“You’re fired,” my boss for the past 2 years says.
Those words made my gut tumble into a knot for so long it felt like years had passed.
“W-What?” I stammer out.
“You heard me, Clay, you’re fired. You come in late every day, you fall asleep at your desk, you never finish your work on time, and you enter some sort of trance that lasts for almost the entire day. You no longer benefit our company. We can’t have someone that daydreams all day working for such a huge business. Pack your things,” my now ex-boss, Walter says.
Without responding, I tread to my poorly decorated cubicle. The only thing on the walls is a photo of my mother and me when I graduated high school. I smile before quickly putting a straight face back on when I realize my current situation. I have no job.
How am I going to take care of myself? How will I afford a bag of food for my cat? How will I pay my rent?
Although I live in Florida, the rent here still isn’t cheap; especially since I live alone. I have no financial help from anyone but myself.
As I gather my very few things into a box, I remember the important meeting I was supposed to have today. I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.
After I gather a small box filled with all my belongings, I say goodbye in my head and walk to the elevator. As I go down to the lobby, my mind goes blank. What just happened? My parents are going to be so disappointed in me.
Since I live right down the street to my office, I walk home. I think about what I will do to make sure I can pay my rent. Do I get a roommate? Do I move back home?
After about 5 minutes, I get to my apartment. I turn the key, unlocking the door, and my cat, Patches, comes up to me; she rubs her face against my leg. I can feel her purring as she brushes up against me.
Ever since I moved to this apartment a few years ago, there is this one spot on the roof I just love sitting at. I can just chill and sometimes I take Patches with me too. My phone buzzes with a text from my best friend, George.
It’s a photo of him and his cat. I smile and send a selfie back.
I change into some sweatpants and a hoodie, pick up Patches, and head up to the roof. During the winter in New York, it can get pretty cold. I brought Patches a blanket as well.
As I walk up, I hear my phone begin to ring in my pocket. I take it out and look at the screen. The caller ID says George.
I give myself a confused look, wondering why he would be calling me at this hour. He lives in England, so usually, he would be asleep around this time.
I decide to decline the call, not wanting to go on my phone. But, before I press decline, I hear the sound of a phone ringing. A different phone.
I walk over to my usual spot and see a boy sitting there. It’s a cloudy day and I can’t really make out a face.
He stands up and walks closer to me. I become slightly frightened, unsure of who the strange man is.
On his third step over to me I recognize the face. I could find that face in a crowd of one hundred people. I could recognize him in a mosh-pit at a concert. It’s George.
“George?!” I question, slightly excited, but mostly shocked.
“Surprise?” he says.