Realizations in the Slime Rain

Gazing out the window, it was another messy and dreary day. Though the people did their best to extrapolate weather patterns, they were still determining when it would rain. This rain differed from your typical rain, not the kind of rain that falls in your world or mine. This rain comes down in thick spatters that cling to every surface. These globules slip down windows and stick in trees, to rooves, and on walls. They are beholden to the whims of the winds. Eliza watched as one such thick, slobbery globule flowed over her car.

The weather plays on the TV in the background. She is only half paying attention to it. A few minutes ago, an on-screen warning had heralded an announcement of the coming storm. It advised everyone to stay inside for the foreseeable future. The ooze and the byproducts of overpollution in the major cities were dangerous to the skin. The sheer size of the globs obscured vision while operating machinery. There was nothing to do but wait for the storm to pass. Pulling her laptop from its charger, she could not escape work so quickly.

Booting her computer, she signed in and went to the company site. Blessed to work from home, she ensured she had everything from her kitchen table. Her electric kettle sat beside her, heating up, and her mug had a sachet of her favorite tea. Part of her hoped the goo would let up soon, but another part of her hoped it didn’t. Sometimes, it was nice to work away from her cubicle. Pulling on her headset, she clocked in and waited for a call.

Days where goo fell from the sky were always slow. She bet she could watch TV in the background if she tried, but if any of her calls proved it– there would be repercussions. She could not handle another reprimand; one strike from her ex-miliary manager was enough. The whole reason she had this job was that she did not have to deal with anyone face-to-face. A ringing tone played over her headset after about thirty minutes of waiting.

Eliza had already downed two mugs of tea and began flipping through a magazine, “Hello, you’ve reached H&H. My name is Eliza. How may I help you?” She questioned.

“Hello, this is Molly from our Antwhistle branch. I need your assistance with a customer, Mrs. Ashcroft, from Fenn. Mrs. Ashcroft, I will leave you in Eliza’s capable hands if it's ok.”

“Thank you,” an older woman’s voice came over the speaker.

“Have a happy day!” Molly signed off with a click, and it was Eliza’s turn.

“Hello, Mrs. Ashcroft. How may I assist you today?”

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure what to do. I tried to get onto my account, and no matter what I do, I cannot get the password to work.”

“If I understand your problem correctly, Mrs. Ashcroft, you have issues with your password. I am happy to assist you. What I need from you first is your username and Email so I can get you a temporary log-in code.”

Eliza listened carefully and verified the information; Mrs. Ashcroft’s voice was difficult to make out of the cheap headset her work had provided. Slowly, she walked the customer through how to reset her password and get her account in order, but as she might, the woman would not hang up the phone. Grinning, Eliza knew she couldn’t hang up the phone. So, she happily sat on the line and had another mug of tea. The two of them sat and happily chatted about the woman’s day. Eliza learned a lot about the older woman.

As the woman finally hung up, Eliza logged out and peeked out her window processing. This Mrs. Ashcroft lived all alone but with her cats. It gave Eliza some perspective. This was her sixth year living alone after college. She found herself to be independent. Mrs Ashcroft implied that there had once been a Mr Ashcroft. Eliza had never considered relationships a priority. She had watched her friends and family members get married and start families, but something began to sprout within her– Eliza wrapped her arms around herself. When would she have the time?

One of the slimes slid down the window, causing enough reflection from the glass for her to see her face. When had she started crying? Looking at her watch, it was almost time to start working again. Pulling over her notepad and pen, she began with the first of a series of blocks written on the page. What would her life look like if she changed her priorities? It was silly; part of her dismissed it, but she had a passionate desire to pursue something worthwhile, even if it was not a family or a career. She yearned for a passion to fill the rest of her days. How had she lasted so long without ambition?

She needed an intersection, a place where the reality of her situation crossed her dreams. She needed to find it and live there, come whatever may after. As she answered another call, she began adding bubbles and boxes to the ones she had already made, connecting threads, a rough sketch of what she wanted her life to look like. By the time she clocked out and shut the laptop, she shoved the journal in her purse and picked up her keys. There was only one person in the world she could think to talk to about this– her mother.

Standing in the doorway, ensuring the slime had stopped, she stepped over each globule as it shimmered in the sunlight. Getting in her car, she used her windshield wipers to schlup the remaining slime and was on her way.