“The rest of my life.” Greta Sanding closed her eyes and pushed herself away from the dining table.
Her mother, who sat across from her in her usual place, looked up. “What did you say?”
“The rest of my life,” Greta repeated softly.
Escape. That was all she wanted. Escape from the stifling walls of her childhood home, from the snarl in her mother’s voice. Escape from the surveillance of a boss that she disliked in an office that she hated.
“I’ve had enough ‘unselfish service’,” she whispered. “I am serving myself from now on.”
* ~ * ~ * ~*
The alarm clock went off and Greta reached from under the covers to hit the snooze button. By the time that she awoke again and looked at the clock, it was seven and she needed to be at work in an hour. The enticing aroma of coffee wafted from the kitchen and she hurriedly dressed and rushed down the stairs. Her mother greeted her with pursed lips.
“You’re going to be late again.” Lillian Sanding was seated at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee before her as she read the morning newspaper. “You need to get up earlier. No boss likes his employees to be late all the time.”
“Yes, Mother,” Greta answered through her gritted teeth. She pulled a cup from the overhead cabinet and poured herself some coffee, burning her tongue as she sipped. From the corner of her eye she could see her mother watching her.
“You won’t have time for breakfast.”
“Yes, I know, Mother.” She blew into the hot liquid before taking another gulp, then put the cup in the sink.
“Don’t expect me to clean up after you,” her mother said tartly, looking at her from over her glasses.
“I really need to go,” Greta said anxiously.
“Well, you don’t have maid service.” Lillian calmly continued reading her paper.
Greta glanced up at the clock again. It was nearly seven forty-five; she would have to run if she was going to make her bus. She let out a huff and went to the sink to rinse out her cup. As she headed to the living room to get her bag, she looked back to where her mother sat, still reading. She shot a glare at the back of her head, then left, slamming the door behind her.
* ~ * ~ * ~*
It was nearly noon when Greta closed the folder on her desk. A familiar dark, hazy sensation washed over her, a feeling that she had been experiencing all too often lately. Her eyes were tired and she felt flushed and hungry. She got up and stretched as her coworkers watched; it was an unspoken rule that no one leave their seat ten minutes before lunch break, and on any other day, she would have felt self-conscious for breaking it. Today she didn’t care. She was too restless to sit any longer.
She went down the hall to the restroom and locked the door. She pulled a towel from the dispenser, running it under the cold water. She pressed the towel against her sweaty brow and dried her face, trying to think of where to go for lunch. The others went out to lunch together, in pairs or sometimes in threes. No one ever asked her to go. She supposed she could walk down to the vending truck for a hot dog and sit in the park square to feed the birds, but it didn’t sound appealing today. She went back into the office and stood next to her desk, ignoring her coworkers’ stares. She decided that she would leave early and walk the extra blocks to Angelo’s Market. She didn’t feel like having lunch alone today.
