Page 21 of In a Word, Yes
Tucking the snack mix into my tote, the enoughness of this settles my soul. This is me. This is who I am. A bookish word nerd who carries a tote plastered with a grammar joke and a long-stifled dream to help people through words.
But when I return to my workstation, my mouth goes sour. There’s been a change. Something new sits atop my keyboard—a stark white business card, and on it shines a gold embossed emblem. A sheriff’s badge.
Deschutes County Sheriff’s Office
Proudly Serving Our Community
I run my thumb over the name in the bottom corner.
Sheriff’s Lieutenant Wyatt Hayes
Charity Falls Substation
Is someone messing with me?
In her office, Dot furiouslythap-thap-thapson her prehistoric ten-key adding machine. The baby lipstick plant now rests on her windowsill between the zebra cactus that was a birthday gift from me and the heartleaf philodendron I brought to console her upon Betty White’s passing. It’s tripled in size since that tender day in 2021.
There’s also a small wooden sign I cannot take credit for that reads “Mr. Rogers did not adequately prepare me for the people in my neighborhood.”
“Dot,” I say, waving the business card. “Did you leave this for me?”
Her coral lips purse. “Wasn’t me, hon.”
“Anyone come in while I was gone?” Dot has a clear view from her desk to the reception area.
“Not a soul.”
“Did you see anyone approach my desk?”
“Nope. Well, only Sam. Probably helping himself to another pastry.” Rolling her eyes, she singsongs, “Corn syrup.”
When I poke my head into his office, Sam turns from his computer monitor, revealing the phone receiver pressed to his ear. He holds up a finger.
So I wait. I’m twitchy. The business card all but singes my fingertips.
“What is it?” he finally says after hanging up. It comes off as a growl, which I know better than to take personally.
“This, um, card?”
Already he’s picking up his receiver to place another call. “Yup. That’s him.”
“That’s ... who?”
“Your assignment.” His tone implies a big fatduh. “The one we discussed. That’s your interview.”
Seven
supercilious(adj.): coolly and patronizingly haughty
Later in the day, a breeze tousles my hair as I wait by the school flagpole for Chase. As a cost-cutting measure, theMessengerrecently reduced our hours on Wednesdays. Sure, my paycheck took a hit, but there are plus sides. Smaller budget for after-school care. Bigger portion of the day spent with my son.
Parents are clustered like grapes into their usual bunches, chatting. I stand apart. Maybe because I only get to do this once a week and am rarely free to chaperone field trips, I’ve never found an entry point into any of these social spheres.Which is fine, I think, flicking a glance over to the threesome of Becca Burns and the two Jennifers, with their crop tops and fashionably baggy sweats that somehow miraculously don’t make them look like slobs.
I guess you could say I’m surface-level friends with Becca’s posse. Their kids have attended school with Chase since pre-K, so we always exchange nice-to-see-yous. But even grownups havesomething akin to a cool kids’ table. Wispy locks of Becca’s cornsilk bob surf the breeze, catching sunlight. She’s one of those high-functioning women who makes me feel like a drooling idiot. Like I’ve got two cement blocks for feet.
Never mind that she’s also got perfectly flat abs, three kids whose names all begin withband show up on every honor roll, and some kind of successful business that she operates with her husband—one has to admire the way she’s killing it as PTO president.
“Lucy!” Out of the crowd, Nina’s daughter, Paige, breaks free and darts my way. Her loaded down electric-pink backpack flops from one shoulder blade to the other. That’s got to be painful. Waist-length ebony waves explode from Paige’s scrunchie in all directions. “Want to see my art folder?” she says breathlessly.
