Gonzo took off down the sidewalk, a newly free man. He had gone through the rarely used off-boarding process, signed all his outproccessing paperwork, and dropped his badge in the never-before-used badge surrender bucket, then walked off down the sidewalk with a swagger in his step.
It lasted about 5 minutes, and then his phone pinged. It was a banking notification informing him that his share of the rent was due in 3 days. Full of life and the spark the denotes the embarkation on a brand new life adventure, Gonzo realized his epiphany had come at a slightly bad time, and began to curse.
He cursed a lot of things. First he cursed his family, for having a stupid mechanic business for him to take over. Then he cursed his formal education, which he never exactly felt like he deserved, but which had given him high-fallutin ideas about himself, like one day being a part of something bigger than his family business. He cursed Dante, with his dumb ideas, for continually harassing him and not leaving him alone to lead his perfectly happy, mundane life. And he cursed the foundations of the capitalist system, which forced people to do things like have jobs and work like slaves for years on end, for the paltry privilege of being able to barely afford their own rent.
It was a shit system and everybody knew it. He threw in some curses for the politicians who perpetuated the system, too. Just for good measure. Who knew—Maybe someone out there was listening.
Pulling himself together, Gonzo looked down at his phone again. He had the money for rent this month, but he would need another job soon. Should he…give Dante a call?
He shook it off. No, he wouldn’t—it wasn’t time yet. He could feel it. Dante may be ready, but he sure wasn’t. No, he needed to take a few days, process what he was feeling, and shake off the bad juju he could feel clinging to him from that mechanic shop.
He vaguely wondered why Michiko had offered to step up and help run it. He loved her, but Michiko was an enigma who made him wonder sometimes. No matter who you were, it was easy to tell the girl had secrets. He actually didn’t really know why she was with him. He had run into her at a high-end hotel 6 months before, meeting up with some friends from Dartmouth. He wouldn’t have thought her to be into a guy like him, but after a thorough, emotionless questioning of who he was, what he did, and a casual mention that Dante was his college roommate, she had strangely warmed to him, and asked if he’d like to go out to dinner later. Even more surprising, the month after that, she’d asked if he wanted to move in. It all moved rather quickly, but she seemed to love him, and he certainly loved her, and moreover had never had a serious girlfriend who wanted to move in together before, and so they were together.
He looked forward to seeing her for dinner that night, and having her help him talk through his next steps for what to do. She tended to have good ideas. Who knew—maybe she could help him figure out what to do now that he’d left the steady paycheck he’d had for the last 2 years.
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After a long afternoon, fraught with second guessing himself and pounding his head into a wall for being impetuous and stupid, Gonzo came home to his quiet house with Michiko, his lovely, conscientious girlfriend, who had made them dinner.
They ate quietly, the silence gnawing at both of them. Michiko was notorious for making sure the finances were in order, and Gonzo had just quit his stable job, right in front of her. Never mind that she’d taken over for him—Michiko didn’t like anything that suggested financial instability, and she was always sure to let Gonzo know it when she didn’t appreciate one of his financial decisions, large or small. But she was also very passive aggressive. Therefore, Michiko ate politely, letting the clanking of her silverware voice her brooding indignation. Gonzo, on the other hand, had never mastered eating with his mouth shut, and Michiko could hear every single bite he took.
“Thanks again for taking care of my company now that I’ve quit,” Gonzo stammered after five minutes of horrible silence, feeling obligated to say something. “That was big of you. It’s not that I don’t care about them, I just—”
“There’s no need to explain, my love,” said Michiko, quickly and quietly “I understood your problem, and wanted to help provide a solution. You have dreams far beyond the scope of that little company. It was time for you to go. You made the right call, and I believe in you.” The clanking of her silverware suggested otherwise, but she continued on. “I don’t have much to do anyway. It’ll be easy to run it for you. Don’t you worry at all. Now we can enjoy having two salaries!” She emphasized the end of her sentence with a clanking of her knife, and took a long drink of water, making aggressive eye contact as she did so.
Gonzo choked slightly.
“Sweetie, are you ok?” asked Michiko, never looking away, her voice monotone as she waited for Gonzo to respond. “Have I said something wrong?”
“No, Michiko,” said Gonzo. “No, nothing wrong at all. There’s just, uh…there’s just one little thing.”
“Yes, love?” she said, as her knife bore down into the plate’s porcelain.
“We don’t quite—that is—I haven’t—” he hemmed and hawed, unable to get the right words out.
Michiko stared at him for a minute, eyes pinpoints as she processed his mumbles, though of course she already knew exactly what he was going to say.
“Ahhhh,” she finally said, deciding to put him out of his misery. “You haven’t called Dante yet.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Gonzo. “But I made some calls and I have several leads. There’s this one guy—”
Michiko held up a hand, and took a moment, looking down at her food.
It was time, she decided. Time to bring up that difficult topic she knew Gonzo was not going to take well.
“Gonzo,” she said, “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. I think now is the right time, yes?”
Gonzo said nothing, but raised an eyebrow, continuing to eat, but beginning to have a sinking feeling in his chest.
She continued, not waiting for him to answer. “I’ve been questioning our relationship for a while now—whether or not we’re really a good fit for each other, and—well, I’m not sure we are.”
Gonzo’s heart sank. He and Michiko had been together for six months, and despite her aloofness and disinterest in everything he did, she was his first serious girlfriend, and he was falling in love with her. It seemed like the meaner she was, the more he liked her. She was smart and savvy, and he could trust her with things.
But if he was honest, he had sensed her unhappiness for a while, now. She was too good for him, and both of them knew it.
“You’re fun, and I love hanging out with you. But I really feel we’re going different directions,” she said. “I’m climbing the corporate ladder, and you—well—well, you’re Gonzo. You’re finding yourself. And that’s great! But I think maybe it would be healthy for you to have a lot of space while you’re finding yourself,” she said, “somewhere…far…far…away from me.” She flipped out her phone, and began to text someone.
Gonzo gulped hard, wondering who she could be texting. A new love interest? One of her business connections? A girlfriend, to give a rundown of her breakup in real time? Her psychic? Michiko knew a lot of people. It was hard to say.
“It’s nothing personal. I just can’t let your negative vibes clutter my aura,” she said. “Cheetahs can’t share food with hyenas. I’m not trying to be cruel—it’s just fact. Do you understand?”
Gonzo nodded. He understood. He’d understood for a while now. He always knew there was something too good to be true about the classy Japanese girl he’d met at the bar. Now, his insecurities were confirmed.
Still, he had to know if it was about his job situation. He had to know if Michiko needed stability to be happy, or if this was just about his personality.
“What if I got a job tomorrow?” he asked her. “Would that change your mind?”
Michiko shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “It’s not really about the job. It’s about—” she gestured vaguely at all of him.
Michiko was a lithe, hot, 24 year old Japanese businesswoman. Gonzo was a pudgy, sweaty, 31 year old Polish mechanic with a neck beard.
“Ok,” said Gonzo, heartbroken but too proud to show it. “I understand. Deep down, I knew you would eventually break up with me. I’ll get my stuff together tonight, and leave in the morning.”
Michiko nodded in general approval, never looking up from her phone.
“Or,” she said, as she took another bite, “just a suggestion, you could get your stuff and go spend the night at your coworker Fred’s house.”
Gonzo looked at her, confused. “How would—how could—” he sputtered. “It’s 11pm. I can’t just call him up or drop in on him. He’ll be asleep!”
Michiko pulled a compact out of her purse and began to primp her hair as she talked. “Actually,” she explained, “I already gave him a call and asked if you could crash at his place while you got back on your feet,” she said. “He said it was cool.” She checked her watch. “And he also said he’d be up late, so come over whenever.”
Gonzo shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“When did you have time to call Fred?” he said, in disbelief. “So wait, Fred knew you were going to break up with me before I did? Why do you have Fred’s number?” He got up from the table, left his dishes by the sink, and went to the room to collect his few possessions and put them into the dull brown suitcase he kept by his bed for occasional, mostly hypothetical, trips home to Poland.
Heading out to his Kia Soul, he threw his suitcase in the back. He looked up, expecting Michiko to see him off, but he could see her in the kitchen on her phone. It looked like she might be filming a Tiktok—documenting her breakup for her devotees? It was hard to know.
He tried waving weakly for a moment, and finally accepted that Michiko had, rather quickly, moved on.
Then he grabbed his things, got in the car, and drove to Fred’s.
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