Seven Days a Week

Sunrise on a rural, hilly road. A construction site. Working as the day passes catching glimpses of the world outside. Every afternoon, the storms come. Then the drive home. The theme park was a mysterious place, a seemingly endless labyrinth of construction, thousands and thousands of workers trying to piece things together. It was rumored that secret tunnels ran under the entire park. Large rivers lakes were being dug, sculpted out of the land. Anyone going near the water would be immediately fired, we were told. There were untold amounts of pesticides and other chemicals being dumped in. From the top of the hotel, you could look out and see other hotels, the beginnings of rides. In an odd way, it was breathtaking.

But the project was behind schedule. Top engineers were being replaced. One day, a big German showed up at the hotel. They had brought him in at a high cost, it was rumored, to get the project finished. He looked like a bulldog, like someone who lived to eat and drink. It was rumored, too, that he was very much for the women. I couldn't imagine a woman being attracted to him, but it wasn't his looks they were after. He was a celebrity, in a way, a superstar of the construction world, and he sparked my imagination as he walked about the site, the obvious center wherever he stood, all others standing around and to the side in obedient servitude.

It was another engineer, however, who made all the difference. He was young and tall and athletic and dark hair that fell to his shoulders, hair longer than mine. When he stood in a group, he looked half a foot taller than everyone else, and thicker and harder as well. I would watch him as he stood holding blueprints in his fingers, tracing out some mystery then pointing out to part of the hotel, directing the attention of the people in his group. The rednecks were befuddled by him, this striking, athletic boy, and they redirected their gaze when he was around. I wanted, I knew, to be that fellow.  

And so the days went by, me driving and working and sleeping seven days a week. I had no time to spend any of my money and it was piling up in a bank account. My week was divided only by time, time and a half, and double time.

But the pace was getting to Tommy. Some days when I went to pick him up, he told me he was not going. This happened more and more frequently as the weeks and months went by. He was beginning to look beat. But it wasn't just the work. A baby was on the way. The inevitability of that was setting in. Whether he got married or not, he was expected to work and support the family. I could see that in his dead brown eyes.