Ivory ceiling, ivory walls, water damage, and cluttered floor. I’ve woken up to the same view for two and a half years, almost three. I’m late for work. I can tell because I’ve already woken up four times, swearing each time would be the last. Has my mom called me yet? She knows the depression hasn’t eased up, but I should still talk to her. I think she thinks I’m going to hurt myself. I wouldn’t. I’ve thought about it, but I wouldn’t.
I get ready. It takes ten minutes now days. When I first moved to Boulder, I was so hopeful things would be different than Boise, I’d spend an hour washing up to make myself look good. I don’t think about things like that anymore. The drive to the office is short, five minutes at this time of day. I know Allison is going to say something about me being late. She wouldn’t waste the opportunity.
“Hey, Samara. Are you sick or something? You don’t look so good,” she says.
I bet you’d like that. “No, I’m fine. Just overslept, Allison.”
“Jamie wants to see you.”
“Thanks.”
I walk over to Jamie’s door and knock; he waves me in.
“How’re you doing, Samara?” he asks. “Have a seat. I wanted to talk to you about something. You know I think you do good work. When you apply yourself you’re great, really. But that’s when you apply yourself. You know as well as I do that you’ve been slacking. Now I know it’s not laziness or incompetence. I know there’s something more. But it gets to a point, past being patient with you, when I need the employees to do everything they’re supposed to do or the company’s losing. We’re gonna have to let you go.”
It isn’t what I expected, but it doesn’t shock me. I’m not thinking about much, and I have even less to say. “Okay, Jamie. Have a good day.” Then, I walk out of his office and out of the lobby and out of the building without so much as a glance at Allison. I don’t need to grab anything from my desk. There’s nothing for me there. Do I mean my desk or Boulder? I think I mean Boulder, and I think the drive home was hours long. I call my mom when I get to my apartment.
“I got fired, Mom,” I say once she picks up.
“Oh, Samara. Are you alright?” she asks, clearly worried.
“I think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m upset about it, but I think I’m more upset that the job was the only thing keeping me here. It feels like I gave this place so many chances to make me feel better, but things are even worse than when I was home. And now that I have no friends, no family, and no job, I don’t know what more to do.”
She hesitates, “You might not like me saying this, honey, but I think you should come back.”
I hesitate, too. “I think you’re right.”
“I miss you, baby. That makes me so happy. I think you should organize your affairs and drive up. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
As much as I’d tried, I hadn’t been able to make myself at home in Colorado. It’s working in my favor now since I can throw everything I own into three suitcases; I don’t need this furniture. Maybe it was meant to be, maybe part of me knew I wasn’t staying, but it’s the last month on my lease and I’ve been putting off renewing. Getting out of here is going to be easy, and I haven’t thought of things as easy in a while. The drive to Boise is thirteen hours, and I’m well-rested and hopeful once again.
First hour down, I’m starting to get in my head. Was this a mistake? Should I have found another job? Did I leave any loose ends? Am I a failure? If starting fresh didn’t work for me, am I a lost cause? Should I have tried harder to get better? Are things going back to exactly how they were before I left? Is my mom going to want me to stay with her? Do I want to stay with her? Did I hurt myself more by moving in the first place?
By the third hour, I’m still in my head, but I’m a little less hard on myself. I think I really did try my best, but I’m hurt and discouraged by my lack of improvement. Desperate for a change and thinking things couldn’t get any worse, I was quick to endorse the move. I had seen an ad or something somewhere painting Boulder as a place of opportunity and chances. It was pretty enough to make me feel like my life would turn into red roofs, clear lakes, and green mountains. It didn’t.
By the fifth hour, I’m a little closer to the ground. The horizon is starting to burn orange, and the smooth, rolling hills pair well with my soft music. I’m starting to get hungry. I exit at the next truck stop I see and fill up my tank; tacos are advertised on the windows. The refrigerated chicken wraps look good, but the cigarettes look even better. I get a container of each.
By hour seven, I’m thinking about my friends at home. It feels like I haven’t seen them in a lifetime. I miss Katherine with her angsty, witty, edgy humor. She’s a smart girl; we’d have such nice talks, but she always knew when to keep it lighthearted and when to stop pushing. I miss James, too; we’d have so much fun together. We could relate to each other well and enjoyed doing the same things. But most of all I miss Ivanna, the best friend I’ve ever had. I would text her every couple of months from Boulder, and it would be like no time has passed. I hope we’re not in too different phases of life. I’d love to see her often again.
By the ninth hour, I’m a little tired, but it’s not too late in the day. Now my brain is occupied with the failed relationships I had in Colorado. It’s hard to date when you hate living. The times I was able to build up the motivation to go out with enough confidence to not bring the room down didn’t end too well. About half of them ended with the men losing interest in my “pessimistic outlook” or “unambitious lifestyle.” The other half was me not finding the energy to get out of bed, let alone be someone’s doting girlfriend. One guy, Joseph, was able to look past the fog I couldn’t see through myself and pull me out from time to time. Things were looking up when we were together, but he moved away for work. I try not to think about him anymore.
Driving through the eleventh hour now, I start thinking about my family. I miss them so much. I wonder what my young brother, Caiden, thinks of me being gone this long. He’s precious and silly and innocent. I want to preserve that so bad. And my sweet younger sister, Mina. Things were rough for a while, as they are with close-aged siblings, but now she sees the world in me, and I see no world without her. Then there is my father, who dedicates his life to his family, even if it puts him far away most days. I wonder if he knows how much I love him. And my mother, who radiates love and light and spoon-feeds it to her children even when they push away her hand, claiming maturity. I know I can do no wrong in her eyes, but I still hope to do right by her.
It is my last hour, and I feel renewed. I drove past thousands of people, each leaving one place with hopes for another while I did the same. I confronted my weaknesses and downfalls, my strengths and triumphs. I was convinced my fresh start was three years and 800 miles behind me, but it is so much closer than that. My energy source is an hour away, and I intend to use it.
Pulling into my parent’s driveway, I have a new heart and new eyes. I can’t wait to hug my mom.
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