R. Richardsson

“Rowan! Get your ass up here!”

John released the trigger on his welding torch until the flame was a small blue remnant of its former glory. After a few well practised twists, he shut off the gas flow and the flame was gone. Quickly, because his boss was the kind of person you didn’t keep waiting, he stripped off his face guard and hurried to the foreman’s office.

“You have a phone call, John,” he was told as he entered, which was followed by; “Every second spent on that thing is money lost,” as he picked up the receiver.

“Yes sir,” he answered. “I’ll make it quick.”

“Marsha,” he asked. “What have I told you about calling me at work?”

“John,” Davie Robinson answered. “I’m sorry to call you here, but I’ll make this quick.”

“No, it’s okay buddy. What’s this about?”

“It’s about your daughter,” the other answered. John glanced restlessly over to his boss, whose eyes had remained fixed on him from the moment he had entered. “Can you come over after work?”

“I’m pulling doubles today, I won’t be off till late…”

“That’s okay. Just let yourself in the back.”

“What’s all this about? Can’t it wait until tomorrow,” he asked.

“It’s about Vanessa,” Davie replied impatiently. “This can’t wait John. Even now, she’s…”

“She’s what,” he answered nervously.

He didn’t get to hear what his neighbor said, however, because his boss’d had enough. He’d only caught a couple of words, because his focus was now on his foreman. The latter had stood up and was closing the distance between himself and the phone’s base.

“I have to go,” John said quickly, “I’m needed on the-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because at that very moment, his boss pressed the disconnect button and ended their connection.

“I’m not paying you to act out ‘Gossip Girls’, he spat as he stepped just inches away from John. “While you’re up here chatting it up with your girlfriend, you’re holding up my other workers down the line!”

“It was my wife, sir,” he stuttered.

“Don’t give me that shit, Rowan. Unless your wife is an old black man, which I’m fairly certain she’s not and you have something you want to tell me?” He paused, waiting for John to answer. When the other shook his head from side to side, only then did he continue. “Get your ass back on the floor. You’re working extra tonight. Oh, and in the future there will be no personal calls on company time.”

“Yes sir,” John answered softly.

“What?!”

“YES SIR,” he yelled.

“Get the fuck out of my office,” his boss grumbled. John wasted no time complying, and as the door closed behind him, his foreman left him with one final piece of ‘wisdom’. “…worthless piece of shit…” were the words that chased him back to his workstation.

His blood boiled. On one hand, he knew that his friend wouldn’t call him unless something was seriously wrong. On the other, how dare that son of a bitch talk to him that way!? He had poured himself into his job for fifteen years, all of which he had never been late, missed any days, or had a complaint about his quality.

With twelve hours left until he’d finished both shifts, and whatever was being tacked on at the end, It was going to be a long day indeed.

It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it feels like a lot longer.

Two weeks ago this Saturday, I pinched a nerve in my left arm/wrist/hand. I’m not exactly sure where the damage was done, only that I have very limited use of my middle, ring, and pinky finger. Not only can I not lift them, but I have not been able to hold more than a couple of pounds, for any longer than a few seconds, before dropping whatever’s in my grasp.

Now, I believe I have been slowly regaining some use of my fingers. I am now able to lift them (maybe) a couple of millimeters each, thus allowing me to return to work on my computer for short periods of time. However, I still have very little feeling in them. Even now, I am having to retrace every other word to correct the errors I cannot help but make. The tendons in my arm ache, my fingers tingle as if between awake and asleep, and even this simplest of tasks has reached a difficulty level that is nearly beyond my ability.

Frustration has set in, along with a few other feelings I have only recently experienced through the eyes of my characters. Pain, helplessness, despair… To have something I have given myself to be limited, taken away from me, it is the ultimate punishment.

Fortunately, thirty dollars has assured I am still capable of working my part-time duties without restriction. This little beaut immobilizes my wrist, thus allowing my hand to act as a support, rather than the equal to its mate.

So. There’s that.

This is the part where I raise my right hand, point my index finger to the sky, and rotate my wrist so that it creates little circles. “WoooOOOooo! Big deal” I say while rolling my eyes.

So it pays for the bills. It does nothing toward relieving this creative pressure that’s become bottlenecked up there. Characters, nay, stories are begging for release!

*sigh*

Two weeks in, and all I get are a few measly millimeters for my efforts? My arm tightens up halfway through a sentence, causing me to pause as it unwinds, and wait for the feeling to return.

Bah.

So be it.

I will be trying to exercise my way back to health, over the next few weeks, so I hope you’ll bear with me in this recovery period. New entries are coming in my webseries. Updates on my books to follow.

Be well my friends, and I’ll try to achieve the same.