Rocket Ship

And so ends, for me, one of those days you vividly recall years hence.

After a quick and painless and somewhat informal (a word which here means 'disorganized') interview with Bud and Oop and Sue, Travis is guiding me around the brand-spanking-new Water Treatment Plant, waxing enthusiastic about the job and the chances of me getting it. Over the rushing of millions of gallons of water flowing through a concrete bunker full of deep green pools and massive, humming equipment, an alarm starts bleating. I realize it's the phone as Travis finishes his sentence and we slip into the sparsely furnished break room, where he politely answers with a formality long practiced. After a moment he says "sure, she's right here," and hands me the phone with a look I can't describe, something between quizzical and surprised and apprehensive. (It all happened so fast I can't recall now what the phone looked like. Was it black or white, corded or cordless? Was it wall-mounted, or resting on a surface?) Oop's voice over the phone sounds like it always does when he calls City Hall, urgent, anxious, always full of business, only this time there's a rushing in my ears that has nothing to do with the multitude of water flowing just outside the room or my blood pumping furiously, churning towards my brain like a powerful wave; it's that wind again, that unstoppable rush of time speeding by. "What we'd like to do at this point is offer you the position," he says matter-of-factly, and before I can think, before Jo's or Jim's face or my desk at City Hall can flash into my mind, before I inhale or exhale or even blink, I say "I'll take it." It's done, and my breath is gone, my head is empty. Some unbearable coiled tension that has been tugging for three weeks has suddenly sprung loose, and I'm free.

I could have collapsed, fainted, or maybe laughed and cried at once (which I am prone to do when extremely excited and unable to think clearly), but I didn't. I just looked over at Travis, who looked both astounded and pleased, and grinned. He reassured me that I'm going to love it there and sent me home with the first volume of a correspondence course I'll be taking, preparing me for the test to obtain my Level I Operator's Certification. The thick, catalog-sized paperback manual is full of complex Metric system equations and chemical symbols and diagrams and goofy, scribbly caricatures of people performing lab tests, calibrating equipment, changing filters and scrubbing screens.

On to something new. On to steel-toes and coveralls, on to intense learning and a massive challenge perched on the highest, most wind-blown dirt knob in Evanston, Wyoming. Somehow, despite being overwhelmed and in shock, I am at peace. Somehow, leaning over spotless aluminum railing and peering down into the emerald depths of a pool with the slowly swirling flocculator, I was reminded of other peaceful water, of gentle, sunny afternoons spent leaning over the rail of a rickety wooden pier and surveying other rippling green, marbled with gold sand and salty foam. When I got back to City Hall I put ten dollars into the lottery pool, so when Frankie drives to Fish Haven, Idaho tomorrow, I'll get a share if he picks the winning ticket. I've never put in before, but by that time the elation was setting in, and the possibilities were surfacing in my mind like strong beams of sunshine breaking through storm clouds. I felt lucky.

I don't know what this means to my plans. I don't know if this will hurry or delay my return to San Diego, a return to a life I often recall as kinder and richer than this, and to another very important goal. I have a hunch that this move might mean I make it back sooner than I originally planned. And yet, when I called my sister on her cellular phone to tell her the news, I found her at Mom's cousin's house two hours from here, in a room full of people eager to hear from me even though that wasn't the reason they were gathered. Just knowing they're so close is enough for me right now, knowing that Mom will call tomorrow for the minute details that I already related to my sister when she got home tonight. In the loud congratulations that met my announcement, I could hear my mother's voice and my sister's, and the laughter of her husband (who is the supervisor at Evanston's Wastewater Treament Plant, at the other end of the spectrum), who bet on me with his coworker, Frank, and I hope he bet money because this time he was right.

I realized just before quitting time tonight that I was exhausted and starving, having been unable to force anything down at lunch, the only symptom of nerves I experienced until after it was all over and I felt like I'd just rapidly downed about eight cups of Lee's industrial-strength coffee. I'm calm now, in the wee hours of the morning, even after having put my truck in four wheel drive and plowing into the snow in the yard because the street is full of cars and I can't park anywhere else where the extension cord will reach to plug the magnetic oil-pan heater in. I haven't seen 4:00AM in quite a few weeks and I'm not going to wager a guess as to the temperature. It can't be above zero. I have a fantastic weekend of catching-up planned with an old friend who is flying out from Massachusetts just to see me for a few days. I'm taking Monday off, so I have just four short days left at City Hall, and then it's on to a semi-new life, and I'm taking you with me.