“I’m going on break” I say.

“Where you going?” they ask.

“Ha wouldn’t you like to know,” I say. “Now finish up, I’ll be back soon.”

These guys are really the best to work with. Sure they treat me more as there best friend and less as their manager but you know what? I kind of like it. I love coming on the site every day and shouting over the various clangs and bangs of our tools so we can talk about the game last night or something like that. And they do it too, that’s the beauty of it. They’d better; otherwise I’m another balding white fuck shouting at people with power tools. Atlanta has enough crazy white people they don’t need more.

Punching out my time card I took my first confident steps out of the construction site and made my way to Atlantic Station. The site was right across from the center and that weird Asian restaurant that always smelled of burnt peanuts. So it was pretty easy to doge traffic and step onto the overpass bridge. I’ve done this so many times I almost wanted to do it blind folded. Usually I grab lunch at Subway or if I’m feeling expensive Which Witch, but as I said to the guys I was on a mission.

Walking along the gleaming white concrete of the bridge I found my thoughts drifting to my boy. I wonder where he is right now? Knowing Kenny he’s probably with one of his mates at IHOP or hanging around his soon to be home campus. Georgia Tech, I can’t believe it. I would have thought that he would want to get out of Atlanta, that’s what I did when I went college hunting. I’m back in Atlanta now though so I don’t know if that tells you anything.

Still, I can’t think any less of Kenny if I tried. He takes after me in a lot of ways, at least when I was young. Oh he’s still a teenager. Reckless and carefree but all in all he’s a good kid, except when he’s charming the girls. I swear he has a new girl on his arm every week. All he has to do he says is flash them “the eyes.” According to him his beautiful green eyes gets them every time. He’s joking of course and why wouldn’t he? I raised him to be that way I can’t expect him to be anything else.

HONK!

Jesus my heart just skipped a beat! I didn’t even notice that fucking guy. Is he serious? The light on the crosswalk was white I had the right-of-way. I never understood why cars can turn left and right into an occupied crosswalk, even if that crosswalk is blinking the go ahead. It didn’t matter I was here first, he should’ve waited.

I love Atlantic Station this time of year, hell I love Atlanta this time of year. The autumn breeze was warm at first but by the time the gust had left you felt only the cool of October. I decided then and there that I wasn’t going to eat. Instead I would sit down and enjoy myself for a bit. Sitting down on a nearby bench overlooking the bustling strip of asphalt and traffic I reached into one of my pockets and pulled out that familiar paper box. I popped out one of the cigarettes, pushed it to my lips, and in an instant I felt the familiar warmth return to my lungs. Taking one long drag after another my collar started to itch. Maybe I got some rock dust in it or something, it wouldn’t surprise. This old shirt has been at the work site almost as long as I have. There are about a million stories this shirt alone could tell and most of them are better than mine.

I did sometimes wish for a fancy dress shirt though. I sometimes felt like I embarrassed Kenny when he saw at me the site with this shirt on. I can’t really blame him. I know who I am but contrary to what a lot of people think I’m smart enough and introspective enough to know I’m basically the stereotypical old salt working the quarry, his hair all but gone, his gut ready to burst out of its prison of blue fabric, and his guys always biting at his heels.

Across the street I see a little spindly white kid, not much older than my boy. Talk about stereotypes, ashy hair, thin face, blue eyes, red tie, and spotless white collared shirt underneath a freshly dry cleaned lack suit. This kid was the epitome of the young invest banker, which made sense since he walked into the Wells Fargo back behind me. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to work there, to not have to smell like stone dust and coffee. To not have to take a shower every day after work. It must be nice but I have to be honest, I don’t think that kid and I have anything in common really. Whatever, he’s in there and I’m out… damn it that’s right. Kenny’s account, I’m so stupid. Can’t bring cigarettes in there so on the ground it goes.

Rushing in to Wells Fargo everyone jumped up and stared. I felt so alone. Some lady pushed me aside as she stormed out the door… nice rack. God, I don’t belong here in this sea of black ties and shinny shoes. Christ I’m in jeans and works boots, Kenny would be laughing his ass off at me.

I looked around I trying to find at least some semblance of where to go. At the far end of the room was a small granite top desk, which looked as good a place as any. Walking over there I was surprised to see the kid from earlier sitting on the other side. I guess he wasn’t a banker after all. Jeez they make the receptionist where suits, that’s sort of stupid but what do I know of corporate America.

“Hey bud you there,” I say waving a hand in his face.

He looks up.

“Um yes… hello sir and welcome to Wells Fargo Atlanta,” he says. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No” I say. Oh god where is that thing, Maggie wrote it down for me. Ah it’s always in the chest pocket. “The wife said I should set up an extra savings account, our son’s going to college soon. I was on my break so I figured now would be as good a time as any right?”

Sir” he says. “This is the Wells Fargo corporate office, you can’t set up an account here. Plus I’m just the receptionist I couldn’t help you out if I wanted to.”

I couldn’t believe it. I would walk into the wrong building. Well that’s my lunch break so the opportunities gone anyway. God why is collar so itchy. I keep rubbing it and still won’t stop and…. Why is he doing it too?

“Tell you what,” he says. “Don’t do Wells Fargo. If you’re setting up an account for your son go to Bank of America. If you set up a student account they won’t charge you a maintenance fee.”

“Oh, well, thank you” I say. “Thank you so much.”

I know I should thank him more but it seems like someone is waiting for him by his desk, I have to get back to the site anyway. I left Wells Fargo with renewed strength. So help me I was going get Kenny the perfect deal and now I knew how to do it. By the time I get back to the site the guys are waiting for me. I’m trying to get through the day with an empty stomach but I’ve lived and worked long enough to know that that’s not happening. The only thing that keeps me going is small talk with the guys. One of em’ asks me what I did on my break. I told him everything; right down to the suggestion the kid gave me.

He laughs.

“Bank of America’s right down the street,” he says. “You could have gone there and grabbed lunch ya know.”

This, I couldn’t believe.

“Tony,” I say. “Clear that rubble out.”

“Are you serious?” he asks. “We don’t have to do that for another week.”

“Plans change,” I say.

He pauses when he see’s I’m dead serious.

“Okay Paul, whatever you say,” he says.

As I watch him walk away I’m thinking about what he said. God, this is the perfect end to a perfect day isn’t it? I finally figure out what to do, I found out that I could’ve done it in half the time, and just to put the cherry on I have no more time left in the day to do it. I need to go home. I need to take off this damn shirt, curl up with Gwen, and sleep today off. I want to right by Kenny, really that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do and hell its not like I’ve done anything that bad. But it’s the same screw-ups again and again that get to me. Bank of America right down the street, huh.

If nothing else I appreciate that kid’s honesty. He could’ve snaked his way into my wallet but he pushes me to another bank to help me out. Maybe he was tired or didn’t want to be there. I look out to the construction yard and wipe off yet another layer of brick dust from my collar, what the hell am I doing.

“Hey Paul,” Tony says. “You gonna punch in or what? We need the keys to the truck.”

“Yeah, uh give me a sec,” I say.

I punch in my ticket, grab the keys from the office, and get out to the site. I take one last look at the Wells Fargo building looming in the distance. I sympathize with ya kid, I really do.

© 2013 Jared "I.J" Steinberg. All Rights Reserved.

#fiction