Drive: every beginning is some kind of middle

Emily had been throwing packages around and loading semi trailers for more than a year, and she loved it as much as she hated it.

This is the second installment in the "Drive" series, with the first linked to at the end of the story. While these can be read in order, each installment is meant to also stand alone, more like an episode than a chapter.

"What a dream I had, pressed in organdy..."

Emily had been throwing packages around and loading semi trailers for more than a year, and she loved it as much as she hated it.

Loading trailers is decent work, and has a strange appeal for a certain kind of person. You can blow off steam, get a little exercise, make a decent amount of pay, and – most importantly – shut off your brain and just go.

Thinking is an effort for some, for others, the effort is in stopping.

Those people gravitate to rock climbing or high-stress, physical labor because it takes up so much concentration a brain has to let go of all the thoughts that don't otherwise stop.

After hours of lectures – Emily was paying for college herself and always had a full load of classes – not thinking and just doing was a relief. Every night when she got home, her mind and body were equally drained, and neither was trying to keep her awake.

That last was an indescribable blessing. Emily didn't sleep easily without exhausting herself first; too many stray thoughts kept her from it.

Of course, for all the benefit, in the middle of a shift and at the center of the chaos, Emily hated the job, just like everyone else. She hated it almost as much as she loved it.

Shipping centers look a lot like factories: forests of struts and conveyor belts slicing through a wide-open, high-ceilinged structure, moving millions of boxes and letters and poorly-wrapped cardboard blobs of duct tape and good intentions from the unload area to any of several dozen loading bays. Then, from there, to be packed back into other trailers and on to the next stop.

The noise of a place like that is pure industrial cacophony. The dirt and dust of every semi that passes through and every road a delivery truck has driven down ends up in those buildings, and then on the skin and in the nostrils of everyone who works there.

In her shower after work, Emily would watch the water running off in black rivulets, always somewhat impressed how every inch of skin was covered in the fine, powdery filth.

The package center was constant noise and demand and stimulation of every sense. It was loud, it was hot, it was home.

But, every few weeks, the powers that be would send a few poorly-prepared strangers into Emily's "home."

They always came in pairs, but not for the reasons you yourself might send people in pairs.

Most times, you send in pairs of people to look after each other or to help each other. Here, they sent in pairs in the hope one of them might actually make it through the first week.

With rare exception, only one ever stayed, if that. But, they did not suffer alone. During the whole time they were learning just how poorly prepared they were, the loading crew of eight-or-nine who they were training to join would suffer with them, fixing their mistakes and picking up their slack.

And on her crew, no one was better at picking up the slack than Emily.

She had something of a talent for diving into the middle of chaos and creating order when everyone else was simply too overwhelmed to even know where to start. She wasn't there to think, and some things are easier done with minimal thought.

Actually, most things are easier done when you don't think too much about them, at least if you're the kind to overthink, that is to say, if you are the type to find yourself adding caveats and addendums to sentences you haven't even written yet.

And so, it was in that capacity, as the designated "fixer," that Emily was to first meet Dan.

Oh, Danny boy...

When Dan started at the package center, he – like all new hires – spent a week in a rather basic orientation that seemed to mostly involve trying to scare people away, then giving them free pizza, then asking for all their banking information, and finally, as the topper, a safety video that could substitute for surgical anesthetic.

And through that and the first week of actual work, Dan was one who stayed. Even when the member of the university's football team he had been paired with threw in the towel, Dan stayed.

It was an act that most would take for youthful overconfidence. But for people such as Dan, if you tell them you need a mountain moved and they respond by asking for a shovel, there's nothing cocky to it, just a kind of bullheaded patience.

So, on his first night loading a regular trailer alone, Dan dived into the work with all the usual zeal of someone who has no idea what they are doing.

He had a trainer, and listened patiently to the short, unhelpful set of instructions his trainer provided. Then, Dan proceeded to get himself buried.

Within 15 minutes, the end of the trailer was piled up with packages and the shoot that led into it was backed up onto the belt, with packages rolling over one another and looking as if they might start tumbling off at any time.

From somewhere up above, someone was screaming more than a few choice words that appeared related to the state of Dan's trailer. Every once in awhile, with an apparent lack of concern, the trainer would push past the jumbled packages, stick his head out, and yell something back.

From what Dan could tell, his trainer was pretty relaxed about it all, which led Dan to think this was pretty normal. In reality – though it was by no means unusual – this was his trainer's last week on the job, and he simply didn't care.

"I need somebody, not just anybody..."

Emily hated Mark. He had been a worthless trainer even when he cared. On the other hand, ever since he put in his notice, at least one beneficial side-effect was that he had stopped trying to teach anything to the new-hires.

So, instead of having to both clean up Mark's messes and spend the next couple months trying to convince stubborn new-hires that they didn't know what they were doing, now Emily just had to clean up his messes and teach completely unprepared rookies everything from scratch.

Mark smirked at Emily as she climbed into Dan's trailer.

"Good evening, Emily."

He added a flirtatious wink – not because he meant it, just because he knew it would annoy her.

Emily ignored Mark, but made certain to give the shoot that hung between them a quick push with her foot – not quite a kick – as she climbed past. When it lurched, the edge of the shoot caught Mark just between his hip and his noticeable love handle, and Emily hid a satisfied smile as he doubled-over slightly, smacking the shoot and cursing.

Normally, Emily would have come in yelling, laying into the new guy about everything he had wrong – and there would have been plenty to yell about with Dan. But, she was recently back from vacation and had caught a bug that took her voice on its way out. So, instead, she jumped in next to Dan and began trying to salvage the haphazard stack of packages that was currently on the verge of falling and burying them both.

In the midst of all of the chaos, with machinery roaring and packages piling up deeper and higher with every passing minute, Dan became suddenly, meekly and – in a dumbfounded moment – pleasantly aware that he was not alone.

Unknown to Emily, she and Dan shared a Spanish class, and Dan immediately recognized her.

Dan attempted to introduce himself with his most charming smile and worst accent.

"Hola! Como estas?"

In that moment, it benefitted Dan that awkward was a familiar way for him to feel, as the only answer he received from Emily was a confused look and a complete lack of recognition.

She gestured with noticeable annoyance at the precarious wall of boxes, shook her head, and went back to wedging packages into spots where they might prevent the mess from tumbling over.

Dan froze.

Not quite literally, just his brain. If he had been uncoordinated and unhelpful before, he was now outdoing himself many times over.

Dan picked through boxes on the rollers, taking one, turning to look at the wall of packages, then setting it back down and going for another. When he did finally place something, it was never just once, and he kept fidgeting and moving packages around.

Emily was a generally patient, if direct, individual, but in that moment her reserve of patience was running a bit low. Between the nitwit beside her and Mark having settled into a smug grin as leaned against the trailer wall watching, she was ready to make a point.

Dan felt a hand firmly grasp his shoulder, and Emily began to guide him back and away to the side. He gave her a questioning look, and she responded with three simple, clear gestures: Emily pointed to Dan, then to her eyes, then to herself. Though a little crestfallen, Dan was happy to get the idea.

Behind them, Emily could feel Mark still smirking, but for the moment she let that go. She didn't have time.

Picking up a package from near at hand, she felt her muscles fall away from her immediate awareness and her body settle into a rhythmic set of motions. Her brain still told her hands what to pick up and her arms where to place it, but while they got on with the actions, her mind was already moving on to the next thing well before they were done.

Years later – most likely to his dying day – Dan would remember this as the moment when he really noticed Emily.

Up until then, she had been interesting, as any attractive person is to someone who is young, single and reliant primarily on hormones for decision-making. But the moment she started moving, Emily became absolutely singular in Dan's mind.

In his retelling in future years, Dan would make comparisons to martial arts experts, gymnasts and various superheroes. But, in objective fairness, anyone else who saw what he saw might not have thought is was much of an exaggeration.

Although, he probably went a bit far with the "woosh" sounds effects he liked to add.

Still, Emily was absolutely fluid as she loaded the packages. She moved without doubt or hesitation. There was no anger; no violence; no brute force or wasted effort.

But what really got Dan was her face. In the midst of thundering, deafening machinery and people outside screaming until you thought they would spit blood, with 50-pound boxes teetering near her head and packages piling up at what seemed an impossible rate, Emily's eyes and face held no emotion.

There was no chaos there. The storm that was all around her simply did not penetrate.

And, maybe his memories were added to with years, and maybe Dan didn't see everything in her eyes that night that he would remember seeing.

Maybe he didn't see some unspoken, private pain. Maybe his insistence on her "old soul" didn't really start in that trailer as he watched her load. Maybe he couldn't have picked up just from watching her that she was both proud of her abilities and humble enough about her limits.

But even peeling back any layers that a romantic such as Dan might add in retrospect, it can be said with absolute certainty that Dan did see something familiar in Emily that night, something kindred, something that would make him grateful for the rest of his life that of all the random paths life could have led him down, one of those paths had run him into Emily.

Ground control to Major... Dan

While Dan was busy being amazed and enamored, Emily had managed to clear out a nice chunk of space and build a new, more solid wall of boxes in front of and supporting the precarious disaster Dan had started.

She gestured her hands to get his attention, which did not work quite immediately. He had a dazed, bemused look, and if she'd had a voice to do so, Emily would have expressed very succinctly how she felt about that.

As it was, she had to rely on her hand gestures and facial expressions, but they eventually got the message across.

Emily had cleared a space around the portable rollers, which were now obstructing any further efforts, and after a few motions, Dan figured out that she wanted him to help her push the rollers back.

He immediately jumped-to and threw himself at the task in a thoroughly ineffective manner, expressing a reasonably impressive "Umph" as he almost flipped himself over the rollers, but the rollers did not budge.

Dan's confused expression was answered with a silent laugh from Emily, and she reached down and released the brake.

And that was the first time Emily ever really noticed Dan.

Not because of his action – though she appreciated his eagerness. No, the thing that caught her attention was the look in his eyes when he realized his mistake. He gave no sign of the blustering pride she was used to from boys his age when they looked foolish in front of a girl, nor even the sullen shame anyone tends to show in that kind of moment. He just laughed, shrugged, and put his shoulder back into the job.

Once they had the rollers moved back, Emily started gesturing toward the wall of boxes she had made, pointing out how she had stacked them. She could not have had a more attentive pupil to her every movement and motion, which pleased her, even as she realized some of his attentiveness was just his puppy-dog hormones.

What pleased her more was that when Dan started stacking boxes again, it looked as if he had actually been paying attention, and not just nodding his head to please the pretty girl.

Dan was slow, certainly, as anyone new would be, but he was actually trying. And it wasn't just the "Oh, man, I have to impress her" treatment Emily was used to from a lot of the guys she helped. He actually seemed to be concerned about doing a good job.

And he did.

A good job, that is… for a new-hire.

"We'll watch the world from above..."

The only person who really got to see those two working together that night was Mark, and that's a pity, because Emily was right: Mark was an asshole. You or I, we would have appreciated what we saw if we had been watching . Mark… well, I could try to imagine what Mark was thinking about, but frankly, I really don't care.

But you or I, I think we would have seen music.

Emily, she was a jazz piano, and Dan, he was… well, maybe a bass that only comes in every fourth beat. Yet, still, it was music, and it flowed. The two of them moved like choreographed dancers, never one in the other's way and never a move from one that didn't suit the move of the other.

For Emily, it was a unique experience; for Dan, appreciation was missed a bit for lack of comparison, and it was something he would only understand fully in memory.

Finally, the moment came when the trailer was "clean" and only a few boxes remained on the rollers, but the two of them missed it at first.

Instead, they just kept building walls in contented silence. In any other circumstance, Emily would have left a good while before, but something kept her.

I don't know if you've ever felt something that good, but I hope you do. I hope you lose yourself some day without even knowing you have. Once you realize you've lost yourself, the moment is over, and while that always has to come just like dawn has to come after a long, pleasant night with friends, it is a bitter evil, and one only assuaged by the thought you might, in time, lose yourself again.

And that was the unacknowledged hope that comforted Emily when she realized she had no excuse to stay any longer in the trailer with Dan: that he would be one of the few who hung on, and that she would get to work alongside him again.

But none of that was said that night. In fact, nothing at all was said by Emily; just a nod of her head as she placed the two remaining errant packages back on the rollers, a "Good luck," silently mouthed, a smile, and she headed back out to find where else she was needed.

Dan was caught off guard, and she was gone before she could hear or see his, "Thank you," or any of the other things that words couldn't quite yet express.

Thank you for reading

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