Work

Rose loved the red sky, with the sun coming up over the river. She put on a jacket over a flannel nightgown tucked into her pants and strolled along the trail. Only joggers were out at this hour. Binkie came with her for protection. She didn’t keep him on a leash. He frolicked ahead of her, then ran off after a squirrel.

Binkie, come back!

Binkie took his time. He loved being outside. She thought he would love to be a wild dog, living permanently outdoors.

Binkie was a mutt, part poodle, part something big. She had found him at the pound. It was love at first sight. Binkie got up on his hind legs and pawed at the cage.

He thinks you’re his girlfriend, Ben had said.

He’s sweet. They had brought him home. He loved everybody and everything.

In the woods she saw a homeless encampment. She remembered when the homeless had been called hoboes. It was easy to spot the tents this time of year.

A man crawled out of a pup tent. She knew him. He was one of Ben’s friends. He was a famous homeless man who had a laptop computer in his tent.

Morning, Rose. He nodded at her.

Good morning.

How’s Ben?

Working the graveyard shift at the hospital. He does this every winter.

Tell him to stop by.

Rose laughed. It seemed so ridiculous: a homeless man inviting Ben to visit. I’ll tell him.

Binkie barked.

Don’t bark, Binkie.

He’s a watchdog, said the man.

Well... Binkie and I have to be going.

Rose loved the outdoors, but when she got home she was cranky. She didn’t want to see a homeless encampment when she hadn’t done a damned thing for them this year. Some got checks from the government and the money went for booze. Don’t give them money, the nuns at the shelter told her. Give them things they can use. They’ll blow the money. Rose did not romanticize the homeless. But she should do something. Coats, hats, and glvoes. She would have to ask Ben. He lent the guy with the computer CDs and software. The homeless man and Ben belonged to the same game club on the internet.

Rose was also cranky because she had to go to work. Someone had to answer the phones and pretend to work, though there would be few phone calls and no work. Everybody shut down this time of year. Rose had some freelance stuff to do. In her spare time she was plotting to buy some urban land and build her own development. A development with houses designed to face different directions: some with a traditional front door, some with a main door on one side of the house, some with a door on another side of the house. Rugged individualism. An American concept.

She would be so successful she could retire. I quit, she heard herself say.

No, she had the work ethic. It was unavoidable. She had gotten it from her mother. People worked, women worked. She had worked like a dog since she was twenty-four in her first responsible job. She did not think she was discriminated against. She was paid more than anyone at her firm except Kent.

People without the work ethic had more fun. She really thought so. Her sister Megan didn’t have a work ethic. As a young woman, Megan had been so unmaterialistic that she held a job only every other year. She and her husband had taken turns working. On their years off they would write or paint or do whatever they wanted at the time. Megan had found jobs easily. At first she had been a nurse, then she became a dietitian. Finally she got serious and stuck to a career so she could earn Social Security and a pension. Now she had taken early retirement and received only a fraction of her pension.

Megan had shrugged it off. Who cares? The house is paid for.

I’ll work forever, Rose thought. It kind of made her miserable, though she was also kind of proud.

What are you doing up? Ben asked when he came in I thought everybody took this Friday off.

She was relieved to see him. She hated to go to work when he hadn’t come home first. They do. All except me. I have to go to work.

Work? He laughed. We never see each other.

I know. It’s sad.

She was preparing a pot roast before she left for work. She threw the beef and the vegetables into the slow cooker and set it on low. Then she looked at the slow cooker with satisfaction.

She wore jeans and a sweater. She was damned if she was going to dress up. i’m going to work like this.

Rebel, rebel, he sang, hugging her hard.

A rebel in blue jeans, she agreed. Do you think I’m too old for jeans?

No one’s too old for jeans.

By the way, I saw your friend from the homeless encampment He says hi.

Maybe I’ll go see him today.

You’re too amiable.

I like him.

Rose groaned. I know you do. Bye, Ben.