I Am Home

The alarm clock broke into my dreams of being rich and successful, yanking me painfully back into dingy reality. I groaned, ready to elbow my lazy dumbbell boyfriend, when I realized I'd sent him to sleep on the couch after he'd arrived at the apartment late and drunk again.

"Ugh. I hate mornings. And people. And my life. I wanna sleep all day!" I yowled to the empty room.

That wasn't an option, at least if I wanted to keep my job. I didn't really want it, but I couldn't afford to get fired and lose a reference off my skimpy resume. If I had my way I'd be running a bakery, not running around at a stinky waffle joint. The way I was currently on was a muddy dirt road leading to a sinkhole. Twenty-six years old wasn't all it's cracked up to be.

With these thoughts bouncing in my head, I wasn't exactly chipper when I got downstairs. Hank was still drowsy and grubby from the night before.

"Marie! You fixing breakfast today?" he barked. "I'm starving—got a splitting headache."

"Fix it yourself, ya drunken loser. I gotta get to work." I grabbed my purse and the car keys and left him grumbling on the couch with the TV blaring an action movie.

Outside, I noticed a letter lying on the mat. It was addressed to me, from the state treasury department. I picked it up and tossed it in the dashboard of my old Altima. I could read it later. If it was about bills or taxes, I would prefer not to.

I arrived at the Southside Waffle Warehouse, parking by the end of the barbed-wire fence shielding the diner from a third-rate used auto dealer, in time for a crusty, spray-painted freight train to thunder past with an earsplitting, window-rattling whistle.

Todd, the boss, eyed his smartwatch and made a note on it as I walked in.

"Late by two and a half minutes, I see."

"Are you serious? What's a hundred and fifty seconds to you?"

"Time is money, Marie. You and I have a limited supply of both."

"You're darned tooting I do." I scowled and headed for the kitchen, wishing I could climb on that noisy train, ride to the city and seek my fortune like a 1930's hobo.

If only it were still so easy. To get away and start over these days required oodles of money I didn't have.

"Working here six years, no gratitude and no raise," I complained to Leslie, coming in the back door after her first of a dozen daily smoking breaks.

"I feel ya," she yawned. "You and I the only ones here that long. Nobody else stays past six months."

"With good reason." I hoisted up a jug of cottonseed oil and prepped the fryers for hash browns.

The day progressed like all my others: dingy, greasy and gray. By the time I sank into my car on my lunch break, I was bushed. The stale smell of dishwater and cheap sausages clung to me like a disease.

As I ate my begrudgingly complimentary Waffle Warehouse lunch, I noticed the morning's unopened white envelope reflected on my windshield. Might as well read it now. Not like the day could get much worse, huh?

I reached for the envelope and tore it open.

Dear Marie Kidwell,

You have been chosen as the backup recipient to an unclaimed lottery winning of $10,000,000.00 or ten million dollars and zero cents. Please report to the State Treasurer's Office in Greensburg within three business days to begin the transfer process.

Sincerely,
John Hoover
State Secretary of the Treasury

What? I read it five times over, hands trembling. It had a phone number, a case number, and was printed on official letterhead. It even had the state seal in holographic gold.

I'd never played the lottery in my life. It must be a mistake. I snatched my phone and shakily dialed the number.

"You have reached the Offices of the Treasurer of the State…"

I worked through the automated options and waited on hold, analyzing the letter. My breath rattled in my throat.

"How may I help you?"

Her calm voice settled my nerves. I explained the situation, reading off the case number.

"Yes, I have the file here in front of me. Everything is legit."

"But why me? I don't play the lottery."

"We keep a list of people with good backgrounds and limited income whom the state thinks would benefit most from being awarded unclaimed funds."

"Seriously? I'm on that list?"

"You were picked at random from a pool of qualified applicants."

"Sheesh. This changes everything. I'm headed to Greensburg immediately!"

I hung up, jumped out of my car and burst into the restaurant.

"I'm quitting!" I shouted to everyone within earshot.

"Oh, very funny," Todd chuckled.

"I'm serious." I untied my apron, left my cap on the counter and headed to the lockers to gather my stuff.

"What happened?" He followed me. "You can't quit now, it's coming up on the holiday rush."

"Yes I can quit!" I jabbed a finger at him. "You'll have no problem finding a replacement. I'm outta here."

Todd shrugged and stepped back.

At the apartment, Hank was sprawled on the couch with a flask of Fireball and another action movie.

"Guess what?" I folded my arms. "I'm moving out."

"Wuh? You can't leave! Who's gonna pay the rent?"

"I ain't subsidizing your drinking habit anymore, buddy. Get a life. Get some help."

I went to the bedroom, flung my clothes into an old suitcase, grabbed my important papers, dumped my toiletries into cardboard boxes, and started dragging it all away.

"Wait!" Hank reached out. "Don't go. I'll change, I promise."

I pushed away from his lame attempt at affection and fled to my car, the only other part of my life which belonged to me.

Cramming everything in the trunk, I swung onto the road and headed for the nearest interstate exit. I turned on the radio, pressed the accelerator and started singing along about the road less traveled as I left everything I knew in a cloud of proverbial dust.

Free at last! My mind whirled with ideas and dreams going almost as fast as my car. I wouldn't be one of those morons blowing their lottery winnings in a week at Las Vegas. Nope. I'd be an entrepreneur, start a sugar-free bakery. I'd do something I wanted to do instead of what I'd been trapped into doing.

Would the money be in a lump sum, or payments? If I was going to invest in a business, I'd need more than a thousand a week or whatever. I'd also have to return to college; being a waitress was so physically and mentally draining, I had dropped out of online classes years ago. Can't be an entrepreneur without some higher education, right?

Three hundred miles later, it was dark. I arrived in Greensburg, pulled off in a fancy neighborhood and chose a luxury hotel, paying with last week's salary. I wanted to stay safe and get a good night's sleep. Might as well book for a week so I could figure my future at my leisure.

I skipped and danced as I pulled an overnight bag from the trunk. It was hard to fall asleep with visions of my new life spread out before me. My dreams were finally coming true.

***

Next morning, I was actually excited to get up when the alarm went off. I did aerobics for the first time in ages, getting my blood circulating. I dressed up and styled my hair for the meeting at the Treasurer's office. When was the last time I cared about looking presentable?

I parked downtown and strode confidently along cobbled sidewalks, enjoying the classy ambiance. I spent some time leisurely window shopping for upscale fashion accessories once beyond my means.

At the government offices, I took a seat and waited, scribbling plans in my notebook. Once the funds were secured, the first thing to do: buy a new car. Then I'd have to purchase a house; might as well be in Greensburg, looks like a nice place to live. Should I do a mortgage or pay in cash? Then, my bakery startup…

"Marie, the Secretary of the Treasury is ready to speak with you." The woman's brisk voice snapped me out of my daydreaming.

John Hoover sat at an imposing mahogany desk with a dual-monitor computer. I laid out my identification papers and seated myself.

"Good morning, Ms. Kidwell. Let me locate your file." He adjusted his glasses, picked up my Social Security card, and leaned towards the monitors. "I'm sure you're eager to access your appointed funds."

"I'll be patient." I grinned.

He scrolled through files for several minutes. His expression changed from jovial to concerned as he analyzed my card. My heart throbbed in my chest. I surreptitiously wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. Finally, he looked up from the screens, brow furrowed.

"Ms. Kidwell, there appears to be a problem. I'm afraid your name has been confused with someone else."

"Oh?" My mouth was paper-dry.

"The original lottery reallocation file shows a Ms. Maria Kidwell was chosen to receive the funds. But the list of contact attempts show a Marie Kidwell, whose credentials match yours."

"Meaning?"

"Since your SSN is not that of the intended recipient, you are not eligible to receive any portion of these funds." He shook his head. "I extend my deepest apologies for the inconvenience."

With that, he summoned his secretary to usher me out before I could protest.

What just happened? I shook uncontrollably, almost unable to walk past the same shop windows I'd browsed an hour ago. Inside my car, tears spilled down my face. I bawled on the steering wheel like a little kid.

Now what? I'd spent a ridiculous amount of money booking my fancy hotel. How would I survive? My dreams were smashed by a bureaucratic wrecking ball. How could they do this to me? Maybe I should sue the state government for causing me to quit my job and run away from… wait. Hadn't I been wishing I could run away from my job and my life?

I sat up straight and reached for a tissue. Pull yourself together. Maybe this is exactly what you wanted all along. Being broke and alone in a strange city? But there's so much opportunity here… Yeah, who's gonna hire me now? Nice reference Todd will be!

Beep!

My phone interrupted my agonizing mental argument with a text from Hank.

Babe, please come home. I promise I'll be sober. I love you.

I stared down at it. For a minute I almost wanted to go back to predictable lameness. Then bleak memories replayed: how miserable I was around him, how depressed I'd been lately, how utterly unsupportive he was.

I looked up, out the windshield, at the neat row of gentrified businesses along Main Street. One, a local bakery, had pastel striped awnings and a sign on the door: Now Hiring. I smiled and texted him:

I am home. You can take care of yourself. I believe in you. Goodbye.

I blocked his number. Reaching for my purse, I squared my shoulders as I got out of my car and headed towards the bakery. A bell jangled as I entered.

"Good morning!" The owner wiped flour off her hands.

I took a deep breath. I don't need ten million dollars. All I need is confidence and a fresh start. The world awaits. I'm ready.

"I see you're hiring," I began. "I'm from out of town. I need a job. You won't believe what brought me here…"

notes ▼

Words: 1980.
Written for the December 2024 What a Character Official WdC Contest.
Prompt: Someone who's been doing the same job for a long time and realizes they want a fresh start. What job are they leaving and what do they do next?