The Out

Chapter 3

"I can't do it, man. I got nothing."

David sighed. He only heard this five thousand times a day. It was like leaching water from a stone. "We have generous repayment plans," he said. "You could --"

No dice. The other side hung up.

Such was life in the debt collection department. These people owed his clients money, and it was his job to call them and inform them of this. Some of them contested his figures, and some of them even told him off, but most of them answered with a bleak acceptance of the debt and and total hopelessness of repaying it. He could see their assets on a computer printout in front of him, if not on the screen itself: not much, and sometimes a dozen creditors lined up below him. The creditors themselves gave an idea of the debtor's situation: medical, landlord. Someone had obviously been stable, but then an accident or illness had taken them out, and now they had no safety net. If disabled, they'd never pay it off, and the resulting poor credit score limited their ability to even get a decent home or perhaps a new-to-them car once the old one was totaled. He felt like many of these debtors were waiting until the next time they could declare bankruptcy, since that was only allowed once every seven years. That created a cycle in the debt collection business, perhaps a cycle in the economy in general. The debt would never be paid up, credit would be in the toilet, some poor schmuck would pay inflated ghetto prices in cash because he couldn't get any better, go into further debt from a payday lender, rinse, wash, repeat. These people had no concept of savings, only daily survival.

David sighed. He was paid to do a job for his clients, so he did it. It wasn't immoral, but it was amoral. His clients couldn't afford to give things away, they needed that money. If debts weren't repaid, the whole system might collapse. So he played his role, did the song and dance. In return, he received a salary that allowed him to support not only himself but a girlfriend and kid too. He felt like a machine.

He remembered when he had met Stacy, three years earlier. He had gone to the bar and was a little tipsy, and so was she, but she looked fresh and different. There was a gleam in her eye. He took her back to his place, some sad bachelor pad studio with takeout containers on the floor, and the night was just as electric as he'd hoped it would be. He added her to his little black book and she said goodbye, no strings attached. David was afraid of strings; though he wasn't as young as Stacy, he didn't feel ready for strings.

Then Stacy had called with that news. The late period. In that moment, David knew this was a string that he wouldn't be able to cut. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to. He imagined the infant, some little boy or girl at his knee, playing while he read his newspaper and lived in domestic bliss with his wife. Somehow, this seemed like the opportunity for it. He didn't know if he liked Stacy, but she said the infant was his and as far as he knew she had no reason to lie, so he decided to do the honorable thing. He'd made a mistake and now he was in Stacy's debt. Debts should be paid. He believed that. So he got a new, larger place farther from work, set her up, and went with her to every doctor's appointment. He began to look forward to the infant. They decided to name her Carrie after his mother.

Stacy's pregnancy was difficult. She applied too much emotion to too few things, and blew up at odd times, or she became monotone and dull. That was even worse, the silent treatment. At the time, David attributed to the pregnancy. And after the childbirth, it lifted and Stacy was happy, for all of a few months. Then the moods set in again. David began to fear that maybe this wasn't pregnancy, maybe this was just Stacy.

But he and Stacy had a child together, and that meant something. He intended to marry her. But he could never work up the ability to propose. He knew there was a jewelry shop in the local mall, but he could never manage to get there when they were open. He didn't know Stacy's ring size, and she didn't have any rings so he couldn't surreptitiously bring one in for measuring. He didn't know how he could measure her hand. Maybe in her sleep? But she was a lighter sleeper than him, and spent less time in bed on account of the baby. Could he ask her without a ring? No, then she'd think he wasn't committed. She said so every day that he didn't ask. First he'd considered asking her while pregnant, but she was so ill or hormonal that there was never the opportunity. Then he'd considered asking right after the birth, but she was so busy recovering her health that he didn't want to burden her. Eventually he realized that the time would never be right, because the marriage wasn't right. He'd watched friends go through divorce, and every one of those marriages had started on brighter terms than this. He already felt like a soon-to-be divorced man and he didn't even have a wedding album. Perhaps that was a good thing, all things considered. The house was rented and could be let go as soon as the lease was up, perhaps even earlier if the landlord quickly found another tenant (something David had learned while collecting debts for landlords from the tenants they'd evicted). His bank account was in his name and most of his savings were there. There was a joint account for household and childcare expenses, and that would be a convenient place to funnel any child support. Would there even need to be child support? He already arranged for a certain portion of his direct deposit to go to that account; he could simply adjust that as needed. No need to haggle over money. He and Stacy could agree to something fair and then the mechanisms to act on it would already be in place. David prided himself on financial organization.

But if David was loathe to marry Stacy, he was also loathe to break up with her. She would be sad, she would inevitably take the child that she did, after all, watch all day, and he liked coming home to Carrie. She was a cute little kid, and she looked more like him than Stacy. She would be bereft without a father, and he didn't know if Stacy would allow him to go near her after they broke up. Stacy had become more dull and monotone lately. Was that calm before a storm? He didn't like her when she was in a mood like this. He could organize his finances and do everything society said he should do, and she could still make his life miserable. It wouldn't even take much.

He eyed the clock. It was close to 5 pm. Once he had looked forward to that time. Now he dreaded it. He had told Stacy that he worked late, so that would buy him some time on the way home. Sometimes he did things that he suspected she would disapprove of, but other times he just went out for drinks with coworkers or even went for a jog at the local park. He didn't want to go home. He and Stacy had chosen that place because they thought it would be a good platform for raising a child and him commuting to work. But it seemed lifeless, a soul suck in the middle of suburbia. He had to steel himself before stepping inside, and as draining as it was, the mood actually made it harder for him to sleep. He wished he lived at a motel. He'd even considered sleeping in his car instead of this.