The weather in May is predictably unpredictable in Portland. When the mornings turned chilly and damp, I stopped having my coffee on the balcony and retreated to my writing nook. Every once in a while I poked my head outside to see if the juncos were still there, and would be relieved to see one enter or exit the crack where their nest was wedged.
For weeks I had been dreading getting hold of the museum. I had no idea how they would act about my possible return. But when I got up early Thursday I paid my June rent and insurance, then took a deep breath and emailed HR to let them know I would be able to return to work after the 15th, which was the somewhat arbitrary date my doctor put on the release.
An hour later I got a call from the head of security. He sounded jovial and after we played a little do-you-even-remember-who-I-am game., he said, “I have a proposition for you.”
“Uh oh,” I said.
“We have a new position covering the loading dock. It doesn’t pay great, but I talked to HR and they said they can give you what you were making before.”
I was stunned. This was literally the best-case scenario for my return, one I had not even allowed myself to think possible. For years I had run the loading dock, which included handling all the mail and packages and overseeing the art come in and out. The position was eliminated during the pandemic, and I had done what I could to juggle the shipping and receiving along with my other duties, but without someone dedicated to it full time, things had gotten pretty chaotic. I had loved the job and had always wanted it back.
I hung up the phone and screamed.
After my treatment I went to the hardware store to pick up a few things, then treated myself to an iced coffee. The sun was bright and a cool breeze rustled the leaves. I got a text from a friend saying they were really happy about the good news. I hadn’t told them about the job, so I was confused, until it occurred to me that they were talking about the trial.
The former president was being charged with illegally trying to affect the 2016 election by paying to hide the fact that he had cheated on his wife with a porn star. I had been following it pretty closely, but I hadn’t read the news that day, not expecting the jury to have come to a decision so quickly. They had just found him guilty of 34 counts of falsifying business records –pretty tame compared to all the other awful gifts he had showered upon us over the years, but it was still good news. While I found everything about the man noxious and his cult frightening, but I had grown weary of hearing people obsessively whine about him. His cartoonish buffoonery was a dangerous distraction from the quietly malevolent forces conspiring to hammer this country into a dystopian Disneyland of intolerance and cruelty.
But Schadenfreude is indeed pleasurable, and it felt satisfying to see justice being served for a change, to see such an unpleasant miscreant held accountable for his actions. And while I was still nervous about my foot healing up completely now that I was so close to the finish line, the guilty verdict coupled with the fact that I would have a job I actually liked waiting for me at the end of this ordeal made me nearly giddy.
The following morning was warm enough for me to sit out on the balcony. Olivia had learned how to push past the screen, but while I knew she would love to eat a delicious bird, she seemed mostly invested in pouncing on silverfish, so I increasingly allowed her to venture out.
She was of course infatuated by the juncos, which had become extremely active. They took turns flitting in and out of their crack with increasing frequency; the chicks must have hatched. I strained my ears, hoping to catch their little peeps over the traffic. l couldn’t hear them, but I felt comforted knowing they were in there, gobbling their regurgitated bugs, growing bigger and stronger, developing feathers so they could survive that first terrifying plummet.
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