The Accountant

When I was in college, I was given an assignment in my psychology class to put together a vision board of what I wanted most from life. I had always envisioned myself being married with an armful of kids. Because of this, I had put an image of a princess cut diamond, on a white platinum band, in the middle of the cork board I presented to my professor. He informed the class afterwards that he wanted everything on the board to become reality one day. Had I known that, I might have made the image of the ring smaller.

I had come close a few times with a few different guys, all of whom had left me for another woman in the end. I couldn’t understand what I was doing wrong! Yet here I am, at the ripe old age of thirty-two, looking at the board, which has sat on each one of my desks since the day I made it.

I had given up looking for a man, knowing my childbearing years were galloping by, and said to myself, ‘if it’s meant to be, it will happen organically!’

It was a drizzly Friday evening, and I was feeling a little underappreciated in my job. I was an accountant, a good one at that, yet my male colleges were getting more money and perks for the same job I had been hired to do. I boldly decided to look up a job in a new location. I had just broken up with my boyfriend Marcus and was sick of running into him and his pregnant floozy everywhere I turned. I did my grocery shopping…they were there; I went to the ATM…they were there; I was avoiding my local because I knew that they would be there. It was always a nice treat I let myself have every Friday night, a trip to the local watering hole. Unfortunately, it was Marcus’ local as well. I needed a change, a fresh start, a place where I wasn’t reminded of the fact he knocked her up while dating me!

It just so happened that there was a job going two hours away from the constant reminder that I wasn’t getting any younger, and where no one would know me. It would be a professional and personal new lease on life. I would make new friends, and there would be a whole set of new men available to hopefully make my dream board a reality.

It was an accountancy job for a pharmaceutical factory, so naturally, I applied. When I got the call that I had earned an interview, I was thankful I had embellished my CV a tiny bit to make it look beefier than it was and set me apart from all the other applicants. I had said I was captain of the college rugby team, when really I was the one handing out water and orange slices. I was asked to join the team, but I didn’t have the urge to tackle anyone to the ground over a ball the shape of a prolate spheroid. I liked knowing fun facts about things, and was the quizmaster in a Facebook group I created.

As I sat in the hall outside my potential new boss’s office, my vest soaking up the perspiration I had accumulated as I tried not to throw up, I tried distracting myself by looking over information I had gathered about the company. To me, it was a big one, one where a good accountant, like myself, was needed to keep the facility afloat. I began to feel light headed, so I did the 5-4-3-2-1 technique I had learned from my niece who suffered from anxiety. You had to pick five things that you can see, 4 things you can touch, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste. I was still on the third thing you could see, the mothballs on the carpet, when I was called into the interview.

I sat across from a table from three men who sat facing me, a copy of my CV in each of their hands. My stomach began to churn like a washing machine on a spin cycle. The room began to spin until… the man to the right, a guy who looked like he was dragged through a bush backwards, cleared his throat. I thought to myself, ‘why is your tie askew, and why didn’t you brush your hair? Seriously, you come to work with an un-ironed shirt?’ That settled my nerves a bit, helping me ace the interview and get the job. I had just two short weeks to find a new place to live and pack my car with all my belongings, the cork board sitting nicely on top of the multiple suitcases of clothes.

After a month in my new job, I had my place of residence, a house in a nice cul-de-sac I was renting, decorated nicely, and had established a friendship with a couple of colleagues, Margo and Bridget, who happened to live in the same estate. We had set up a car pool, and, to my relief, they always went to the local pub on a Friday night. I was so happy when I was invited to join them, sitting in the same booth every week. In fact, there were a lot of people from the factory who frequented that particular public house.

Even though the girls, well, women, had taken me under their wing, nothing could have prepared me for him…John Farrell! With a well-groomed light stubble effect, and a tight haircut, it was obvious he was a man who liked to look after himself. His bulging biceps which you could see underneath his freshly ironed shirt also told me that he worked out. I liked a man who took pride in his appearance. I didn’t know whether to go over and introduce myself, not wanting the embarrassment of being told he was married or something.

John always ended up sitting at a table near the smoking shelter. I never saw him personally go in, but that meant nothing! After I had successfully completed my first month on the job, celebrating my first pay check, one which was almost double the one in my previous position, I was on cloud nine. Finally, I was being noticed for my work and not my gender!

As I was conversing with the girls, I took a peep over towards Johns seat, and, for the first time, it was empty. My eyes scanned the busy room, until I found him. He was at the bar ordering a couple of beers, but instead of heading back towards his spot, I noticed he was making a bee line…towards me!

‘Hey, I’m John. Pleased to meet you’ he said and placed the two beers on our table, helping himself to sit at the vacant spot in the booth. Margo and Bridget were speechless, and, apparently, both needed to suddenly use the facilities, leaving the two of us alone.

I extended my hand, ‘hi I’m Amy. I just moved here.’ As he took it and shook it gently but firmly at the same time, my stomach was fluttering with butterflies and had little pops like fireworks inside it. He was even more handsome and muscular in person. His voice, deep like James Earl Jones, gave me goosebumps.

I downed my current beer and thanked John for the next one. It was partly for manners, but mostly for Dutch courage. The girls never did make it back to the booth, so myself and John chatted between ourselves for the rest of the night. We talked about anything and everything. Before our night was over, the bar keep came over to remind us to go home. I looked around. There was no one left, just me and John. It’s amazing how oblivious you become to your surroundings when you’re enjoying yourself!

‘Sorry Jim, we’re leaving now!’ John spoke softly to the bald-headed older man who looked like he had a hard life. ‘Thanks John, and please don’t forget your coat this time!’ Jim said shaking his head and smiling.

Ever the gentleman, John helped me out of the booth and ran down towards his seat to grab his coat. Then he ran back. ‘Last time I forgot it, I woke poor Jim up to see if I could use my spare key to my house. I always keep my keys in my jacket pocket you see.’ John smiled at me and shook his black leather jacket to make sure they hadn’t fallen out. Once he heard them dancing inside, he escorted me out of the building.

On Monday, at lunch, the girls wanted to hear all the gossip from my evening with John Farrell. I, on the other hand, was fit to kill them for not returning from their trip to the loo. They looked at each other, not knowing whether I was genuinely mad, or just messing around with them. I was both the former and the latter, if I was honest, but I did get to know John a lot more since they weren’t there.

When John, who was a factory worker, came over to the table I was sharing with my so called ‘friends,’ I was abandoned yet again. This time I was thankful, especially when John extended his arm and placed a piece of paper inside my sweaty palm. I looked at it later, overjoyed it was his phone number.

I couldn’t wait to clock off that day because it meant I could ring John and see what his plans were for the night. He didn’t answer, but instead, he asked me out on Friday night. He wouldn’t tell me where he was taking me. I needed to know to see what clothing attire to wear, and when I said this to him, he said, ‘nothing too fancy, I’m just going to take you out for a meal!’ ‘A meal!’ I said over and over in my head, none the wiser of how to dress. I decided on a t-shirt and jeans, which fit in perfectly with the pizza place he took me to.

Have you ever heard of the likes, a man who thought bringing a girl to a pizzeria for their first date, thinking it romantic? I, personally, was overjoyed! Pizza was my first true love, and, being brought there reminded me of a simpler time, a time I didn’t have to pay bills or, well, have any responsibilities! It was amazing!

As we were shown to our seat and handed a menu, John proceeded to tell me that he wasn’t a very flashy guy, and hoped that pizza was ok. I looked over my menu and our eyes locked. As they say, the rest was history! We made sweet love that night, not even making it to the bedroom, but on the couch.

I thought John to be a decent type of guy, yet the following week, I just caught glimpses of him in the canteen area, him not even bothering to see if I was ok! I had come to terms with the fact that he didn’t want anything to do with me by the Friday, and, instead of wallowing in the painful rejection, I put on a bit of lip gloss to meet Margo and Bridget in the same booth we always met in. They were surprised to see me, and me them, but there I was.

Twelve weeks passed, I felt fluey for the first two, but ignored the obvious signs. As the weeks passed, I moved up a whole dress size, something I put down to too much ice cream. On that twelfth week, I was telling the girls about how I wasn’t feeling very well and that I couldn’t buckle up my pants that morning. ‘The last time that happened to me, I was pregnant….’ Margo explained. I zoned out after hearing the word ‘pregnant’!

I frantically thought back to my period tracker, something my grandmother taught me to do. I had my period every month since my rendezvous with John! Yes, it was light, but it was there! I suddenly rose from the table, Margo still hammering on about how she had her Billy, something I would usually be interested in, but not that day!

As tears began to trickle down my face, I walked faster and faster to my office, a cascade of water coming from my eyes by the time I got there. I stood with the back to my door and slid down until I was sitting on the ground. ‘You can’t be, you can’t be!’ I kept telling myself. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made.

When I finally picked myself off the floor, I had regained my composure. I knew I had work to do that day that was important, but this took precedent. I shut my computer down, making sure I could work from home if I had the strength, and placed it in my backpack. The next stop on my journey was the chemist, where I purchased five different pregnancy tests, one of each type they had, before going home and drowning my sorrows in water. I urinated on each and every test, each one coming up positive.

It was only 15:30, so I rang around different gynaecologist’s, seeing which could take me the quickest! Luckily there was one who had a last-minute cancellation for 16:30. I knew that it would be a tight squeeze time wise, but I took it and jumped back into the car.

I made good time as there was only light traffic and had time to find a parking space in the underground parking lot belonging to the hospital. I waited my turn, and waited, and was about to go insane when the doctor called me in an hour after my appointment was due.

It was a female gynaecologist, someone in which I trusted straight away because of her kind looking face. She was softly spoken and seemed very gentle. She did an ultrasound, and when she said that ‘both hearts are beating strongly!’ I followed up with a question, ‘you mean mine and the babies?’ she shook her head and announced excitedly that it was twins. I just closed my eyes and let the tears flow. I don’t remember how I got home that day, but two babies was something I was going to have to come to terms with!

My vision board was slowly mocking me as I passed it the next morning. That day at lunch, I walked over to my usual table, put my lunch bag down and made my way towards the laughing John. He wasn’t going to be laughing when I was finished with him!

I started by pouring his bottle of coke on his crotch and said, ‘that’s what you get for knocking me up with twins!’ I turned, saying, ‘dumbass,’ subtly, the look on his face priceless. I sat back down with the girls, making no secret about the fact that I was pregnant with John Farrells twins. I watched as he walked like a cowboy after getting off a horse towards me. He was speechless! He pointed from me to his crotch open-mouthed. I finally listened to one of Margo’s stories, one which was her idea of sticking up for me. She was a Christian woman and his jaw dropped even further after she asked if he was going to make an honest woman out of me.

John looked at me deeply and simply said, ‘no!’ The whole room gasped! All the attention was on us, the topic, our business! He continued talking, ‘I am court mandated to support the five I already have. Why would I look after hers as well?’ I gasped! He had five kids? That was something I didn’t know, nor cared about. I was thinking of my own! All I could think of saying was, ‘well now you’ll have seven!’ and left the building.

Once again I sped home, not knowing how I got there and rang my mother. She asked me the most sensible question anyone had asked in my four months in my new place. She asked, ‘will you please come home? You have a house here, a job that’s yours for the taking, and everyone around here loves you!’

I reflected on the question long after we said our goodbyes. I had no real ties except a job and a dickhead of a baby daddy. Yes, there was Margo and Bridget, but I wanted to raise my kids in a loving environment. My mom was right! The next morning, I quit my job, effective immediately, and got my hands on some boxes. Margo, Bridget, and their husbands and brood helped me pack up a van I rented for the day. ‘If only my philosophy teacher could see me now’, I thought to myself. Margo asked about my vision board and where to pack it. I thankfully took it from her and broke it in half against the side of the house. ‘Stupid philosophy!’ I muttered under my breath as I aggressively did so!

Finally, I realised that the assignment I had gotten all those years ago, was nonsense! You can’t plan out your life at the age of eighteen. Hell, I couldn’t do it at thirty-two! What ever comes will come! That was the lesson! I thought I was a smart woman, but things happen organically and cant be planned or forced. I had moved for all the wrong reasons. I had moved looking for love. In reality, I had all the love I needed where I was in the first place!

I settled back into home life quite easily. Marcus had a baby girl; one he never saw because his floosy left the country with yet another man! He congratulated me on the twins, and asked me out to lunch. I respectively declined, but as I was walking away, I stopped, turned, and asked, ‘rain check?’