The Ink Well Fiction Prompt #186 - Domino Effect

“You know what I want to understand? How the hell do you leave a job without having another job in line?”

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Tom’s words introduced echoes through the stony walls of the small apartment, and the particular question more like an indictment than a wonder. Sara clung to the discolored ceiling, trying to block out the blinking light which had been threatening to go out for the past several weeks. Deep in the cushions of the worn-out couch, arms folded, and her jaw tightly shut, she inched forward.

“I really did have a breaking point, Tom. My boss is a loony, for what it’s worth – the volume of work is unreal and I am not –”

“—making enough? Yep I’ve heard you say that a thousand times. But we have bills, Sara! Complaining around doesn’t pay the rent on time.”

She felt an uncharacteristic but rather warm and vicious urge to stand up for herself at that moment: to tell him that it wasn’t just about money but the sheer exhaustion of every single day feeling like her life was slipping through her fingers. But all she could do was sit in a heavy silence, the weight of her choices pressing down on her chest.

Tom let out a deep breath and began walking around the apartment as if it were a small prison. His eyes focused on the window as he watched the rain begin to fine against the pavement. "What are we gonna do now, huh? I can't carry us both."

The thing about a domino effect, Sara contemplated, is that it never begins with something loud. It’s always one little shove, one little push on one tiny mechanical piece, and then all hell breaks loose. Her first day off, she had told herself it would be okay, that she’d find something else. She had imagined herself refreshed, recharged, ready to apply for jobs. But the days had stretched out into a blur of late mornings and aimless afternoons, and the longer she went without doing anything, the heavier her feet felt when she tried to get moving.

“Take it easy, Tom, just... just give me time, okay?”

“We don’t have time!” he hissed. “What do you want me to do now? Already, I am working two shifts almost every day!”

Sara flinched. Yes, of course, Tom was right, as always. But still, there was a corner of her mind that his voice never reached, a small flicker of defiance that simply would not die. She was sick of the cycle of someone rather ‘pushing’ herself down. Getting angry at her failures and the reason why they came about. She stood up all of a sudden and for the first time in weeks, there was something in her eyes that made Tom register his gaze back at her.

I will work it out, she said, steadying herself when she wanted to be shaky. “I am going to work this out.”

However, figuring it out wasn’t as easy as she would have like it to be. The next day, she walked to the coffee shop at the end of the road, hoping to forget her worries and find the right jobs. She struggled to open the laptop and was just scrolling and scrolling without finding any interesting jobs that she could apply for or which did not pay less than her previous one. The screen blurred in front of her eyes, her mind drifting to the darkening clouds outside.

“Is someone sitting there?”

Sara snapped her head up. Beside her stood a woman with an unkempt mess of red feral hair, clad in a dark leather jacket, with a notebook and a stuffed bag in her arms.

“No, please, go on,” Sara managed, waving her hand slightly.

The woman beamed and even drowned the chair in her lap. Tucking away her handbag, she took out the notebook and began writing ‘outs’, with the speed of an athlete, completely as if her words will just run away if she fails to keep up. For a second, she just stared at her in silence and then curiosity got the better of her.

“What are you writing down there?” Sara asked, eagerness clear in her voice, if anyone was willing to listen.

“Just plans,” the woman said, her hand writing all the while. ‘Got laid off a week back, so now it’s time for rebirth.’ She glanced up smiling as if she was dreading the very reality she looked forward to. “Name’s Jessie, by the way.”

Sara found herself talking to Jessie longer than she had intended, their conversation drifting from small talk to dreams that had been buried under years of routine. Jessie had been an architect, but the firm downsized, and now she was sketching blueprints for a food truck that would serve Cuban sandwiches. It was a crazy idea, Sara thought, but the more Jessie spoke, the more it sounded less like a dream and more like a possibility.

"And what about you?" it was Jessie’s turn to cut in. "What do you plan to do next?”

Sara opened her mouth to impress Jessie but had no words to do so. Oh, how adorable Jessie is as she was trying to star a trouble. “You seem like a person who could use a project for a while, and I certainly need an extra help with this truck thing, and I mean this is not a job, but who knows where this might lead?”

This wasn’t what Sara had pictured herself doing but she had nothing to lose. And so, the very next week, there she was on Jessie’s watch, helping out with de-cluttering an old, rusty truck, removing stains of grease, and repainting over graffiti. It was exhausting, filthy work, but for the first time in months, Sara felt something other than dread when she woke up. The hours flew by, and Jessie’s relentless optimism was infectious.

One afternoon, as they were patching up the last bit of the truck’s exterior, a man in a suit walked by and stopped, watching them work.

“You ladies opening up a new food truck?” he asked naturally, looking at the bright splashes of colors they had painted the windows with.

“Sure are,” Jessie said, her pride unmistakable.

“I happen to own the office complex that is located on the next block. In that area we have needed some new places for lunch. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to help you set up a spot.”

Sara and Jessie looked at each other in disbelief. They themselves had not even been thinking ahead so much, but all of a sudden it was as if the years ahead were suddenly there ready for them to be comprehended just like a road map.

The first day of the food truck was a mess—customers kept coming back to place orders even before the crew had a chance to catch up with the cooking, Jessie shouting out sandwich combinations, and Sara rushing to keep up. It was a frustrating, uplifting and completely satisfying experience. By the end of the first week, they were running on fumes, but the profits were already more than they’d hoped.

One evening, several weeks down the line, Sara was standing next to the truck after cleaning the inner and outer corners of the truck bed. Wiping her hands in the apron, Sara stared at the foreboding buildings as the sun fell lower. She hadn’t seen Tom much since they started this venture; he had work of his own, and it was all but torrential changes for her. But she had finally come to the place where she thought she can with brave heart tell him all about it, that perhaps, just maybe, quitting her job was not the most stupid decision she ever made.

When she walked through the apartment door that night, Tom was there, scrolling through his phone with a weary expression. He looked up as she entered, his eyes widening at the sight of her, tired but beaming.

“Hey,” she greeted me in a whisper while standing in the doorway. “Guess what? We’re doing it. The truck is actually happening.”

Tom observed her for a moment and then exhaled a breath she didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Simply amazing, what you are about to do,” he said with a smile that slowly formed on his lips.

Sagged once inside, looking at the cumulative effect of all those little choices, all those flashes of time that brought her to this point. The dominoes were still falling, but for the first time in a long while, she felt like she was finally in control of which way they went.

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