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“Hello? Can you hear me? Or did your loud music damage your hearing as well as your ankle?”
That snaps me out of my appreciation.
“Yeah, I can hear you,” I say, my eyes narrowing as I look at him. With that attitude, maybe he’s not so handsome after all.
“You know, you should really be more careful.”
“Thanks so much for your concern.” I tentatively stand once more. I suppose any hope of finding comfort in this stranger is gone. Gingerly, I test my weight, and immediately start to lose my balance, forcing me to choose between falling to the ground and taking his outstretched hand.
My poor decision making leads me to cling onto him.
“You really should get that checked out,” he says. His voice is still full of judgment and disapproval.
I roll my eyes. “Are you a doctor now too?” I hobble away from him, relieved to find I can put pressure on it. With my luck, he probably is a doctor and I’ll just hobble away from him only to get stuck with him at the Urgent Care.
“No, but I am an athlete.” There is something in the way he says that last word that makes the anger I have been trying to avoid return tenfold. “And I know an injury when I see one.” He sounds so smug.
“Yeah, well. Thanks so much for your expertise.” Stupid man. Stupid, stupid man and his stupid, unwanted opinions.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t walk on that. How far away is your house?” He hovers beside me, hand outstretched, just in case.
Oh. Oh no. House. I look up at him. He’s in sweats, but even I can tell from here that they’re nice. Not the kind I might buy to lounge around in. I look at his car. It’s not just shiny; it’s some super nice European model I could never afford. No way am I letting this guy take me back to my apartment. Not a chance. I’m pretty sure that I’ve enjoyed enough of this stranger’s disapproval for one lifetime.
“It’s not broken. I’ll be fine,” I say, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave.
“You really shouldn’t.” He starts to move, like he’ll come after me to help. But he stops short when he looks at my face.
“I’ll be fine.” I’m not typically so aggressive. In fact, I’m kind of known for my happy-go-lucky disposition. But something about this man makes me rethink the benefits of being kind.
I don’t look back. I use my anger at him and the anger from work to limp home, my emotions carrying me past the point of pain.
Stupid man. Stupid job.
I look back to make sure he’s not following me, attempting some bullshit knight in shining armor attempt, but thankfully, he’s gone.
As irritating as this begrudgingly handsome stranger is, it’s not just him that has me frustrated. What I learned about work today is the catalyst for my fury. The school district just doesn’t have the budget. I’ll have another year without a pay raise, the absolute absurdity of it still echoes in my thoughts until I can’t stand to be in my own head. I’m thousands of dollars more in student debt thanks to my master’s degree, and I won’t even have the paycheck to show for it.
Fucking ridiculous.
The ankle is definitely not broken. I can put more weight on it. I’ll ice it and keep it elevated when I get home. Silver linings, I guess.
I put my headphones back in and turn my music up a little louder, trying to drown out the fear that bubbles just beneath the surface. Thinking won’t get me a solution. I crank up the volume, grateful at least for this warm late-summer afternoon.
The stress around work and money got me back into running. It’s become a little bit of a reprieve from the world. I wouldn’t call myself a runner by any means. Or an athlete. I’m not out here training for a marathon. But I am fighting for my sanity, and that counts for something.
Lately it seems to be the only thing that clears my thoughts.
I’ve taught for eight years. Right out of undergrad. Loyal. That’s a word I would call myself. Fucking loyal. I urge my legs to move a little faster. Dedicated. The concrete sidewalk beneath my tennis shoes slips by a little faster with each stride.
But another year without a raise...
I love my job. I love teaching. I really do. But I love paying my bills more. I round the corner of the street. And it seems this year I won’t be able to do so.
Angry tears prick hot in the corners of my eyes. It makes me limp faster.
The nail in my career coffin was finding a notice from the leasing office of my apartment complex. A four hundred dollar increase per month. Who the hell can afford that? And with little to no notice? Of course, I tried to fight it. I spent the better half of the afternoon in the office trying to understand how a one-bedroom apartment with no renovations and terrible water pressure could become sixty percent more expensive over the course of twelve months.
I expected empathy and understanding. Instead, their only answer was that maybe I should move to a place I could actually afford. Oh, and to let them know my decision by the end of the week.
