If anyone could pull it off, it would be you.
Stephanie would have thought this whole thing was stupid. She never would have been caught dead at an escape room, let alone one attached to a brewery.
The further I get from Philly and her, the more I wonder just what I was waiting around for? Without all the shine of a new relationship—of beingseenfor the first time—and now a step away from the wreckage of us, it’s hard to figure out why I wanted us to fit so badly.
Logan drops me off at home with a “Think about it some more, okay? There might be something there.” Then his truck is gone and I’m left in the darkness of the development, someone’s little dog yapping in the distance when Logan rounds the corner. My keys jingle as I deposit them on the key rack. There’s nothing but the light above the stove left on.
I plop down on the spare bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling and all the loneliness floods back. The next year stretches out before me and I can picture it in my mind: me driving myself insane trying to piece together what I should have done differently and trying to figure out where to go from this when my whole life was tied up in Stephanie.
My notice at her father’s company was accepted and my last two weeks were over a month ago. Staying with my parents is temporary, for sure, but I’ll have to think of something permanent soon.
As aimless as I feel right now I can’t justify throwing away the money I have from before we got married and soon my half of the house. Minutes bleed together until time doesn’t feel real anymore and all I can focus on is how tired I am but I’m too wired to slip away into sleep. Unpacking my duffel seems stupid when I’ll just have to redo it tomorrow when I settle into the garage apartment.
So, I turn on the bedside lamp and shuffle over to my old closet. Inside the doors still have tacked-on scotch tape that used to house posters of things I cared about. The shelves are stacked with old school folders and memories I haven’t touched in years.
The middle shelf holds my high school obsession with all things illusionary. Books on escape artists and prestidigitation, and a way to bring magic into the world through lies. So much wonder that spiraled down the drain with each passing year and each step closer to the complacency Stephanie accused me of.
I used to be whimsical, silly. I used to have fun just for the sake of it and not because one of her parties demanded it. But this was never high-brow enough for her. Childish things should stay in childhood. The present had no space for a weird boy from Dulaney that put on magic shows for his family and accidentally locked himself in the garden shed for hours before my family realized I wasn’t just out. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to let that person out—to enjoy time and a beer with friends without feeling like I’m misstepping somehow . . . wasting time on relationships that don’t serve another goal the way Steph has cultivated her friendships into networking opportunities.
My fingertips cross over the embossed title of the book in my hand, old leather and gold foil. It was the most expensive thing I owned at that time, purchased with my own allowance. In the intervening years I spent so much time on helping other people be financially sound, on making their businesses succeed, that I forgot my old dream.
The hobby shop might be a stupid idea now. I have no interest in flogging wares and there’s no money in hobby shops anyhow. No amount of dreaming can counteract the prudent man I’ve grown into.
Escape, the book taunts and I want nothing more. My conversation with Logan in the truck backs it up until my mind is full of possibilities and questions, and the “what if” of it all.
I fall asleep with the book clutched against my chest as if it can protect my heart from the outside. As if I’ll be sucked back in time through osmosis or just turn into the version of myself I used to like.
And when I wake it’s with the other stage of grief yapping at my heels and nipping at my ankles—anger. Staring up at my old ceiling and barely able to make out where the glow-in-the-dark stars used to be, I am enraged down to the marrow of my bones.
How dare she? How dare she blame me for being what I had to be to keep her. Steph was used to a certain level of living and I had to provide that. Long nights in the office and stressing over balance sheets, profits and loss. Tucking away the silly parts that she sneered at to be more serious. All of it to be the kind of man who can indulge someone like her. Only for her to throw it up in my face.
Escape. The book whispers in my hand, still there after the whole evening, though it feels like the ridged spine has left indentations into my palm.
I’ll show her. She says I don’t take risks. That I’m boring and happy to let life pass me by. Well, I’m not. I’mnot. I won’t be anymore. It might take some mistakes but I doubt anything will ever feel as dire as this—as empty and looming and endless.
My mind loops through two thoughts:Escapeand Logan’s “If anyone could pull it off, it would be you.”
The explosion of all my paraphernalia on the floor clicks together in my mind in a way that I should probably consider alarming and manic, but all I feel is a surge of something other than pain and anger.
I’m going to do this and she’ll be wrong about me. I will make sure of it.
It isn’t until I’ve spent all day drafting up a business plan—going so far as to call up the banker Steph and I knew back in Philly to ask questions about the start-up capital needed for a new business, and the steps required to establish one—that it sinks in. It takes me typing up a job description for a collaborator for a job that technically doesn’t even exist to realize what’s driving me through this whole endeavor.
Spite.
Spite burns through me and fans the flames of my anger. God, I’ve never felt more capable, more determined to see something through. I stay in that room all day, breaking when my mom knocks to leave a sandwich outside the door and my father whispers, “Leave him be, Theresa. He’ll come out when he’s ready.”
I type until my wrists ache and my eyes blur, and I never want to sleep again.
And then my email pings.
Rachel Mackey with an immaculate resume and an impassioned cover letter that smacks of the same kind of desire that burns within me now to succeed. There are moments of overlap between us.
I am currently transitioning out of a corporate environment into something I hope will have more of a community feel. I learned a lot during my time at Lakin-Cole, but my favorite part has always been getting to work with the people behind the projects. As I move away from an environment that places little emphasis on interaction, I am eager to step into a position that would allow for a more personal and impactful experience.
I think of those miserable cubicles again, and driving home so late the sun’s already gone. Meal delivery because we’re both too tired to cook, and barely watching a show in silence because we’re so mentally exhausted there’s nothing to say.
I am the kind of person who pushes hard to do good work and am determined to prove my worth. I know I would be an asset to your company and this endeavor because even though I do not have experience with escape room design, I research extensively for every project I undertake. Failure is not an option for me and I am not afraid to work hard for the desired outcome. Corporate culture has honed those skills but doesn’t offer any reward for them, so I hope I might be able to have what I bring to the table mean something.
