But his father had hung up already.
Edward leaned his head back against the wall. He sat there for twenty minutes. Then he got up and started walking, heading for the place he had avoided since graduating.
~~2~~
Five fresh graduates sat in orange fiberglass chairs facing a wall painted with wavy rainbows a la Sol Lewitt. Just like him, they once had schedules, tests to study for, classes to attend, assignments to complete, career plans to fulfill. Then they finished everything. Now, like him, they were free. Now, like him, they had a wide-open abyss of nothing around them and they stared into it, and all they could see were their own worries about how to pay the bills. Graduating was like being pushed out of an airplane.
The more he looked at it, the more the Sol Lewitt rainbow wall added to his frustrations. The corny waves didn’t belong in a university career office where people faced real life. Real life wasn’t childish crayon colors. Real life was soiled with pollution. Rust was a real color. Decaying wood was a real color. The flaking avocado green of his apartment walls was real. Shit was a real color.
Edward entered the restroom and relieved himself into a toilet that wouldn’t stop running. After he washed his hands, he stared into the mirror, listening to the toilet hiss, looking over the reflection of a broke, 26-year old man. He touched the metal of the faucet, running his fingers over its smooth surface, needing the assurance of a solid object. Without thinking, he turned it on and off several times, desperate to prove to himself that there was something he could actually control. The toilet continued to hiss. Edward cupped his hands and brought water up to his face, yanked out two paper towels and dried his face. Finally, he turned toward the toilet.
He removed the reservoir tank’s ceramic lid, and laid it across the seat. He examined the workings inside. There was one missing hinge screw allowing the water to leak through the flush valve. He reached down into the water, found the dislodged screw and picked it up. He pushed it back into place, turning it tight with a thumb and forefinger. The flush valve now closed properly, and as he watched as the water level rose until the intake stopped. He replaced the lid, washed his hands again, put back on his jacket and opened the restroom door.
To his surprise, the career counselor was standing in front of him. A large woman in a noisy butterfly-print blouse, her hair tied into a pile on her head making her a few inches taller than him. A massive turquoise teardrop pendant dipped into her bulky cleavage as she stretched her neck to see over his shoulder, eyeballs bulging under drawn eyebrows. She suspiciously surveyed the inside of the restroom, taking stock of all its items. After she was sure all was well, she spoke.
“Mr. Tache?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“I got you in for four o’clock, but someone cancelled, so you can come on in.” She looked back over his shoulder. “Did you do something to the toilet? I heard you doing something – did you mess with it?” Her voice rose to end in a squeak. “Did you fix it?”
“I’m really sorry. It was driving me crazy—”
“Well! We’ve been waiting for the janitor to fix that for two weeks. Every time I see one, I tell him, but they say, ‘fill out a form – fill out a form.’ That’s it. ‘Fill out a form.’ I haven’t had time to find the right form, so we’ve been living with it. Anyways, I thought your major was art—”
“It is.”
She led Edward into her office, a mess of folders, self-help books and human resource manuals. The woman settled into an office chair that creaked under her. She swiveled to face him across a stack of papers.
“You’re mechanically inclined. Not afraid to get dirty.”
Edward gave the best smile he could. “Spent three weeks at the city dump looking through the trash to get stuff for my final art project.”
“That’s good, dear. Real good. In this market, you need to bring forward all your skills, even the ones you didn’t learn in a classroom. That’s what I tell everybody. Maybe you like driving – that’s a hidden talent right there. You need to be open to any jobs.”
“I’m willing to work high schools and below.”
“I know, dear. You told me that on the phone, but high school and other school positions are like the college positions right now. They’re few and far between. Mr. Tache, I know you have a picture of an ideal job sitting up there in your head.” The woman tilted her head to the side, and tapped her temple three times with a polished fingernail. “And I need you to broaden that image. Do you understand?”
“Like elementary schools?”
The career counselor pushed her lower lip out. “Unh Unh. Dear, I have to be completely honest with you. Right now, school workforce is contracting.” She watched him with an oblivious smile, letting the reality settle in.
“What about out of state?”
“Dear, in six months the situation may improve, but right now we’re seeing the education labor force…”
She continued, but Edward wasn’t listening. He was reading the book titles on the shelf behind her. Careers for Tomorrow’s Woman. Women Executives of Wall Street. The New Freelance Journalist. Trends in Marketing for Minorities. Eight Careers for Bilinguals. eJobs of the World. US Government Jobs 2007. Minorities in Engineering. The Nursing Jobs Source Book. How to Write Successful Résumés. Self-Employment Opportunities for Single Mothers. Where were the jobs for twenty-six-year-old, white males? He felt sweat forming under his jacket and his underarms became itchy. Edward moved his elbows around to try to relieve the irritation.
“Mr. Tache?” the woman blurted.
“Yes – what?”
“Did you hear me? You need to get what you can right now. Short-term projects, restaurant work, anything. Maybe work for your parents for a while. Later on, you’ll be qualified for state assistance.” She said it with a cheery voice.
“State assistance?”
“You’ve got to be open to anything right now.”
“But, I have a masters in art,” Edward whispered.
“I know, dear. I talked with thirty people just like you this month.” She started typing into her computer. “Now, I got something this morning and you’re the first person I’ve shown it to. It’s an off-major job, but they really need someone soon and if we massage your résumé a bit, I think you might fit—”
“What’s that?”
“Real estate caretaker.”
“What?”
“It’s taking care of a property.”
“Like mowing grass?”
“Unh unh. A bit more involved than that. You stay at the property. Basically, you have to live there for a contracted term.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done that—”
“Oh, but you have, dear. You have and you just don’t realize it. Have you watched your parent’s house? Have you cleaned up around your apartment? Have you worked in any type of store? It’s all in how we word your résumé, see.”
“Where is it?”
As she peered at her computer screen, the right side of her upper lip twisted up as it might if she were picking up a dead rat. Her turquoise pendant flopped back as she took in a breath, and then forward as she exhaled.
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s not local. The managing company is here. Basically, they want a US citizen so they can sue you if you burn down the house or something. Probably not a good fit—”
“No, I’m willing to move.”
“Are you sure?” Her voice rose incredulously. “You need a clean police record. And you’ll need to relocate in two weeks—”
“I’ll do it.”