The Wrecking Ball

Story by Kelly Piner

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On a drizzly day in late October, Halloween, with an unshakeable chill clinging to the air, Jamie stood in the long line to claim her prize. She shivered and tightened the hood of her yellow rain slicker. Only a week ago, she would never have guessed that she’d be standing here, surrounded by dozens of others facing a similar fate. The news had come to her quite unexpectedly a few days earlier in a certified letter.

Dear Ms. Landry,

Your predicament has come to our attention. We offer solutions to insurmountable problems. To learn more, please report to our office on Tuesday, October 24 at 9 am for further details.

The elegant letterhead bore the name Warner and Warner Research at the top. Though unfamiliar with the company, Jamie’s curiosity led her to make the appointment. Report on Saturday morning to the parking lot of Sinatra’s Bistro near the construction site, they’d instructed. Jamie had dined at the old world bistro a year ago, where she’d enjoyed a pan of three-cheese lasagna and a bottle of red wine to celebrate her 35th birthday. How quickly things had changed.

Now, as she leaned into her cane in the freezing dampness, she distracted herself by admiring the new condos to her right, within walking distance of upscale boutiques and trendy cafes.  In contrast, the wrecking ball was hard at work, demolishing a long row of dilapidated homes that had been abandoned since the eighties. Once, the street had been welcoming; the inhabitants living in stylish ranch homes and cozy cottages. Now, they resembled bomb shelters with blown out windows.  

Jamie looked away from the sad homes, each of them crying out for someone to rescue them, if with nothing more than a slapped-on coat of fresh paint. She couldn’t help but compare them to her decaying body, which also begged for a miracle.

As a couple up ahead argued, Jamie slipped on her headphones and cranked up the volume of a jazz tune once featured in an old Woody Allen movie. She checked her watch; only twenty minutes had passed, but it felt like a lifetime. She was leaning over to count the people in front of her when a man’s voice broke her concentration.

“Champagne?” A waiter from Sinatra’s balanced a tray holding crystal flutes on his left hand; he might as well have been greeting her for Sunday brunch.

Jamie lifted a glass. “Thank-you.” The first gulp eased her nerves and was a thoughtful addition to an otherwise unnerving setting. By the time she’d finished the wine, she was second guessing her decision. Was it really what she wanted? She’d decided so hastily, and they’d accepted her so readily. To cope, she had framed it as a “prize,” but was it really? She eyed her Honda in the nearby parking lot. Maybe if she darted away, she could hide inside her apartment? But they already knew her home address. And she had signed all those documents, ten pages in all. There was no backing out now. She’d made her bed.

 “Let me go!”