My mobile vibrated definitively in my trouser pocket the moment I stepped foot in the study, and dutifully reconnected to the mobile network. The abrupt buzz against my thigh was a jarring intrusion into the quietude, a reminder of the outside world's relentless pace.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath, the word barely a whisper as I fished the phone out. Reading the text message, a surge of annoyance prickled at the back of my neck.
Jen: Hey Luke, hope you are doing okay. Where are you? Call me! – Jen
I paused, the phone heavy in my hand. The study's solemn silence seemed to amplify my thoughts, echoing the reluctance swirling inside me. I don't really want to go to work. Or talk to Jen. The world outside this room, with its demands and expectations, felt increasingly alien.
There were more pressing matters that need my attention now, and sitting in front of a computer screen for eight hours a day isn’t one of them. The realisation felt like a weight lifting, even as it brought a new heaviness of uncertainty. My determination for my new future, uncharted and fraught with both freedom and fear, made for a very simple reply:
Luke: Oops. Sorry Jen. I forgot to tell you. I quit! Have a nice day.
Her response was almost instantaneous, the phone vibrating again as it lay on the cold, granite countertop of the kitchen bench, a noticeable contrast to the study's warmth.
Jen: What?!?!?!
I rolled my eyes, the simmering frustration now bubbling into a mix of defiance and dread. The phone's persistent buzz was like a bee, insistent and impossible to ignore. It has to be Jen. As much as I quite enjoy working with her, the thought of explaining, of justifying my sudden impulse to break free, was exhausting.
I leaned against the cool stone, feeling its chill seep through my shirt. The kitchen, usually a place of comfort, felt too bright, too real. She's been a good manager to me, a thought that tugged at my conscience. And technically, I hadn't actually quit… yet. But as the phone vibrated again, a relentless reminder of the bridges I was burning, I knew I couldn't ignore it forever. The decision loomed large, casting a shadow that stretched far beyond the confines of this room, into the unknown landscape of my future.
Picking up the phone, I swiped to answer it, the cool surface of the device reminding me of the reality I was trying to escape. "Hey, Jen," I said, my voice steady but laced with a hint of resignation, aware of the storm I was about to unleash.
"Luke! What the hell are you talking about? When did you quit?" Jen's voice crackled through the speaker, her confusion and frustration palpable even through the digital connection.
"Umm. Just before, when I sent you that last text message." I leaned back against the wall.
"What! You can't just quit with a text message. I won't let you quit. Besides, HR will need it officially in writing." Her voice was rising, a mix of managerial concern and genuine bewilderment.
"Well, actually, I can just quit with a text message. I just did." I replied, a rebellious smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth, even as a knot of apprehension formed in my stomach.
"No, you can't!" Jen's insistence was like a tether, trying to pull me back to a reality I no longer wanted to be a part of.
"I just won't turn up for work then." My words felt heavy, laden with the implications of my decision.
"Then we won't pay you." There was a steely edge to her voice now, a professional boundary being drawn in the sand.
"That's fine. I quit anyway." I let the words hang in the air, a definitive end to the conversation, to my old life. The finality of it sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and exhilaration. I was stepping into the unknown, leaving behind the familiar confines of routine and expectation. The room simultaneously felt both emptier and more expansive.
A huff of Jen's deep frustration resonated in my ear, a tangible wave of exasperation that seemed almost palpable. Instinctively, I pulled the phone away, as if her breath, laden with disappointment and disbelief, could traverse the digital divide and infect me. The realisation of the absurdity of my gesture hit swiftly, and I sheepishly brought the device back to my ear.
"Look, Jen, you've been a fantastic manager and I've loved working with you. Immensely." My voice wavered slightly, the sincerity of my words clashing with the abruptness of my actions. "And I really want to thank you for everything you've done for me. I know you'll go far in the future, even farther without me." The words felt hollow, an inadequate balm for the wound I was inflicting.
I could hear Jen's stuttering on the other end, her usually composed demeanour unravelling as she scrambled to process my impulsive decision. My own heart raced, acknowledging the turmoil I was causing. Even by my standards, my logic was sounding pretty erratic, a messy tangle of impulses and poorly timed gratitude.
And my ending wasn't exactly my proudest moment. "Give my love to HR for me, won't you? Cheers, Jen. Bye." The words tumbled out, a clumsy attempt at levity in a situation that was rapidly spinning beyond the absurd.
I swiftly ended the call, the click of the disconnect echoing ominously in the kitchen, a space that suddenly felt too large, too silent. I placed the phone back on the bench, its surface cold and unyielding beneath my fingertips. Yet, within seconds, the device burst into life again, vibrating insistently, a relentless reminder of the bridges I was burning.
This time, I declined the call. The decision to ignore it was a small rebellion, a fleeting moment of control in a day that had slipped far from my grasp. The silence that followed was both a relief and a burden, a space where the echoes of my choices reverberated, leaving me to ponder the uncertainty and isolation of the path I had chosen.
The phone vibrated again, a persistent, insistent buzz that seemed to echo the turmoil swirling within me. And again, I declined, the action feeling almost cathartic, a small but significant assertion of my newfound resolve. Opting for a less confrontational medium, I tapped out another message to Jen, my fingers moving hesitantly over the screen:
Luke: Jen I quit! Jamie and I are getting married and I am finally moving to Paris! Yay!
The words felt surreal, even as I sent them, a mix of truth and evasion dancing in the digital space between us.
Jen: OMG Congratulations you guys! Why didn't you just tell me that?????!!!!
Her enthusiasm, punctuated by a flurry of question marks and exclamation points, seemed almost alien in the context of our previous exchange. It was a stark contrast to the heaviness sitting in my chest.
Luke: We're keeping it quiet. Only a few people know.
It was the truth, or at least a version of it. The real truth was messier, tangled in a web of decisions and doubts that I wasn't ready to unravel.
Jen: HR will still need your official notice in writing.
Even in my quest for a new beginning, the old rules followed, a reminder that not all cords could be cut with a simple text message.
The phone vibrated yet again, a relentless reminder of the world I was trying to distance myself from. And again, I ignored it. What part of "I don't want to talk to you" does Jen not understand? The question echoed in my mind, a silent plea for understanding, for space.
Jen: Luke answer your phone!
Her message popped up, another instalment in this unwanted drama. I could almost hear her voice, the mix of frustration and concern that I knew was laced through the words.
I facepalmed, the gesture one of sheer exasperation. What more can I do to help her understand? The silence I sought seemed as elusive as ever, the digital ties binding me to my old life proving harder to sever than I'd anticipated.
With a sigh, I turned the phone off, the screen going dark, a small but definitive barrier against the onslaught of messages and expectations. I just want to be left alone. The thought was a whisper in the back of my mind, a simple desire in the midst of this complex farewell. The quiet that followed was both a relief and a reminder of the solitude I had sought, a momentary peace amidst the storm of change.
