Her name is Rhonda.
She has to work late again, but her husband won’t mind. She made him some mashed potatoes and roast beef and put it in the refrigerator before she left this morning. He can heat it up when he gets home from work.
She hates her job. She works hard at it, but she hates it. She’s been here for almost six years. It’s not what she wants to be doing with her life.
She never quite figured out what she wanted to do. This isn’t surprising to her, though. She’s always been moving around—has reservations with commitment.
Mike is her fourth husband. It’s almost hard to believe that she’s weaved her way in and out of three failed marriages.
She never had kids. Never really wanted them anyway. She’s content with Mike and their two dogs, Barney and Wilma.
She always tries to stay busy by keeping the house clean, cooking Mike dinner, or organizing his socks; folding towels, washing dishes. She’s fine not having much free time. She knows if she keeps moving forward, she can’t be reminded of the past.
“Cleanup on aisle twelve,” a voice booms over the loud speaker. That’s her cue.
She hates her job. She’s good at it, but she hates it. Every day her boss who’s probably twenty years her junior tells her what she needs to do for the day. She can’t stand taking orders from someone so young. What has he ever experienced in his life? She’s sure it doesn’t even compare to what she’s been through.
His name was Charles.
She called him Chuck, which he liked. But to the rest of the world, it was Charles. She met him at her first job while she was filing papers. They had eyes for each other since the day she started. Neither of them would ever admit it though.
One day, while on her way to bringing Big Jim Connelly his coffee, she bumped into him—Chuck that is. The coffee went everywhere. She can remember how embarrassed she felt in front of him. His eyes were striking. So icy blue they chilled her to the bone. They weren’t looking anywhere near her chest, which was a rare occasion whenever she talked to a man her age—or any man, for that matter. They were staring right into her eyes and something about his smile made her feel like nothing could ever go wrong.
He picked up the mug, apologizing profusely. “That’s quite the mess there,” he said. “Let me make it up to you. How’s about you let me buy you a coffee sometime?” Maybe it was his thick Boston accent, or the fact that his hair looked so disheveled, yet put-together. But she fell in love.
“Rhonda.” She’s picking up a pile of fallen cereal boxes that some brat knocked over in a fit of rage. “Hi there, Rhonda. Now I don’t mean to trouble you or anything, but it might be a little more productive if you picked up the boxes two or three at a time instead of stacking them one by one. You think you could try that for me?”
Assistant Manager Jeremy Finkle always talks to her like she can’t comprehend anything. Like she’s a child who doesn’t know any better. The truth is every time she has a spill to clean up or something to stack, she takes her sweet time. That’s really all she has—time. It’s the only thing that has ever stayed constant in her life.
She doesn’t really mind picking up the cereal boxes anyway. She likes looking at the little puzzles and silly facts on the back. She picks up a box of Princess Puffs and reads, “Send in 5 box tops along with $5 for shipping and handling, and you can receive this limited edition Princess Puffs ring!” The ring is ugly. It looks like it is made of plastic and has a shiny blue ball on the top, which resembles a Puff. She wonders how many bratty kids are out there begging their mothers to buy them the dull piece of plastic.
His name was Dale.
He was different from anyone she had ever been involved with. He was a plumber and part time musician. Not really someone she would ever have imagined herself with, but she admired his spirit. He was kind and that was all that mattered. She liked how he made her feel.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” he would tell her when she woke up each day. His voice was soothing and sweet—calming. Just the opposite of the way his hands felt—full of calluses from working on pipes all day and playing the guitar so wonderfully at night. She knew he would make everything better for her.
They both knew it would take a long while until she got herself out of the debt that Chuck left her in. She knew Dale didn’t care about any of those flashy things that Chuck had. Dale was easy to please. He just needed her and his music. They had the rest of their lives to spend together, and that’s all that mattered.
“Leaving on a Jet Plane,” by John Denver. That was her favorite song that he played. He would sing it to her whenever she asked. “Ev’ry place I go, I’ll think of you. Ev’ry song I sing, I’ll sing for you. When I get back I’ll bring your wedding ring.” Whenever the two were apart, those lines resonated in her head like the sound of a shot gun echoing through the sky. He made her feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.
“Excuse me, Ma’am?” She’s putting price labels on all the soup cans. “Ma’am?” She cringes at the thought of being called Ma’am. It makes her feel so old. Like some angry, aged, untouchable woman. “Could you point me in the direction of the seasonings?”
She hates her job. She does everything she’s asked, but she hates it. Every day people come up to her, asking if she can tell them where the dairy section is, or if she can climb up and get that last sixteen-pack of toilet paper. But she wishes that just once someone would approach her and ask her how she’s feeling.
His name was Rodger.
He worked in insurance. He didn’t have the same sweet voice as Dale, but she knew he would treat her better. He cared so much about what she had to say. Something she hadn’t experienced since she was in her mid-thirties. It was a good change.
When she was with Dale, no one wanted to ask her what was wrong. But everyone knew. No matter how much makeup she put on or how often she wore sunglasses into the grocery store, they knew.
Rodger came along at the perfect time—when she was at her worst. But he didn’t mind the bumps and bruises, or the wrinkles that had begun forming around her eyes. He whisked her right off her feet and onto a plane to Georgia.
He would tell her he loved her every second he could. Repeating it over and over, like an old scratched record. She knew he did it because he wanted her to know he would treat her better than Dale had. It was still good to hear.
She was tired. Worn out from all of the stresses of life. She just wanted to settle down, and so did he. They loved each other and that was all that mattered. That was all she needed.
“Rhonda Klein, you have a call on line three. Rhonda, call on line three.” She’s thinking of the number of names she’s been called throughout her life. Rhonda Baker, Rhonda Simms, Rhonda Goodman. She misses being Rhonda Kloust, when she was single and had the rest of her life lying in front of her.
She answers the phone. It’s Mike. “Hi Honey. Just wanted to say hello and let you know that supper was great tonight. Just wish you could’ve been here to enjoy it with me.”
They talk for a couple minutes, but then she’s called to mop up some milk in the first isle. She thinks about how sweet Mike is and how she can’t wait to get home to him. He’s a good man. He treats her well, and that’s all that matters.