Restoration

[Piers (DELETED 6390)]

The left side of his bed still held the lingering scent of her perfume, a fruity little mix of pears and lilies. He fell asleep to her and he woke up to her, even after their cliffhanger of a breakup. Her scent and her remaining belongings made it difficult for him to move on, but not as difficult as the memories. He thought of her whenever he ate breakfast--she used to serve him a particularly tasty cup of coffee. He thought of her whenever their favorite song came on the stereo--they both loved a melancholy song from an underrated California band. In the moments before he left his apartment, he allowed himself to think about his ex-girlfriend; the moment he left his apartment, she stopped existing and everything they had meant absolutely nothing once again.

Piers pressed his palms flat against the door to his apartment and slowly curled his fingers, watching as his nail beds turned a striking shade of white. His shift started in twenty minutes and he had an hour commute in the best of conditions. He barely managed to drag himself off the bathroom floor and throw on his wrinkled uniform. If he didn’t have such a good friendship with the owner and manager, he would have lost his job months ago. When sober, Piers was one hell of a mechanic, but the problem was catching him sober. Even Piers acknowledged his very obvious problem with drugs and alcohol.

When the world stopped spinning and he felt stable enough to stay upright, he pushed off his apartment door and made his way down the empty hall to the elevator. He jabbed his finger at the downward-facing arrow a few times and then held it in until he heard the familiar ‘ding’ of the elevator’s arrival. He dodged a couple too engrossed in swapping saliva to separate and exit the elevator, and then he pressed the button next to the label saying ‘lobby.’ The elevator took a little longer when descending, so he pressed his back against the back wall of the elevator and looked up at the ceiling. He went over all the routes to the shop, from stations to waterways, but he couldn’t decide which one would spare him the wrath of his supervisor, a bitter little man with no talent and no sex life.

When the elevator doors opened, Piers had an unlit cigarette between his lips and another tucked behind his left ear. He ran into a few familiar faces as he left his lobby, but he couldn’t afford to stop and talk. They waved at him and he jerked his chin in their direction, the best thing they could have expected at nine in the morning. He took the stairs two at a time as he fumbled with his lighter. Walking and smoking became a daily ritual, like one of his many addictions. He couldn’t go on a proper walk without a proper smoke. When he finally lit his cigarette, he was almost at the station, so he had to choose between his cigarette and the car. He chose the cigarette.

“Late to work again?” He heard a familiar voice at his back, but he didn’t even turn around to put a face to the voice. He raised his free hand in a lazy wave and kept right on going. The person just laughed at him, like he knew exactly what to expect from someone like Piers. From someone that spent most of his time doing or dealing. Life was the real hobby.

Piers made it to the shop an hour after his scheduled time. No one in the garage seemed to care, but his supervisor locked eyes with him and came down on him like a vulture. Piers rolled his eyes and took another long drag from his cigarette, trying to savor the last good thing he had before his break and the end of his shift.

“In my office. Now.” The short man turned on his heel and began another march toward the small staircase that led to the manager’s office. The blinds were drawn and the lights were dimmed, so Piers guessed that Frank, the man leading the way, was the only sort of management on duty. Being a dick, Piers could have dragged his feet or made snide comments about the fact that Frank, at forty-seven years old, still lived with his mom and dad, but no. Piers took the high road.

“If this is about today,” Piers began, but was cut off by the slamming of the office door. He flopped into one of the two metal chairs stationed in front of the large desk and Frank circled around to claim the office chair. The silence communicated more than enough. “You’re looking especially nice today, Frankie.”

“Oh cut the crap, Daugherty. Your eyes are red and you smell like vomit. What if I drug tested you right now? You’re wasted. I should suspend you for having the nerve to show up high!” Frank slammed a fist down on the desk and rattled some of the picture frames perched on the right corner. “I would have suspended you if you called off though. That’s the beauty of it. It’s called authority.” Frank had the nerve to grin at Piers, but the grin wasn’t met with any type of immediate response.

Piers reached up toward his left ear and pulled down his cigarette, intent on lighting it in the office. Before he had the chance to go for his lighter, Frank slammed his fist down on the desk once more. The two made eye contact and entered into some sort of unspoken staring contest. Both men refused to look away. Piers produced his lighter from the pocket of his coveralls and raised it toward the tip of the cigarette. Frank narrowed his eyes.

“If you light that,” Frank began, his voice grave, “I will have you out of here so fast, your head will spin!”

Piers lit the cigarette, took a good pull, and blew a line of smoke right into the man’s face. The smaller man went into a coughing fit while Piers enjoyed the rest of his smoke. Frank always had to exaggerate. If Piers had to pick one of Frank’s most annoying traits, he would have chosen the man’s penchant for exaggerating every little thing. Before Frank officially recovered, Piers leaned forward and ground the cigarette out on the man’s desk.

“I’m glad we had this talk, my man. If you need me, I’ll be working on the Acadian.” Piers slid off the edge of his seat and made his way toward the office door. Frank didn’t even get a word out before Piers went down the stairs and into the main garage.