Apocalypse Drift (9 page)

As she tidied up in anticipation of the parental visit, a small picture on the end table caught her attention. The picture captured an unscripted moment of family fun on the boat. She was spraying her father with a hose, and mom’s timing with the digital camera had been perfect.

Setting the photograph back in its place, Sage wondered what her dad’s mood would be. Constant conflict and turmoil had characterized their relationship for the last year or so. The interaction with her father was becoming more unpleasant every day, something or someone had to yield.  Sage had opted for moving into her own apartment. Officially, her excuse had been a closer proximity to school; at least that was the polite justification for the change. In reality, she didn’t need to be closer to the college; she wanted to put distance between a house that simmered with stress and conflict, threatening her sanity.

A wave of self-pity welled up inside of her. It just didn’t seem fair that her life was so abruptly and wholly altered. The promise of an Ivy League school had been a mainstay of high school years filled more with exploring the nuances of organic chemistry than pep rallies. The household mantra had always been “If you make the grades, we’ll pay for the best schools.” Somewhere between receiving her acceptance letter from Wellesley and the second interview with MIT, that rug was wrenched from underneath her previously firmly planted feet. The beginning of his senior year, David had chosen a Dodge Ram dual cab truck, complete with lift kit and chilled leather seats. Sage bummed rides to campus when she could, but most often found herself sharing a bus seat with some lovelorn, coming of age junior high lad who fixated on her chest while she did her best to ignore him. The list of altered promises and disappointments stretched on and on. Memories of the ill-fitting,
secondhand prom dress still caused her eyes to water.

David bailed for the army, and she couldn’t blame him for that. Isolated after David’s move, Sage found
herself ill-equipped to manage the pressure of a crumbling family and a father who become more and more unpredictable as time passed.

She had always admired the way her dad easily managed the demands of a thriving business and bustling household. The last year before she moved out, he seemed to flounder. The strong embrace that had always grounded her in a sense of comfort and security began to weaken over time. As his hopelessness multiplied, her father withdrew and became hollow.
Didn’t he realize this nasty situation affected more than just him?
She wondered. It seemed like he just gave up right when she needed him the most.

Sage wandered to her bedroom and began folding blue jeans that had been sitting in a basket for three days. She knew her mom would notice and comment. Sage thought about how close she was with her mother, thankful of the relationship. Still, mom would fuss and bluster over Sage living out of the
laundry basket.
Is something wrong at school? Are you feeling okay?
Thoughts of the interrogation made her smile, but still, she didn’t want to go through it today - especially not in front of her father.

As she folded a slightly worn dishcloth, Sage’s mind drifted back to the time immediately prior to her move. She would never admit it, but the suggestion of her leaving home had been a cry for reassurance. Dad seemed to be focused on switching off lights to save electricity, not about her future. The final straw came the day she left a package at the discount store while she was refilling a prescription for her mom. When she had discovered the missing purchase, she had asked for the keys to return and retrieve it. Her father had become sullen and upset over the wasted gasoline. His scolding still resonated in her ears. Her protests that it had been an accident just made the situation worse.

Carrying the folded towels to the kitchen, Sage replayed that day in her mind. It wasn’t his being upset over the gas that pushed her out. That episode had been just another example of his attitude. The message that day made it clear that he no longer cared about anything other than his own problems. The failure of the family business was important, and Sage understood that. Wasn’t her life important too? Did everything have to be about him and the business?

Sage grimaced at the replay of the disappointment. She had to finish getting ready for her parents to stop by, and reliving all of this wasn’t helping. Maybe they won’t stay long. Maybe dad will be in one of his quiet moods and there wouldn’t be any conformation or judgment.

Houston, Texas

February 10, 2017

The sign above the door read “Gold and Silver Buyers,” and looked out of place in the otherwise empty strip mall. Wyatt noticed the sign wasn’t a permanent fixture, but rather one of those banner advertisements hanging via a rope at each corner. The weeds sprouting here and there in the parking lot seemed to be competing with the random assortments of trash scattered around. A long row of dirty windows displayed montages of signage broadcasting “Space for Lease.” The block walls between the storefronts held their own advertising, courtesy of some local youths and spray paint. Two years ago, Wyatt wouldn’t have even considered doing business at such a place. Now, the low-rent, unoccupied strip mall was commonplace – eyesore or not.

Wyatt turned off the motor and got out. He made another quick scan of the parking lot, making sure he was alone. The wad
ded paper bag in his hand was full of Morgan’s gold jewelry, and he couldn’t help but feel like a target. There was one other car in the lot, and he was sure that belonged to the girl working in the shop.
If I were desperate
, he thought,
I would wait for some dude to come toting in his life’s treasures and sell them. I would be waiting on him when he came out with the cash.

Wyatt shook his head, embarrassed at his paranoia, and picked up the pace across the lot. Still, he watched his back. Years ago, this area was one of Morgan’s favorite shopping destinations and an icon of Houston’s north
side. The main street was Farm to Market 1960, or FM1960. The two-initial designation a leftover from a time when this area had been farmland and the early Texans had been practical in naming their roads. Houston had experienced a boom of growth in the 1970s and ‘80s. The city didn’t have any zoning, allowing the growth to spread outward rather than upward with skyscrapers. FM1960 became one of the main drags.  For over 15 miles, scores of shopping malls, office buildings and businesses of every kind had budded and thrived. Wyatt remembered someone once saying, “If you can’t buy it on FM1960, you don’t need it.”

All of those new businesses needed cheap labor, and apartment complexes sprouted along the corridor like wildflowers in the spring. Upscale housing, country clubs, and restaurants abounded. When the never-ending recession gripped the country in 2009, things began to change. Stores hired fewer workers, which translated into fewer apartment leases being signed. Owners of apartment buildings needed to fill their vacancies, so rents became cheap. Inner city, low-income families suddenly realized they could afford to live in a better neighborhood and moved in.

Like so many communities in the US, urban creep began to wear down the once celebrated area. Crime slowly increased, and school rankings began to fall. Upscale shoppers moved to safer, less congested stores and shops. Businesses closed or relocated, following the consumers. Just like the apartment complexes, the commercial developers needed to lease their space, so rental rates dropped. Less desirable retailers jumped at the chance for a more prestigious address. It was a downward spiral that was almost impossible to stop.

The all but empty strip mall Wyatt was approaching was one of hundreds along the six-lane street. He remembered when traffic was an issue – but no more. He hadn’t seen more than four or five cars at any one stoplight the entire trip.

The tattoo parlors, pawnshops, secondhand stores, and payday loan businesses survived, but they were like small islands in a dead sea of decay. Wyatt dismissed all of this and pushed the doorbell-like buzzer at the entrance. He’d been here a few days ago to get a quote, so he knew the process. The realization that this jewelry was the last large ticket item compelled him to be a savvy seller and solicit several bids. He’d visited four different locations, and King Midas Gold and Silver Buyers was the highest bidder.

He waited a few moments until the sound of the lock disengaging buzzed in his ears. The sparse lobby was obviously as temporary as the sign outside. A few mismatched chairs, a single end table, and crusty-looking lamp sat amid bare walls. The hastily acquired decor wasn’t intended to attract repeat business. Behind a small counter sat a young woman, less than 30 years old. Her smile indicated she remembered him from a few days prior. “So, we offered the highest price for your gold?”

Wyatt nodded, “Yes, you’re the winner. Is the quote still good?”

The girl scanned her computer monitor and pecked a few times on the keyboard. She paused while the machine responded and then busied herself with a calculator. Twenty seconds later, she looked up and
smiled again. “You’re in luck. Gold shot up again this morning, so I can actually offer you a little more than I estimated the other day.”

“Well that’s good news.
How much more?”

The girl double-checked her calculator and the computer screen.
“Almost $500 more. Gold is going nutzoid right now.”

Wyatt teased, “Maybe I should wait a few more days to sell. I might get another thousand by then.”

A shrug was quickly followed up with a mumble. “Up to you.”

Wyatt was actually pondered doing just that, but decided against it. The precious commodity could go down as well. That was the problem with all of the turmoil churning throughout the country right now – you just never knew what was going to happen.

Wyatt shook his head and placed the heavy paper bag on the counter. “Naw, I’ll go ahead and sell today. The only thing going up in price faster than precious metals is gasoline, and I’m wasting a lot of that liquid gold by driving around.”

The young woman nodded and took Wyatt’s bag. She began a lengthy process of pulling each piece of jewelry out and rubbing it on a black surface that looking like the ink tin of an old-fashioned rubber stamp. She then carefully squirted a drop of liquid from a small tube to check the purity.

The entire process took almost an hour, and Wyatt scrutinized her every move carefully. While his instincts told him the gal was honest, you couldn’t be too cautious. When the girl had finished weighing, testing, and marking every piece, she hit the total button on her calculator with a grand gesture. Rather than announcing the total, she turned the little device around so Wyatt could see the number.
Not bad
, he thought,
not bad at all
.

He nodded his acceptance, and the attendant said, “I have to go to the safe in the back. I can’t leave your gold out here while I’m gone. Do you trust me enough to let it out of your sight for a few minutes?”

Wyatt nodded again, figuring nothing in life was without risk. While the girl left to retrieve his money, he reflected on the last few days. The rise in the price of gold helped offset some of the gloom he had been feeling since Morgan and he had set off on this course. It had been so difficult selling everything. Countless trips to pawnbrokers resulted in the liquidation of blenders, leaf blowers, televisions and other man-portable items. Three different secondhand stores now displayed his family’s furniture on their showroom floors. Sage welcomed the bookcase, wardrobe, 3 boxes of kitchen paraphernalia and assorted décor items into her apartment. Morgan and she had offset some of the melancholy by fussing around and arranging the hand-me-downs in the newly furnished space.

Still, it was depressing. Wyatt and Morgan had basically kept their clothing, and enough kitchenware to make coffee and eat. Last night they had slept on folding cots normally stored in a hall closet for guests visiting during times of high occupancy in their household.

Shortly, the attendant returned, counting out a significant stack of $100 bills. Wyatt, ever worried about robbery, stashed the cash in three different pockets before bidding the lady goodbye. He paused before leaving the place, checking that the parking lot was still empty.

Driving home, he reflected on how much the area had deteriorated over the last 15 years. The parallel with his life was obvious.

Until it hits you between the eyes
, he thought,
you don’t realize the effect of poverty.
When his credit rating began its descent, small gotchas popped out of the woodwork. The cost of his life insurance rose 20% - blamed on a bad credit rating. He tried to switch policies, but no new company would have him at any price. Again, his credit score was deemed the culprit.

Credit card companies suddenly increased their interest rates precipitously even though they were being paid every month. When Wyatt contacted the banks, they said that he was now a higher risk than before – regardless of his payment history. “I bet you guys showed up late for the battle and enjoyed bayonetting the wounded,” he had angrily scolded one call center employee. It didn’t help; they raised his interest rate again the following month.

Morgan tried to downgrade their satellite television to a basic cable package, but Comcable wouldn’t take them as a customer without a significant deposit. The amount of the deposit was more than what they would have saved with the reduced service. It seemed to Wyatt that everyone was dog piling his family, kicking them when they were down. Job interviews for positions he could handle with one hand tied behind his back led nowhere. Finally, a headhunter returned his call and laid it out on the table – no one wants to hire an accountant with bad credit.