On Top of the World

by Donna Carey © 2006

Who would ever forget the brightness of that morning?

Rays of sunshine streamed through the blinds of her bedroom window and shined in her eyes, but Louise Gustafson was already awake. Indeed, she had never slept. Terrible cramps and nausea had kept her staggering back and forth to the bathroom all night long. The worst would be over by morning, she had told herself. It had to be. But it was already six fifteen a.m. and she was gagging and rushing again toward the cold embrace of the porcelain bowl.

Mondays were always busy. As manager of a small consulting firm, Louise kept the office running smoothly. She had arranged a Board meeting for ten, and she just had to be there. In an effort to pull herself together, she splashed water on her face and began to brush her teeth, but another wave of nausea left her bent over and retching. Fighting vertigo, she managed to clean off most of the mess and, hugging the wall, she dragged herself back to bed, where she lay in a cold sweat and waited for the next onslaught.

Weak from the tremors, at seven thirty Louise gave in. She phoned the office and left a message. In seven years, she had never missed a day. She loved it there; the work was absorbing and the pay was good; but best of all, the people were wonderful—they had become her family. She would get sick today of all days, when they were taking John to lunch for his fortieth birthday.

John Esposito was the accountant, and Louise had grown close to him and his wife, Grace. She worked in the same building, but was with a different company, and her office was a floor above them.

After work, Louise often took the ferry out to Staten Island with her friends. They'd prepare dinner—John was the chef of the house and his Eggplant Parmesan was to drool over--while Louise, not much of a cook, stayed in the living room and read to the children, Andy and Gwen. They were such lovely kids, full of fun and curiosity. Sometimes on Sundays Louise come over and took them to the park or stayed over on a Saturday night so that their parents could have an evening out.

Louise, an only child, had grown up on a bleak farm in Nebraska. Her mother had died before Louise was two, and her father had taken to drink. He had not married again, leaving Louise lonely and comfortless. A shy and bookish girl, she longed for friends who would understand her, and daydreamed of traveling to the places she had read about. New York City, far enough away to seem exotic, seemed to her a bright beacon and a gateway to everything the world had to offer.

How far she had come--who would believe it? Sometimes she had to pinch herself. That she, Louise Gustafson, a farm girl from Nebraska, was here in the Big Apple—living in her own apartment, with close friends, and a terrific job.

From her office on the eightieth floor of the World Trade Center, the glittery city spread out before her like a dream.

The End

Donia Carey lives, sings, and writes on Cape Cod, where she eats fish but no longer catches them. She is a former editor of The Madhatters' Review and her stories have appeared in that journal, and in Girls with Insurance, VerbSap, The Angler, Perigee, and Write Side Up, among others.