Moonliner: No Stone Unturned (9 page)

Moonliner
2:05

Beau walks along the ship canal.  A tug boat floats by pulling a large empty barge.  The air and water are both still and calm.  The trees on both sides of the canal reflect off the water’s surface, creating a scenic illusion.  He pauses to take it in.

He takes a seat on a bench beneath the towering Aurora Bridge as the sun once again breaks from behind a cloud, causing the water to sparkle and shimmer.  It’s what Beau needs; a moment to think.  A family of ducks swims by along the canal’s edge.

A ship’s air-horn sounds, signaling operators in the tower of the Fremont Bridge, a smaller draw bridge just beside the Aurora Bridge, to raise the bridge.  Seattle is a maritime city and ships have right of way.  Bridge operators hear the ship’s air-horn and sound the alarm to warn cars that the bridge will soon go up.  After about a minute of alarm, the gates drop to stop traffic and the bridge quickly rises high and upright into the sky.  A long sailing yacht with a tall mast makes its way between the drawn arms.  Beau watches it motor under the Aurora Bridge, past the houseboats and onto Lake Union before disappearing from view.  The draw bridge goes back down and traffic begins once again to flow over it.

Beau sits with his head in his hands, letting reality sink in; the reality that he’d lost his job.  The sound of the city is muzzled from his spot beneath the bridge.  It almost sounds like a distant river, or wind through mountain pines. 

Moonliner
2:06

After several minutes of introspection, Beau decides to walk home.  He heads straight up the hill and past the troll on his way, working some of the alcohol out of his system.
[6]
  Once home, he walks into his house to find Kendra lying on the sofa, reading a book. 

“How was your day?” she asks; “aren’t you home a little early?”

              “My day was nice,” Beau answers; “we got off a little early today.”

Kendra gets off the sofa to start dinner.  She gives Beau a little kiss on her way to the kitchen, then pauses for a second.

              “Have you been drinking?” she asks him, smelling beer on him.

Beau doesn’t respond, but Kendra is no fool.  She soon connects the dots.

              “You lost your job, didn’t you?” she asks.

Again Beau doesn’t respond.  Silence, however, is guilt in this situation.  Kendra approaches him, stares deeply into his eyes, and hugs him.  She holds him tightly.  Beau puts his arms around her and they embrace.

              “Don’t worry,” she whispers; “we’ll make it through this.”

The two begin to kiss again, which soon escalates into passionate, hungry kissing.  Dropping everything, they make their way to the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

Moonliner
2:07

After a cold, wet, snow-dusted weekend, Beau is feeling rested.  He’s excited at the dawning of a new week, one that has come with a renewed spirit and greater optimism.  Unfortunately, it has also come with a splitting headache.

Beau sits waiting anxiously alone in an office, across from an empty desk.  He watches a black crow out the window as it tries to carry what looks like the flattened carcass of a dead rat, or maybe a squirrel off the street.  It takes his mind off his impending interview.

Suddenly, through the door walks Marc Niborn, general manager of
TriBot
, a small but rapidly expanding software developing company.  Beau stands to shake his hand and the two exchange greetings.  Wasting no time, Marc takes a seat at his desk, across from Beau. He opens a folder sitting in front of him and starts perusing Beau’s resume. 

              “Impressive,” Marc says without even looking up as he reads carefully over the document.

              “Thanks,” Beau responds.

              “What kind or work or position are you looking for with TriBot?” Marc asks.

              “IT management,” Beau answers, leaving it at that.

              “I see,” Marc says, closing the folder; “I’ll be frank with you.  I just came from a board meeting and it looks like we’re relocating our IT division.”             

              “To where?” Beau asks.

              “I can’t answer that,” Marc says; “it’s proprietary and I’ve already said too much.  I will keep your resume on file though should plans change, but we honestly don’t have anything for you at the moment.”

              “I see,” Beau answers.  “Well thanks for your time.”

              “It’s my pleasure,” Marc replies.  “I wish I could be of more assistance and good luck with your search.”

Pulling out of TriBot’s parking lot, Beau dials in some news on his car radio.

“Nearly 400 opponents of the Keystone XL oil pipeline were arrested Sunday in front of the White House, marking what could be the largest youth sit-in on the environment in a generation.  Students from more than 80 colleges rallied at Georgetown University and then marched to the White House, where some unfurled a black tarp and lay on the sidewalk to create a "human oil spill." Hundreds locked themselves to the White House fence before being arrested.

“Thousands of opposition protesters to Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro marched and then clashed with police Sunday in the capital Caracas. At least 17 people have died in Venezuela’s worst unrest in a decade.

“In China, a group of people armed with knives attacked a crowded railway station in the southwestern city of Kunming on Saturday, killing at least 29 people and wounding 143. The Chinese government is blaming the attack on Muslim Uyghur separatists and police have begun rounding up Uyghurs for questioning.”

Beau pulls into the parking lot of another office building, parks his car, and takes a long look into his rear view mirror.  He puts a few eye drops in and dissolves a breath strip on his tongue.  Head still splitting, he opens the door to his Prius, gets out, and walks into the building.

Minutes later, a different manager is telling him that he doesn’t have a position for him right now, but to check back in the summer if he still doesn’t have anything.  He tells Beau that he’ll keep his resume on file.  The two shake hands and Beau leaves the office.

Across town ninety minutes later, just after lunch, Beau is told for the third time in a day, that there’s nothing available in IT at this time.  His optimism hits an all-time low, only to sink even lower after being shot down at his fourth job inquiry of the day minutes later just a few blocks away.

Driving home, Beau pounds on his steering wheel with both fists, pissed off that all of his early prospects have failed to pan out.  His cell phone rings.  He sees that it’s Kendra and puts her on speaker.

              “Hi Kendra,” he says.

              “How goes the hunt?” she asks.

              “It has sucked thus far,” Beau answers.  “How’s your day going?”

              “Oh, up and down,” Kendra tells him; “I have to stay an extra hour tonight to cover for Stu.  I’ll be home around six-thirty.”

              “That’s fine,” Beau replies; “I’ll put dinner on.”

              “Thanks, that’s sweet of you!” Kendra says.  “I’ve gotta get back to work.  See you tonight,” she tells him.

Beau pulls into the driveway of their home, grabs his mail from the box and goes inside.  Once inside, he grabs a diet coke from the fridge and starts opening his mail.  He hits the blinking play button on his answering machine.

              “You have one new message,” it says.

              “Beau, this is Trevor Spalding with
Microbyte
,” the message says.  “I got your email inquiring about the two positions we posted.  Your resume looks outstanding, but we’ve unfortunately already filled both positions we posted.  We encourage you to check back with us periodically as we do sometimes have to quickly fill an opening.  Best of luck.”

That one was the final straw; the camel’s back is broken.  Counting these two at Microbyte, that’s six job leads shot down in a single day.  It’s typically Beau who keeps his head up in trying times, but whatever fuels that side of him is spent today, thoroughly exhausted.  Steamed beyond capacity, he takes the handset off the phone base and pitches it with everything he’s got into the soft back of his sofa.

              “What next?” he yells to himself, feeling the pressure; “fucking hell!”