Precarious
Arthur Gleason lived in a small, worn apartment in the heart of the city, surrounded by the sounds of bustling life that always seemed just out of his reach. He was a man in his late fifties, hair thinning and graying, with the tired eyes of someone who had worked too many hours for too little pay. He'd spent his life bouncing from one job to another—store clerk, factory worker, cab driver—never settling, never advancing, but always convinced that things were just fine.
Arthur lived alone, his wife having left him years ago when she grew tired of waiting for him to "catch a break." He didn't blame her—he understood, in his own way, that he had been a disappointment. But Arthur never let this knowledge weigh too heavily on him. Life was a series of near-misses, and he had always managed to stay on his feet. There was a kind of optimism in his oblivion, a belief that no matter how tight things got, he'd always find a way to pull through.
One afternoon, Arthur received a notice from the electric company: his bill was overdue, and his power would be shut off in three days if he didn't make a payment. Arthur stared at the notice, his brow furrowing in mild concern. He rifled through the papers on his cluttered kitchen table, searching for his checkbook, though he wasn't sure if there was enough in his account to cover the bill. His last paycheck from the temp job at the warehouse had been smaller than expected.
But then, as if on cue, the phone rang. It was an old friend from his cab-driving days, calling to offer him a quick gig chauffeuring a wedding party that weekend. The pay was decent, and they needed him immediately. Arthur agreed without hesitation. The wedding was a blur of champagne and laughter that wasn't his, but at the end of the night, he pocketed the cash and made it to the bank just in time to cover the electric bill. He smiled to himself, thinking how lucky he was.
Months later, his landlord knocked on his door, a grim look on his face. "Rent's due, Arthur," the landlord said, his voice a mix of impatience and sympathy. Arthur nodded, trying to hide the fact that he was down to his last few dollars. His last job as a seasonal store clerk had ended abruptly when the store went out of business, and the temp agencies were slow to find him new work.
But then, out of nowhere, he received a letter in the mail. It was a small check from a class-action lawsuit he'd forgotten he was part of, something to do with an old employer and unpaid overtime. The check wasn't much, but it was just enough to pay the rent. Arthur waved the check at the landlord with a grin. "See? Told you I'd have it." The landlord gave him a tight smile, more out of relief than approval.
Arthur's car was his lifeline. It was old and battered, much like him, but it got him where he needed to go. One morning, it refused to start. He tried everything he knew, but the engine wouldn't turn over. Desperate, he called a mechanic, who told him it would cost more than the car was worth to fix it.
Arthur stood there in the cold, staring at the car as if it were a dying pet. How would he get to work? How would he survive without it?
Just as panic began to set in, a neighbor walked by and offered to take a look. An hour later, the neighbor emerged from under the hood, greasy but triumphant. "Just a loose wire," he said, wiping his hands on a rag. "Should be good as new."
Arthur thanked him profusely, slipping him a few crumpled bills he could barely afford. As he drove to work that day, he told himself that everything was under control. He was just fine.
But things were not fine. Arthur's luck, always thin, was finally running out. He lost his latest job at the warehouse when it downsized, and there were no calls from old friends offering last-minute gigs. The bills piled up on his kitchen table, and his savings, meager as they were, dwindled to nothing.
Then, one gray morning, Arthur received an eviction notice. He had two weeks to vacate the apartment. He stared at the notice, his mind unable to fully grasp the implications. There was no check in the mail this time, no neighbor with a wrench to fix what was broken. Arthur went about his day as if nothing had changed, going through the motions of looking for work, but the city had nothing left to offer him.
The days passed, and Arthur packed his belongings into a few old suitcases. He told himself that he'd find a new place, that he'd get another job, that everything would work out. But as he stood on the street, his life packed into those few bags, the realization hung in the air like the heavy, oppressive clouds overhead.
Arthur Gleason was out of options, but he didn't know it. Or perhaps he did, somewhere deep inside, but he couldn't let himself believe it. He walked down the street, aimless, searching for a chance that would not come. The city, once bustling around him, now felt cold and distant, indifferent to his fate.
As the evening settled in, Arthur found himself sitting on a park bench, staring into the distance. The wind blew through the trees, carrying with it the faint sounds of laughter and life from far away. Arthur hunched his shoulders against the chill, pulling his coat tighter around him. He was still holding on, still hoping for a break, still believing that somehow, he would be fine.
(This story is in the public domain and may be freely redistributed for any purpose.)
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He/Him/His
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
"We must reinvent a future free of blinders so that we can choose from real options." David Suzuki
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