apartment.
It sure beat a prison bunk, with its thin fire-resistant crinkly mattress and its single grey woolen blanket, I reminded myself firmly.
Tomorrow was Sunday. On Sunday mornings I usually liked to walk through downtown which had a church on almost every corner. I wasn’t about to be a total hypocrite and try to join one, but the families looked solid and content in their Sunday best, and sometimes I could hear the choirs sing.
They didn’t usually pay me much mind, maybe a dismissive glance, but with my face all beat up like this, I might be better off staying away. If the parents took a look at me and pulled their kids protectively closer, I’d pretend to ignore it, but it would hurt. Besides, it looked like it was going to be icy and cold.
I had to be to work at midnight for my Monday shift. I should probably get there a bit early, since it didn’t look like Kelly was going to be showing up for work.
I slept Sunday afternoon, so I would be well-rested for work. The Quality Steel Fabrications plant was only about a fifteen minute walk from my apartment. Whenever I thought about it, I still couldn’t quite believe I’d actually landed a job there. They participated in a program that gave tax breaks to companies that gave jobs to parole-eligible prison inmates. I did my best to prove to them that they hadn’t made a mistake hiring me.
I packed peanut butter sandwiches in my battered lunchbox and filled its thermos with instant coffee, then left for work. I got there about eleven thirty Sunday night and waited for Jim, the foreman, to tell me how we were going to handle the forklift work tonight.
Ramon, a beefy guy who drove a lift on the four to midnight shift, sat at one of the crude picnic tables between the time-clock and the vending machines that dispensed snacks and a vile dark liquid purported to be coffee. Since his shift hadn’t worked Sunday, they must have called him in. Ramon and I had problems in the past, but as far as I was concerned, we’d worked them through. We basically ignored each other most of the time. I hoped we could just let things lie now—I sure didn’t need any more trouble than I already had.
Ramon looked surprised when he saw me, but nodded a greeting. I nodded back.
Jim, the foreman, hurried in, his battered clipboard clutched in his one gnarled hand, a chewed pencil stub in the other. He stopped when he saw me.
“Didn’t think you were coming in tonight, Jesse,” he said, raising his bushy white eyebrows.
Why would he think that? “I’m here,” I said.
“So I see.” He scratched his chin with the pencil and looked down at me from his height of over six foot five inches. I’m just about six foot.
“I don’t think Kelly will be in, though,” I said.
“I expect you’re right on that. Her dad called the office earlier and said she’d probably be out most of the week.” He eyed my bruised face and seemed to be deciding whether to say anything more. “Do you know how she’s doing?” he finally asked.
I shrugged. “She’s supposed to be doing good, all things considered. But she don’t want to see me right now.”
“I can’t imagine why.” Jim shook his head and turned to his clipboard which listed all the jobs, shipments and information he’d need for the shift tonight.
Since they’d called Ramon in, I figured I’d be working my regular duties in the warehouse and the plant floor, with Ramon handling the loading and unloading of trucks. I hadn’t needed to come in so early, but that didn’t matter.
I put my lunchbox on the table, punched in, hung up my jacket on a hook on the wall, and grabbed my hardhat. A note on the time-clock reminded everyone that most of plant would be shut down next week for retooling. That happened twice a year, and production workers got a week’s paid vacation, if they were union members. I’d been working there long enough to be in the union, so I’d be on paid vacation this time. Unless they needed a
It sure beat a prison bunk, with its thin fire-resistant crinkly mattress and its single grey woolen blanket, I reminded myself firmly.
Tomorrow was Sunday. On Sunday mornings I usually liked to walk through downtown which had a church on almost every corner. I wasn’t about to be a total hypocrite and try to join one, but the families looked solid and content in their Sunday best, and sometimes I could hear the choirs sing.
They didn’t usually pay me much mind, maybe a dismissive glance, but with my face all beat up like this, I might be better off staying away. If the parents took a look at me and pulled their kids protectively closer, I’d pretend to ignore it, but it would hurt. Besides, it looked like it was going to be icy and cold.
I had to be to work at midnight for my Monday shift. I should probably get there a bit early, since it didn’t look like Kelly was going to be showing up for work.
I slept Sunday afternoon, so I would be well-rested for work. The Quality Steel Fabrications plant was only about a fifteen minute walk from my apartment. Whenever I thought about it, I still couldn’t quite believe I’d actually landed a job there. They participated in a program that gave tax breaks to companies that gave jobs to parole-eligible prison inmates. I did my best to prove to them that they hadn’t made a mistake hiring me.
I packed peanut butter sandwiches in my battered lunchbox and filled its thermos with instant coffee, then left for work. I got there about eleven thirty Sunday night and waited for Jim, the foreman, to tell me how we were going to handle the forklift work tonight.
Ramon, a beefy guy who drove a lift on the four to midnight shift, sat at one of the crude picnic tables between the time-clock and the vending machines that dispensed snacks and a vile dark liquid purported to be coffee. Since his shift hadn’t worked Sunday, they must have called him in. Ramon and I had problems in the past, but as far as I was concerned, we’d worked them through. We basically ignored each other most of the time. I hoped we could just let things lie now—I sure didn’t need any more trouble than I already had.
Ramon looked surprised when he saw me, but nodded a greeting. I nodded back.
Jim, the foreman, hurried in, his battered clipboard clutched in his one gnarled hand, a chewed pencil stub in the other. He stopped when he saw me.
“Didn’t think you were coming in tonight, Jesse,” he said, raising his bushy white eyebrows.
Why would he think that? “I’m here,” I said.
“So I see.” He scratched his chin with the pencil and looked down at me from his height of over six foot five inches. I’m just about six foot.
“I don’t think Kelly will be in, though,” I said.
“I expect you’re right on that. Her dad called the office earlier and said she’d probably be out most of the week.” He eyed my bruised face and seemed to be deciding whether to say anything more. “Do you know how she’s doing?” he finally asked.
I shrugged. “She’s supposed to be doing good, all things considered. But she don’t want to see me right now.”
“I can’t imagine why.” Jim shook his head and turned to his clipboard which listed all the jobs, shipments and information he’d need for the shift tonight.
Since they’d called Ramon in, I figured I’d be working my regular duties in the warehouse and the plant floor, with Ramon handling the loading and unloading of trucks. I hadn’t needed to come in so early, but that didn’t matter.
I put my lunchbox on the table, punched in, hung up my jacket on a hook on the wall, and grabbed my hardhat. A note on the time-clock reminded everyone that most of plant would be shut down next week for retooling. That happened twice a year, and production workers got a week’s paid vacation, if they were union members. I’d been working there long enough to be in the union, so I’d be on paid vacation this time. Unless they needed a
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