Thank You
The bills, the car, the mortgage, the insurance; Courtney had to pay them all by today. She stayed up late again, paying bills and balancing her check book. She got four hours of sleep last night, but now the alarm was blaring. 5 AM; time to get up for work.
A shower, a cold pop tart, and instant coffee; Courtney's day started this way. Getting fully dressed, she rushed out the door and into her car. 6:01 AM; the Sun was already out for over an hour now. Traffic was accumulating at the highway. Courtney checked her gas; she was almost empty. The office was a half hour drive away. Rolling her eyes and gritting her teeth, she drove to the nearest gas station.
A red Ferrari, a blue minivan, and an old Hummer; three cars were being serviced before Courtney. She tapped her finger on the steering wheel impatiently. It was 6:35 AM. Work was still half an hour away, and she clocks in at 7 on the dot. Finally it was her turn. She filled up a quarter of her tank with gas. She paid 10 dollars. As she got in, she noticed her flat tire. Gritting her teeth and clenching her fist, she drove to the air pump and filled her tire with air.
Car horns blaring, a lack of movement, pointless chatter on the radio; Courtney was stuck in traffic. The clock read 7:10 AM. Courtney was late for work, and the office was still twenty minutes away. She tried changing the radio station.
A pop ballad about teenage love, a debate about illegal immigration, a rap about lady parts; the obnoxious content on whatever radio station Courtney could pick up. She sighed. Her phone vibrated, a text from her boss. She opened up her phone.
"You are late," the text read. "Are you coming to the office?"
Her job, her lifestyle, her things; these are what Courtney feared losing. Her heart began to race. Tears formed in her eyes, for she hated being late for work. She could already hear her boss chewing her out. She could hear him firing her on the spot. She imagined her coworkers holding back their laughter as she cleaned up her desk.
The car horns continued to blare out, the Sun was blindingly bright, and her phone continued to receive texts.
"I need an answer!"
"Where are you?"
"Do you even WANT to continue working for us?"
"There are six other people waiting for this job!"
She let out a scream. Tears ran down her face as she faced the reality that her job was on the line. Everything she had worked for: gone in an instant, all due to traffic. She picked up her phone, attempting to text back her boss.
"Will be there in 20," she typed. "Fighting traffic."
She was about to hit Send. She hesitated. She took a deep breath, pressed Delete, put her phone away, and drove to the park. She parked her car and ran towards a flowery meadow. She collapsed on the ground, tears running down her face. She vomited.
She got up, taking her phone out again. She started typing.
"Feeling sick," she typed. "Taking a day."
As she hit Send, her fingers trembled. Again, she felt sick. Again, tears swelled in her eyes. She walked towards a bench, collapsing herself on it. A homeless man walked up to the bench and sat next to her.
Insanity, laziness, danger; what Courtney saw in the man. He looked her over, nodding. She got up, intending to walk away.
"Crazy," the man said. "Some people just throw their lives away chasing money."
"Yeah? Well, money has advantages," Courtney replied, scoffing. "For example, I don't sleep in a bench."
"I can tell," the man replied. "But I don't take a day off from work to head to the park to cry and puke my guts out."
Courtney was stunned; did he see her?
"I don't presume to know what happened to you," said the man. "I mean, I can guess. But you look pretty damn torn up, girl. What happened?"
Courtney didn't answer, but for some reason, she let the man take a look at the texts from her boss. He saw only three, but his eyes widened at what he read.
"Quit that job," the man said. "You don't deserve this."
"I don't have a choice," said Courtney. "I have a life to maintain."
"Is it worth it?" Asked the man. "Are you happy with it?"
She was at a loss for words. She had never asked herself this question; "am I happy?" She thought, and she thought, and she finally realized her answer: no. She was not happy. And for that, she burst into tears. The man patted her on the shoulder, offering nothing but sincere sympathy.
The Sun shone brightly, the birds sang, and the wind blew gently; a beautiful day. Courtney spent half an hour crying. When she stopped, she listened to the man explain his life decisions.
"I had a wife and daughter, but I left them," he said. "I had a gambling problem, you see. I always chased that easy money, because the honest money was too small for what my family needed. They're doing better now; she married a new guy, and my baby girl went to college."
"Did you ever try talking to them?" Courtney asked.
"I once tried looking up my baby girl," he said. "She told me everything. Her new daddy, her mom, college, everything. The message was clear: I wasn't needed. So, I never showed up again. Better this way."
"That sucks," Courtney said.
"It does," said the man. "Wanna know the difference between me and you?"
"Go on," said Courtney.
"We're both trapped by the prisons we made for ourselves," said the man. "But you can still get out. You can still find happiness."
"I see," said Courtney, getting up. "Thanks, mister. But I need to get going now. I wanna go home."
"Take good care," he said, laying down on the bench.
A nap, a shower, and a delicious dinner; what Courtney treated herself to on her sick day. As she laid in bed, Courtney pondered her next course of action.
She woke up at 5 AM. She got dressed, had a good breakfast, and calmly walked to her car. She drove to work; traffic was very light today. She walked up to her manager, handed him a slip, and walked back out, a smile on her face. She left that office a free woman, free to make her own future.
Money, security, comfort; what Courtney thought she wanted. What she thought she would willingly tolerate any terrible job for. What she thought would make her happy. But she now knows the truth: happiness is what you make for yourself. It is not found, but made.
Money, security, comfort; what Courtney had given up on.
Happiness: what Courtney chose.
The End.