of holding more than two or three people.

All the buttons but one were covered with duct tape so as not to be used. When I pushed the one, the elevator started with a grind and crept up ever so slowly, clangoring all the way, and I felt as if it could break down at any second. It seemed to take so much effort that the amber light above flickered and waned into a horrid reddish glow. When it finally stopped and the door opened, I was looking at a large room, and I stepped out quickly and drew in a long breath.

The room was filled almost entirely with long folding tables, which had been set up end to end, forming several rows. There were numerous people, some by themselves, appearing to be working on their applications, and some in small clusters. Those in clusters were conversing, but their conversations were subdued and appeared secretive.

Except for a few quick glances, no one looked up at me and no one took any notice of interest. I couldn't tell who the staff people were or if there were actually any about. Straight ahead, there was one table that stood off by itself, with file cabinets behind it, and a couple of women sitting there that seemed to be doing something other than filling forms.

Walking over to that table, I noticed that the wall behind it had windows, but all except one had shades over them. Except for that one window, the room was lit with fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead with unceasing perceptibility.

The women at this table looked up at me scrutinizingly as I approached. Without saying anything, and nothing more than a curt smile, one of them handed me some papers of a dull orange color. She didn't even offer me a pencil or pen, and they both went back to their work without any further concern.

It so happened that I had a pen in my shirt pocket. I started back towards the elevator, but then, I remembered the feelings of claustrophobia and mechanophobia that I had experienced on the way up; and I changed my mind and looked instead for a place to sit.

It turned out that the papers I'd been handed were actually one large sheet, folded multiple times to the size of a regular sheet of paper, in the manner of those enormous folded maps that one gets at a store.

There appeared to be all sorts of printed matter, lists of questions, paragraphs of information, and even some drawings or illustrations, but no matter how I unfolded it to look at its contents, I couldn't seem to find anything that made any sense to me or any type of instruction that I could use.

It also seemed as if this requisition had been used before, so many times that it was in its final stage of disintegration. I found myself having to handle it with delicate care so as to keep it intact; and as I unfolded and refolded it, it became more and more unmanageable.

I became frustrated and impatient with it, to the point that I had to set it down and take a deep breath to calm myself. And I decided to go ask for help.

The ladies at the staff table did not seem to notice me at all as I approached, but another woman, more elderly and stern looking, walked up to me from out of nowhere.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked.

I held up the paper form and stammered, "Y-yes, I can't seem to... "

Before I could finish, she took the form from me and, in a swirl of movement, quickly and in a seemingly careless manner, she unfolded the paper and refolded it into its original state, even slapping it on her hand, as if snapping it into order. Looking at me with that same military stoicism, she presented it back to me and said, "Aren't you getting it yet?"

I was speechless; I could not comprehend how she could have done that without that frail document falling apart in her hands. I took it meekly and returned to find a place to sit. And now, I was finding myself with a new problem.

I had decided that the only way for me to study this form so as to try and make any sense of it was to spread it out fully. But it seemed now that no matter where I sat, there was never enough room to do so. Everywhere I sat, the working surface would have some object or objects taking up space, some immovable machine or contraption, or someone's things or elbow, which they would refuse to move.

On one occasion, when I thought I'd found the surface I needed, I discovered too late that it was wet. And now, in addition to this infuriating piece of paper being frail and flimsy, part of it was soggy.

I set it on my lap and looked around, feeling helpless. No one else in that room seemed to be having any problems of my kind. Some people were working studiously, and others were still engaged in their muffled conversations.

And then, I noticed that in one corner of the room, there were a number of chairs set about without a table in their midst. And I thought that perhaps I could go there and spread this impossible task on the floor.

There were two people sitting there, engaged in a quiet talk, but then, one of them got up and left the area. I stepped into this new arena and looked at the person still sitting there.

She was an attractive young woman, with straight blondish hair split down the middle and little oval-shaped, wire rimmed glasses. And she smiled at me pleasantly... finally, a friendly person in this menagerie of stone faces!

I sat down next to her and let out a long sigh. "Excuse me," I said, "it's just kind of a relief to see a friendly face in here. I've been having such a hard time with this thing, and I can't seem to find anyone that will help me. I... uh... I'm sorry... I don't mean to vent on you."

She was still smiling, but there was a serious, penetrating sort of look in her eyes. "You do look flustered. It's alright, Jude, it's kind of what I'm here for."

"H-how... how do you know my name?"

She pointed to a corner of the paper, which I was holding on my lap, and there was my name, printed in such a way that it looked as if a child had scrawled it. But this was the first time I'd seen this! I looked at her dumfoundedly.

"You don't have to do anything with that," she said gently. "It isn't really what you think it is. You can throw it away if you want, but then, you won't have anything to do with your hands anymore. Will you?"

Something in her words and the way she said them seemed to touch a remote part of my mind, and I suddenly felt an abrupt and unexplainable chill. She wasn't smiling anymore, but I still felt a warmness in her presence... and I saw a sort of acumen in her eyes, as if she held all the answers to questions I would be asking later.

At that moment, something compelled me to get up and go to that unshaded window. I looked outside and saw my wife and child crossing the street, accompanied by a man in a suit. They went around to the passenger side of a parked car, he opened the door, and just before she got in, she looked up at the window. She was crying!

The elderly woman with the stern face walked up to me. "You're not allowed to linger by this window for too long," she said. "I hope you can remember that."

I looked over to the corner where I had just been, and there was the pretty young woman, standing and watching, a look of near sympathy in her eyes.

"Come with me," said the elderly woman. "I'll show you where you'll be staying."

I was beginning to get an inkling of my present situation, but it was something that I did not fully understand; and a part of me was rejecting much of what I was beginning to think. A part of me suddenly wanted to scream and revolt, feeling as if this was what it had all come to, and I had earned the right to act in a maniacal way. And another part of me wanted to curl up and hide... and cry myself into forgetfulness.

The pretty lady walked up to me just before I walked out with the other woman. She put her hand on my shoulder and looked at me with those kind, penetrating eyes. "You'll see your wife again, Jude... and your daughter... when the time is right. You should know she loves you very much. She's committed to you."

And I tried to accept what she was saying, feeling as if a veil of some sort had been lifted from my soul... and another had been draped upon it.

r. nuñez , 7/2014