Fourth Down (Portland Pioneers 1)

“Two weeks?” I squeak out.

“Looking forward to having you on staff.”

“Not as much as I am,” I tell him before we hang up. I stare at my phone, dumbfounded. Did this really happen? I go back to my recent calls and press Camden’s name. He answers with a laugh.

“Did you know?”

“I had a feeling but didn’t want to say anything. I heard it through the grapevine that Leon kept putting your tape in front of the board. Originally, they went with someone else, and the public didn’t respond well, and Leon pushed for the okay to hire you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because.” He sighs. “In this industry, minds change like the wind speeds. If I had said something and you didn’t get the call, you’d hate me even more than you do now. Besides, you needed the excitement of speaking to Leon. I hear he’s one hell of a producer. You’ll do well in the Portland market.”

“Thanks, Cam.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, go give your notice, pack up that tiny dressing room, tell your roommate you’re leaving and get your ass to Portland.”

“This is the only order I will ever take from you. Thanks again.”

“You’ve earned it, now slay it.”

As soon as we hang up, I squeal and kick my feet up in the air. Unfortunately for me, my chair falls back, and so do I, hitting the ground with a thud. “This is par for the course,” I mutter as I lay there looking at the ceiling. “Holy shit, I got a new job!”

I bring myself to a sitting position and slowly get up, mindful of my now sore backside. I search the ground for my phone, finding it near the door. I don’t know whether I should tell my boss I’m leaving face-to-face or type something up. Maybe, I should do both. I go to put on my heels but think better of it and slip my aching feet into my Birks and head down the hall. The station is quiet. The lull happens between shifts where the afternoon team is in their rooms either finishing work from earlier or napping, and the evening crew is staggering in. I make my way down the hall to my boss’s office. I knock, but no answer.

“Letter it is,” I say aloud as I make my way back to my dressing room. I don’t even want to imagine what kind of space I’ll have in Portland. I just know it has to be better than this.

I stop at the hardware store for a stack of boxes, packing tape, and some bubble wrap on my way home. I also reserve a box trailer that I can pull behind my car. When I get home, I find my roommate curled up on the couch with a blanket.

“Hey,” I say as I walk in.

“Hey, what’s with the boxes?”

“I got offered a job. It’s in Portland and I start in two weeks.”

Her eyes go wide. She doesn’t move from the couch, not that I expect her to. The apartment is hers; I lease the bedroom. When I first moved in, we did a lot of things together. We hung out, had people over, but she's been distant over the last year or so. She doesn’t know I know she put the moves on Camden. He told me when it happened. At first, I was going to confront her but then figured nothing good would come from it. When this happened, she knew Cam was an ex. I never bothered to tell her that we hooked up occasionally when we’d visit each other. I suppose I could’ve told her, but I also never expected her to do what she did.

“I’ll pay for rent next month to give you time to find someone else.”

“Sure,” she says, never taking her eyes off the television, leaving me no choice but to retreat to my room.

Packing will be easy. Moving to a new place will be exciting.

Starting a new job—well, that’s downright terrifying.

Two

Julius

Everything in the room is white. The couch. The rug. The walls. Even the television has a white border around it. The mantel over the fireplace—white. Same with the picture frames. Everywhere I look, it’s all I see. The living room is supposed to be inviting, welcoming, and yet it feels stressful. I’ve never been the type of person who asks their friends to take off their shoes when they come into their home. I find it rude, but I also respect it if my friends ask me. When you come into my house—well, my soon to be former home—your shoes must be off. Not only off but left outside.

I sit on the couch, with its white pillows, and rest my ankle on my knee. My shoes are on because I’m bitter and angry at the world, the situation I’m in, and my wife. Mostly her, which probably isn’t fair, but her actions have put us in this position.