Chapter 1: The Status Quo

“‘Life sucks, and then you die,’” Greg said bitterly as he watched a stream of bubbles in the beer charge to the surface. He knew the bubbles formed along the sides where the glass had imperfections or was dirty.

“What do you have to complain about?” Donald asked from the barstool beside him. He knew where Greg lived and what kind of cars the man drove. The house was nearly a mansion with four bedrooms, formal rooms, family rooms, and a pool in the back. It had a lawn that was half an acre in size. Parked in the driveway were a BMW, SUV, and a heavy duty pickup for pulling the camper and the boat that were parked next to the house. As far as he was concerned, Greg had achieved the American Dream.

Greg looked over at Donald and recalled the tales of woe the man had spilled over beers in the past. The poor guy had come home one night and found his wife in bed with some jerk that lived up the street. The divorce had taken care of all their assets. The lawyers got most of the money while he and his ex had split the rest. Donald was stuck paying child support and alimony. Deciding that compared to Donald, he didn’t really have any reason to complain, Greg said, “Nothing, I guess.”

“I saw you walk up. Are you still in that carpool?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never understood that. You’ve got money. Why carpool?”

“I like the fact that I don’t have to navigate the traffic every day.”

“You drive a BMW. What’s the big deal?”

Greg hated the commute to work. It wasn’t that far, but the traffic was bumper to bumper the entire way. What was the point of having a performance car if all you did was creep behind the car in front of you? The chance to sit back and talk with the other guys three days a week was worth more than the prestige of parking his BMW in his parking space. He only had to drive the carpool on Monday and he drove to work alone on Friday.

He answered, “Three days a week I get to nap on the way to work and talk with the guys on the way home. It is a hell of a lot better than staring at the ass end of the car crawling in front of me while listening to some crappy radio show.”

Donald laughed and said, “Still, sitting in those leather seats must be pretty nice.”

“I don’t know. I used to have a VW Bug. I loved that little car,” Greg said. It had been cramped, but it had been one great car. He’d rebuilt the engine on it as a teenager and painted it orange with white spots. He used to call it his Lady Bug. His girlfriend at the time loved it and they’d had some great times in it at the drive in. He had nearly cried the day he traded it in for the sedan.

“Then get one of the new ones.”

“They aren’t the same,” Greg said with a shrug of his shoulders. He had been excited when Volkswagen had started advertising the new bug. He had walked away very disappointed upon seeing one. His old bug had rugged little seats, rubber mats, an engine in the back, a little AM radio, and heater that had never worked. The new one looked like every other car on the inside and only resembled the old bug on the outside.

“My, you are in a good mood, tonight,” Donald said in a voice that dripped with irony. He spotted a woman he knew coming in the bar and said, “I’ll catch you later. It looks like I just might get some female company for a change.”

“Have fun,” Greg said as he took another sip of his beer. He set the glass down on the bar coaster and tried to read the printing on the coaster through the bottom of the glass. He was killing time and he knew it.

The glass was about a third of the way full. It meant he would be leaving in ten minutes. Sighing, he grabbed a handful of popcorn and chased it down with more of the beer. He looked at the glass and the popcorn thinking back to when he had started coming to the sports bar. At first, it had been nice. He’d have a drink and then head home feeling a lot more relaxed and cheerful. Now, he went through the motions of watching the large screen televisions, drinking the beer, and eating the stale popcorn. He didn’t feel relaxed and cheerful when he headed home; he felt bloated and depressed.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Shuffling through them, he found a ten and slapped it on the bar. Calling to the bartender, he said, “Keep the change.”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he headed towards the corner. At the corner he turned left, pausing for a couple of seconds to watch the kid across the street selling flowers. He didn’t understand it. Every day that kid was there selling flowers. Greg didn’t think there were that many men in the neighborhood who felt guilty enough on a daily basis to keep the kid in business. The only man he knew that bought flowers with any kind of regularity was Jim, a member of his carpool. Come rain or shine, that kid was at the corner every night during rush hour selling flowers.

He walked the block to the street that led into the Glenwood Estates housing development. This was the ‘good neighborhood’ and most of the houses were huge. There were a few smaller places that were tucked away here and there in the development. They had been added to use the odd sized lots that remained after the rambling yards had been laid out. In a way, the people liked having the smaller houses there since it made their house look bigger. He walked the three blocks to his street.

His wife was embarrassed that he walked from the sports bar to the house three nights a week. She felt it was not appropriate behavior to walk four and a half blocks when one had a luxury car that one could drive. She claimed he looked like one of the Mexican workers who had to walk to work from the bus station at the corner. He was sure that the words weren’t hers, but reflected what the neighborhood women said.

At his street, he turned the corner and headed the half block to his house. It was the largest house on the street. For all he knew, it may have been the largest house in the development. It had been one of the last houses to sell and they’d gotten a good price on it. The developer had wanted to move onto another project.

He stared up at the house from the end of the driveway thinking about how much work it was to maintain. Every Saturday during the summer, he spent the entire day doing nothing except taking care of the lawn and the pool. If he was unlucky and it rained, he’d have to spend two evenings of the week mowing the lawn.

Maintaining the house was a never ending battle. There were three and a half baths to fix up. It seemed that there was never a time when a toilet wasn’t backed up or wouldn’t stop flushing. If the bathrooms were in proper working condition, then something else was broken.

He turned into the driveway and headed towards the house. He looked over at the flowerbeds and knew that this weekend he would have to plant flowers. Spring had arrived and with it came the chore of gardening. He would have no free time until winter came again.

Entering the house, he looked around at the mess. The kid’s backpacks had been dumped on the floor. The table by the door was piled with letters, newspapers, and unopened bills. To his left was the formal living room. That was a lot cleaner, since they weren’t allowed to sit in it unless it was a special occasion.

He didn’t notice that there was a thin layer of dust on everything. Tomorrow that dust would be gone. His wife, Sharon, would spend more than an hour cleaning it. First, she’d get her little duster and attack the dusty surfaces. She’d move and dust every little item in the room until it was spotless. Then, she’d vacuum the floor with the monster vacuum. In the meantime, more dust would be falling in one of the other rooms. The next week, she’d be back cleaning that same room and no one would have used it in the meantime.

From the kitchen, his wife called out, “Dinner in ten.”

The house was laid out such that it was necessary to yell to be heard from one room to the next. He hated listening to her shout. It gave her voice an angry tone even when she wasn’t upset.

He shouted back, “Okay.”

Knowing that he was going to have to deal with the bills soon, he shuffled through the pile of mail. It was a mixture of ads and bills. He grabbed the pile and carried it into his den where his desk was located. He dumped the stack on the desk and sat down in his chair.

His bladder reminded in that it was time to recycle the beer. He recalled the water cycle from his early years in school. It rained, the water ran off into the streams, the streams fed the lakes, the water evaporated from the lakes to form clouds, and then the water fell back to the ground as rain. The beer cycle was similar. You drank beer out of the bottle, pissed it into the toilet, flushed it into the sewer, at the treatment plant they bottled it, and then you drank it out of a beer bottle.

He got up and headed to the bathroom. By the time he finished relieving his bladder, his wife had called out, “Dinner’s ready!”

He washed his hands and left the bathroom. Without rushing, he reached the table and noticed that there were only three places set. Taking his normal seat, he waited for everyone else to show up. His wife shouted from the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready!”

He wanted to shout back that he knew, but the call wasn’t for him. He stared at the center of the table waiting for dinner to be served. His wife slid a plate in front of him. It was loaded with the amount of food that she expected him to eat. He looked down at the plate and said, “Pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes. No gravy?”

“I didn’t have time to make gravy. Do you think I have nothing better to do than slave in the kitchen all day?”

He looked over at his wife. She was wearing a sweat shirt, a pair of stretch pants, and tennis shoes. He didn’t even bother looking at her face. He knew without looking that she wasn’t wearing makeup and that mop that she called hair just hung in place. Pursing his lips, he looked back down at his plate. Not wanting to create a scene, he said, “I thought they had canned gravy.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to call out for her son, “Dinner’s...”

“Ready. I know I heard you bellow,” Harry said as he entered the dining room. He shuffled over to his chair and sat down. Without looking up, he started to eat his food even before his mother had sat down at the table. All he wanted to do was get through dinner and back to his room where it was safe.

Greg stared at his son. The boy was wearing blue jeans and a tee shirt with the image of some band on it. His hair was uncombed. He sat hunched over with his mouth about three inches over the plate and shoveled the food into his mouth. Greg didn’t tell him to sit up straight since he didn’t want to get into a big fight that night. Pointing to the empty spot, he asked, “Where’s Cathy?”

“She ate something earlier and is sulking in her room,” his wife answered. It never failed for one or both of the kids to eat something before dinner and ruin their appetites. She wondered why she bothered to cook.

“Oh,” he said. That was another topic of conversation not to pursue. He started digging the little chips of almonds out of the green beans wondering why she couldn’t get the plain green beans. He stabbed one of them with his fork and ate it mechanically. After swallowing, he asked, “How was your day?”

“You need to pay the bills. There’s a whole pile of them by the door.”

“I know,” he answered wondering how that answered his question.

Vigorously sawing away at her pork chop with her knife, she said, “I bought flowers for the garden today. Saturday, you’ll have to plant them in the flowerbed. You’ll also need to mow the lawn now that Spring is here.”

“I figured as much,” Greg said with a sigh. That was a Saturday and Sunday shot.

“You’re going to have to get the pool ready for the summer soon, so you’ll need to run by the pool supply place on your way home from work tomorrow,” she said. She didn’t understand why he took the carpool to work. She had decided it was so that he only had to run errands on Fridays when he went into work alone.

“Okay,” Greg answered wondering how dinner time had become time to receive his marching orders. There was no way that he was going to be able to do all of that by himself in one weekend. Turning to Harry, he said, “You’re going to have to help me with the yard on Saturday.”