Bob

Ronnie started stealing his father's Marlboros when he was about 10. By 14 he could buy his own Marlboros and would often sit with his dad on the front porch smoking together, while his dad tried to advise Ronnie about life and growing up. Those times were Ronnie's fondest memories. Ronnie's dad died when Ronnie was 15. But the union benefits kept Ronnie and his mother comfortable for the next three years until Ronnie was old enough to be hired at his dad's old factory. Ronnie felt like he was stepping into his father's shoes, taking care of his mother, and every time he lit up a Marlboro he thought about his father. Time passed and his mother died. Along came another role model, "The Marlboro Man". Ronnie grew a mustache and started wearing denim and even on special occasions cowboy boots. He even bought a lasso just to hang up on the living-room wall. His guilty pleasure was to close the window blinds and parade around his house wearing the "Marlboro Man" cowboy hat that he swore to himself he would one day find the occasion and courage to wear outside. That day finally arrived on the 25th anniversary of his employment at the factory. He was honored at a special luncheon and he wore both his boots and hat. At the luncheon he was presented with a Marlboro quart size thermos bottle that his buddies at the factory had chipped in to buy for him. Ronnie was so pleased with it that he kept it in a place of honor right under the lasso in his living -room. Ronnie died not too long after that. He had no family to make arraignments so it fell upon one of his co-workers from the factory, Bob. After Ronnie had been cremated the funeral director called up Bob to say that Bob should bring a container to receive Ronnie's ashes. "What size container?" asked Bob. "Oh, something about quart size" said the director.

Rich

As can be understood by anyone who gone through this, Doreen was deep in the clearing out of her parents' house. Forty years of stuff. Her brother spent part of one day looting all that he wanted and departed, leaving her with the mess and stress. With help from her husband and son Richie, their SUV was loaded with boxes and burgeoning black bags to be donated to the Old & New Thrift store, which is affiliated with Southern Jersey Medical Center. She stayed at the house, sending her guys with the admonition to "Just drop it off and don't bring anything home!"###While unloading at the back door collection point with the help of two volunteers, a red thermos jug slipped and fell to the concrete. Richie picked it up and noticed that, along with a few dents and scrapes, there were names scrawled on it, probably with a broad marker. "Dad, look at this." His father glanced at it and said "Put it back in the car."###Seated in the car they examined it more closely as Richie read the names: Joe, Sarah, Jack, Reeny. His Dad explained that these were Papa Joe, Granny Sarah, Uncle Jack and your Mom Reeny. Yes, said his Dad, that's what your Mom was called when she was a kid. When arriving home, Richie ran to his Mom and showed her the jug. Instead of scolding them for bringing something home, she held the thing to her chest and thought of all the wonderful summers she stayed with her parents and brother at tiny Sparta Lake in northern New Jersey. The hot summer days swimming, fishing, rowing the leaky boat and walking the dirt roads and filling the thermos at the public spring with water so cold it hurt your teeth. And the nights so dark. Black. With no street lights or moon, the entire sky was covered with stars, the big dipper so close you could reach to touch it. The milky way too, a blotch, a river of white. The flashes of the midnight sun. Yes, as far south as NJ on a summer's night. Potatoes roasting in a a small fire out of doors and when pulled out with a stick, their jackets black leaving char on hands, face and teeth.###"Do you like it Mom?"###"Yes Richie. I love it. Thank you.

Elaine

"Hey, my mother died for that thing!" Rick reached out for his thermos, the safety tether keeping him from going too far. ####
Harry had already gone too far, swiping Rick's thermos with a length of rebar and letting it dangle over the skeletal skyscraper that dimished toward the ground below them. Harry laughed. "We're not even allowed to smoke up here, and you've got the frikkin' Marlboro logo splashed around like it's some kind of joke." He gave the rod a dangerous swing, letting the thermos handle twirl around it.####
Maybe Harry should be the one trying out for the circus. Rick clamped that thought as soon as it came. If any of his co-workers knew about his acrobatic ambitions, he'd be toast—in for a hazing much harsher than anything he'd seen yet.#####
"How does a woman die for a thermos bottle, Ricky-boy?"####
Rick drew back his hand. "They used to put these points in the cigarette packages—"####
"Hey, I remember that!" One of the other guys gave a yellowed grin. "You could save 'em up and order from a catalog, just like Betty Crocker. One time, I got a bomber jacket." He took a bite from his sandwich.####
"She smoked three packs a day." Rick swayed a little, then sat back onto the I-beam, sky beneath his feet, like when he reached for the next trapeeze. "Half the stuff we owned had that logo on it." Some of the guys chuckled, but Rick wasn't done yet. He pointed to the thermos. "That got delivered about a month after she died. Lung cancer."####
Clouds drifted, the only backdrop to their perch above the city skyline, as if angels might be coming over to see what was up. Was it worth it, Mom? Was a thermos jug worth dying for?####
Harry finally muttered, "Sorry, kid." He leaned out with the rod, but a gust of wind shivered the structure and the thermos skewed to the side, grazing Rick's fingers and rattling along the beam before it came to rest at the far end, rolling slightly, against the rebar that would become a balcony. "Crap. Sorry, kid."####
His mother's stupid legacy lay there, a little out of reach. He could unclip his tether and inch his way out—that was what he'd been training for, wasn't it? Fearless at heights, graceful on a narrow beam, death-defying feats of. . . construction.####
He was chicken. He wanted the circus: the ropes, the twirls, the gasp of the crowd. But could he risk failing at his dream? Nope—better to take the construction job, work himself so hard he couldn't make it to tonight's audition and pretend he'd never really cared that much.####
He stared at the thermos. If he went for it, a second gust might topple him, too. Every time he took a drink from it, he remembered how his mother died. She lay there, tapping out the ash of her days. If she had saved the money from the cigarettes, she could've bought her own horses. If she hadn't wasted her body, she might have kept on riding, training the pure white ponies the crowds adored. Maybe she would have waved up at him as he sailed overhead, sharing their love for the show.####
The i-beam twitched beneath him, the thermos rocking. She lived long enough to infect him with her circus dream and died never seeing him fly. He pictured her face in the drifting clouds. He wasn't smoking, sure. But he wasn't really living, either.####Wind stroked his skin and the thermos rolled gracefully down to bump against his thigh.####
The guys clapped and hollered as Rick grasped the handle. "I'll have to leave a little early tonight," he told them as he watched the clouds. "I've got places to go."

Bob

My Mother, God Bless her, withered away in the winter of 1980 and two days before Christmas, succumbed to lung cancer. There was such a noticeable difference between her final emaciated sick condition as compared to her fun-loving and free-spirited self in the years before her illness.
###I guess some people would call her a contest fanatic, always seeking but never achieving that elusive prize. She would write television commercial jingles in the late 40’s; enter every cereal box contest she could find in the 50’s; and send in photos for most original photograph in the 60’s. But all her efforts went unanswered.
###In early 1970, she learned of a contest sponsored by the giant cigarette manufacturer, Philip Morris. On each pack of Marlboro cigarettes was printed a coupon which could be redeemed for merchandize. Now prior to this time, my Mother would never think about smoking, but this was an opportunity to win a prize, so it became a challenge in her life; a contest to attain that triumphal prize of victory.
###She started smoking slowly at first, keeping it secret from my father and her children; which usually meant only during socials with the girls on the block or during the drive to and return from work. Gradually she built up to a pack-a-day. I suspect my Father caught on to her secret very early on, but graciously allowed her to maintain her clandestine mission. We kids never really realized what was going on.
###By mid-December 1979, Mother had collected 2,176 coupons and decided it was time to send them in. She neatly wrapped them in stacks of 100 each bound by a rubber band and placed them in a small box. My Mother carried the box to the Post Office, made sure it was insured for the maximum amount and mailed it off to the Philip Morris Headquarters in New York City.
###After about four weeks a large box was delivered to the front steps of our home. Mother immediately took the box inside and wasted no time in opening it. Inside was a red and white water jug with the Marlboro logo emblazoned on the top portion. A specification sheet accompanied the water jug and identified it as a “5 ¼-inch diameter x 10 ½-inch high, 64 ounce or ½ gallon capacity Coleman water jug manufactured with high density polyethylene insulated material, with a wide mouth screw on lid, a positive open/close drink spout and easy grip molded handle. In bold letters, the specification sheet added, “This Container is Designed for Cold Beverage Use Only.”
###My Mother was like a teenager invited to her first prom. She was so thrilled; she immediately called her sister in Santa Fe and her brother in Los Angeles to announce her fabulous good fortune. She always carried it softly but securely in her arms as if she was holding a new-born baby.
###The Marlboro water jug was never once used but remained on her bed-side table until she died in December of the same year.
###After the funeral, I spoke with my Dad and Mother’s other close relatives and all agreed to my request.
###To this day, the Coleman 64-ounce red and white water jug adorned with the Marlboro logo sits on top of my fire mantle containing my Mother’s cremated ashes. It rests there not to deplore the cause of her death but to celebrate the joy and happiness it brought to my Mother so very long ago.

John

I'm not a smoker. But my dad smoked. He was a Marlboro man, not in the rugged, cowboy sense, but it was his brand. He switched from L&M when Marlboro offered two free packs with the purchase of a thermos.
### I've never smoked cigarettes before, except the one time he gave me a puff when I was four or five years old. I had always longed to smoke. I wanted to be just like him. Smoking looked fun. Smokers looked cool. They always appeared to be socializing and enjoying themselves in some desirable activity like skydiving, hiking, or even barbequeing.
### I still remember that first drag, and glad for what it did for me. I was standing in the family room. My dad and Dr. Duffy, our neighbor, were standing there, sharing a joke--each with a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
### I yanked at my dad's sport coat. "Please, can I have a puff?" The two men looked at each other. Then my dad handed me the lit smoke. I tentatively put it to my lips, then inhaled deeply. My lungs instantly rejected the smoke. I coughed reflexively, a stinging sensation filled my gut. "Uggh!" I spat. The two men had another laugh.
### The thermos represents two things for me: First, the lesson that my dad taught me. I never felt he was being irresponsible, but showing me early that smoking isn't cool. The second symbol is the cheap price tobacco puts on a person. For two dollars, Marlboro gave smokers two packs of cigarettes and a quart thermos, a tribute to your good taste and commitment to their brand. When he died of lung cancer 20 years ago, Marlboro and L&M offered no memento, no apology. This miserable thermos is it.

Kathleen

So my dad fished. In the winter he dragged us onto Pelican or Scooty Lake to sit on the ice and wait for something to happen. In the summer we went out to Little Winnie and stood at the end of a rickety wooden dock. Rick and I didn't want to fish in any season, but we wanted to see our dad, so there we were, fidgeting until the mid-morning break, when my dad would take out his Marlboro thermos and pour us each a cup of Hills Brothers Coffee made fresh at five a.m. by our mother, who surely went back to bed as soon as we left. My dad packed a plastic cup and smoked his one cigarette between sips of the hot coffee. Rick and I used jelly jars that hadn't been filled with jam yet that season. We never caught a fish while we were drinking coffee from our thermos. We never cared either.

Kristalyn

This Marlboro cooler is truly unique! It is a souvenir straight off of the Smokey and The Bandit movie set! My mother's brother acquired it while serving as a diesel mechanic for the 3 Kenworth W900A short-frame semi trucks driven by "Snowman" Jerry Reed. It was Jerry's personnal cooler that he brought to the set with him every day filled with his iced "brew" of Coka Cola, Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew and who knows what else! He had it in the truckcab with him while shooting the film, and took it with him wherever he went so that nobody would snatch it from under his seat and reveal the secret ingredient in his brew. He spent so much time with it, that he named it Marlee! On one of the last days of shooting, Jerry took his sweet Marlee, filled her with ice water, and went after Burt Renolds, his cross hairs aimed at the back of Smokey's shirt collar! Burt caught a glimpse of Jerry attempting to stealthily stalk him, in the reflection of his Trans Am and smiled. He spun around right in time to receive minimal damage to his Stetson crown. He lept back catching a few drops on his sleeve, and watched a stream of icey water splash across the eagle on the hood of his black chariot. He turned to face Jerry with an "oh no you didn't" look on his face. "Run Jerry, run!!" shreaked Sally Fields who witnessed the whole thing grinning and bouncing up and down like a school girl. The two men took off all at once, Jerry running for his life with Burt at his heals. Burt reached for Jerry, grabbing what he could-which happened to be Marlee. He threw the cooler mid-stride into the bushes, and continued after his attacker. While the crew watched them trip and fall into the dirt, wrestling, tumbling over and over, my uncle slipped into the bushes where Marlee was hiding, picked up the cooler with two hands like it was a live mortar shell, and side-stepped his way behind the crowd of laughing hair dressers and mic-boom operators over to his toolbox, where he pulled open the bottom drawer, rustled the tools around making room for his "new find". He carefully placed it amongst his wrenches and sockets, and draped a shop rag over the bright red plastic container. After Jerry and Burt finished dusting eachother off and hugging eachother's necks, they headed off to buy eachother a drink and talk about how well the movie will do. Jerry totally forgot about his Marlee until the next morning! He came to the set early. Really early. Frantically he searched the bushes for the beloved container. But, he didn't find it. Marlee wasn't there. He walked slowly to his freshly waxed rig, shoulders drooping, heels dragging, looking like someone shot his best hound dog. He pulled open the cab door, and there, on the seat, was a brand new cooler with Kenworth printed around the top. (It was something my uncle had gotten after graduating from his Kenworth classes but never used.) Jerry stared for a long while at this intruder in his truck, mouth agape. My uncle watched from behind the maintenance truck chewing his fingernails shorter and shorter. Then, Jerry slowly reached for the new blue-colored cooler with boths hands outstretched. He picked it up and looked it over. Letting out a big sigh, he said, as if seeing an old buddy back from the war, "Kennee!!!" That is how we got ahold of this cooler. We thought that it should be displayed rather than hid in the back of our uncle's closet. (He always feared that Jerry would come after him.) He never did.

Liz

My mother was flipping through the catalog frantically in her hospital bed.### “I’ve been collecting these miles so I could finally get you something outstanding…..” she looked up and pulled her thinning hair behind her ear. “You’ve always been so outdoorsy, you know.” ### “Yeah, mom.”### “I’ve got a pile of these,” she pointed to a plastic bag full of carefully banded red and white coupons. “Each pack is a hundred miles.”### “Wow, mom.”
“Well, I’m like a millionaire in this catalog,” she said, sitting upright indignantly. “I can order anything I like here…”### Pause.### “Do you want anything?” she asked, like a child whose been caught in the wrong room.### “I want my mother to live long enough to come to my wedding.”### She tossed the catalog onto the floor, tears clogging her voice to a mumble. “Low, Estelle, that was low.”### “Well you can hardly expect me to jump for joy that I can have some tacky trinket in exchange for my mother’s life.” ### “God, you’re so dramatic.”### Picking the catalog up from the floor and handing it to her, I pointed to the page where it had split open. “A thermos, mom, I’d love a thermos.”### “Ok.”### She died 10 days later. The thermos arrived six months after that. It doesn’t make me think of her.###

rob

Sally loved a freebie. She would clip coupons, save points, paste stamps into booklets and enter endless contests, all in the quest for the elusive freebie. And she did pretty well. She would just about skip the quarter mile down the long driveway everyday in anticipation of another treasure showing up in the mailbox. ###A strand of Sally’s blond hair fell across her smiling face as she unboxed her latest find. “It’s like Christmas in July” she said in a slightly raspy voice which was reminiscent of Marge Simpson’s. “But what are you gonna do with all this crap?” said her husband, Russ. “Everything has a use, nothing will go to waste” Sally replied, still smiling. ### Even though he would never admit it to her, Russ admired his wife’s thrift and ingenuity. She saved and reused everything. Christmas cards were recycled into next year’s gift tags, bits of string and paper were all saved and repurposed. Sally made most of her own clothes and almost nobody knew it. She fed and raised a family of four on a $35 a week grocery budget, augmented by a little garden on the south side of the garage. She had done so much with so little, Russ couldn’t deny her this little pleasure.###Poorly differentiated, squamous cell, stage 4 oropharynx cancer is what they called it, “Six weeks tops is the best prognosis I can give you” said the doctor. She lasted five.###A week and a half after Sally’s death, a package arrived at the mailbox. Russ thought of her smile and that wayward strand of hair as he opened it up. It was a half-gallon “Marlboro Gear” insulated thermos cooler.### A tear rolled down his cheek. Not the first, and certainly not the last. Maybe I will put her ashes in it, he thought. She would have liked that.

Mark

Dad didn't smoke Marlboro, he smoked unfiltered Camels, and he didn't die of lung cancer, but he's still dead. I’m 45 years old, married, two-kids; he’s been gone over 30 years, and every time I see this frickin’ thing, memories of him swarm over me like maggots on bad meat.
###
I have no idea where he got the red thermos with the Marlboro logo. The reason it isn’t buried in the Arthur Kill land fill since Reagan was president is because Mom couldn’t throw anything away. Now Mom’s gone. May she rest in peace.
###
Now it’s mine.
###
Good-bye old man. No more memories of fear; no more memories of pain. I don’t drink because of you; I guess I can thank you for that, but I can never forgive you.
###
Every Sunday in summer you’d get Mom to pack us each a sandwich and to fill the thermos for me with Kool-Aid and ice. Every Sunday in summer you’d take me to Willowbrook Park. Every Sunday in summer I’d watch you play softball. Every time you got a hit or made a play, you’d look to see if I was watching, and you’d smile. Every time you screwed up you’d look at me too, you’d give me goofy grin and shrug an apology. Every Sunday in summer, you son of a bitch, you’d make me love you.

Karen

When my brother and I were young, we lived in and ###ran loose through several small coal mining towns### in Pennsylvania and West Virginia because our ###father was a coal miner and our mother was dead.### When school was out and our father was at work### we would dig through the slag dump for good pieces### of coal to collect, sell for pennies, and trade### those pennies for candy at the company store.### Everything was owned by the company: our house,### the store and our father. When my father's## birthday approached, my brother and### I set our minds to getting him a present, and### one that wasn't from the company store. The only### problem was that we had no money except our coal### pennies and no store except the company one.###Our daily rounds included spying on a nearby building### that wasn't owned by the company. Men### with motorcycles, jeans, leather jackets### and hairy faces loafed there on the ###rickety porch and inside. There was music### and lots of loud laughter and other words we did ###not know. Sometimes there were fights--###it was all so interesting to us and so different ###from our father's hard-working and quiet manner.###One day when my brother and I were spying on### the biggest guy in the club--the one we### called "Giant," he caught us! We were prepared### for the worst and only hoped someone would### explain our demise to our father in gentle words.### But Giant wasn't mad. ### He said, "Hey, you guys, stay here and wait for my buddy,### Lenny and tell him I'll be right back. Tell him### to stay right here. Here's a quarter for each### of you. Don't take off or I'll find you!"### Then he got on his motorcycle and rode away. ### My brother and I were glued to the spot,### but as time passed, we grew tired and bored. ###My eyes landed on a magazine stuffed in the### cushion of an old chair on the porch, but when ###I grabbed it, i saw that it was some kind of a catalog.###Inside were things you could get by sending away empty### cigarette packs. Our father didn't smoke but the guys at this club did.###We snuck around the building ###and found the trash cans on the other side.### Our slag pile skills quickly produced several### empty cigarette packs. Then we heard a roar of a### motorcycle around front and ran to see if it was Lenny.### My brother and i yelled to him: "Giant said to wait here--he'll be back!" ### then we ran home. ### Every day for a week, as soon as our father left for work### we dug in the trash can for more empty packs.### Finally, we had enough for the present for our father.###Our quarters were enough to send off the parcel of### cigarette packs and two weeks later, a box showed up ###in our mail. My brother and I couldn't believe our ###trash collecting bought this shiny red and### white thermos! Now our father could take hot coffee### and soup with him down into the mine### and keep warm, and not get sick and die.### It was our proudest moment the day we gave### it to my father and he smiled and marveled at our resourcefulness.### And he carried that thermos down into### the mine every day until he retired.

Abbott

Dear Dale,
I have passed on to you this thermos which your father carried into the mines for 35 years. He won it on a football game bet from Fred Lovett. Fred was a graduate of Keyser High and of course you know your father was a star player at Romney High School, of which he was very proud. Those two were always clowning around and passing away the down time together, down in that hell-hole.
Strange, your father loved this thermos as it reminded him of his days in the coal fields. He always seemed to me to be a Marlboro Man of sorts. He was handsome and rugged and the man that I loved for 45 years. Equally as strange is the fact that it was Marlboro cigarettes that contributed to the end his life, along with the coal dust of course. So let this be a keepsake and a reminder of his death all in one. Why you might ask would I send this to you along with that knowledge: 1) I know you have smoked for far too long now and I want this to be a reminder to you that it will take your life if you don’t stop and 2) Because I know you were proud of your father’s heritage, even though you got out of this town before you went down in those mines and ended up with the Black Lung like everyone else. Your father was mad when you left but it wasn’t because you left, it turned out; it was because he didn’t- when he was your age. Your father was a smart and talented fellow and he could have done more with his life had he left, but we got married out of high school and I soon got pregnant with you. So he did what all young men did in Moorefiled, West Virginia, he went to work for Peabody Coal, Co. Mind you, he never regretted it and he did the very best he could to make a life for all of us. He was a proud father and loved you so very much.
So take this thermos and use it as he did, every day in your work. Your father would always get your articles sent to him and read them religiously. He was especially proud of the ones you did against mountain top mining. He knew that to be wrong and hateful to the beauty of West Virginia, the land that he loved. Let this be a symbol of his love, as well. It is a bookmark of a time and a place called home.

Please give my love to Wanda and a grandma kiss to those children. I give you my heart and soul.

Love,
Mom
P.S. –Look inside the thermos before you fill it. There is a check from an account your father had secretly saved for Willie’s and Jonna’s college fund. He certainly loved those children with all his heart.

Heather

There's really nothing left. A truck pulled up last night and we watched a couple of guys in jeans and Iron Maiden t-shirts carrying the fancy office chairs from the executive suite out of the front office and load them up. They even took the plastic plants that sat by the reception. The metal filing cabinets were wheeled out the night before. The warehouse is empty, and now the front office is disappearing, too. We're sitting and watching our cubicles and the blue plastic chairs from the lunchroom make their way from the front door to plain white cube vans. The guys in the Iron Maiden t-shirts don't even look at us.
###
There aren't many of us left. Some of us stay because of the strike pay. It's not much. Only about a hundred and fifty dollars a week. Have you ever tried to buy groceries for two kids on that much? But it's better than nothing. That's what we say to each other. We sit out here on plastic lawn chairs and drink coffee and talk. And wait. Some of us have left. Jenny from payroll got a cleaning job at the hospital three weeks ago and quit. "It's not that I want to," she said. "But I have to make my mortgage." She brought donuts and she carefully put the bags down on the ground, trying to explain. "I'm really sorry." She pauses. "Good luck." Then she waved and got back into her car and left. She was the first to go, and when she went, others followed her. A couple of the college kids said they were moving back home. Some of us just gave up. Some of us got sick of shuffling around in circles all day while cars honked or threw empty soda cans at us as they drove by.
###
I don't even really know why I'm still here.
###
This morning, like every morning, Jorge brings coffee. We don't make runs to Starbucks anymore. Well, we do. But only when we really need to use the bathroom, and we buy something small so that we can say we're customers. I'm partial to those honey salted almonds that come in a little foil sleeve. But the rest of the time, we drink the coffee that Jorge brews in the morning. He pours it into an ancient red and white thermos and brings it with him, swinging it from the handle as he shouts good morning and says it's a bright new day. Every day. The thermos says Marlboro on one side, and I wonder if it's even safe to drink the coffee from it. You'd think the plastic would have broken down by now. Or something. But it's still hot, even after a couple of hours sitting outside on a little plastic table that belongs to my wife's patio set.
###
"I think that's the last of it," he says. He's watching the Iron Maiden guy hauling out the table from the lunchroom.
###
"Yeah," I say.
###
"I bet they're going to close it down." He means the company. That's we've heard: that they might end up declaring bankruptcy. What that means is that they'll probably close down and open up as something new in a few months. Or just take the whole shebang overseas. That's how it happens.
###
"Hey," I say.
###
"What?"
###
"They're even taking the garbage cans." And we look, and they are. One of the Iron Maiden guys has them stacked, one stuck into another, and then another, and so on. Another guy comes out with the little blue bins we keep under the desks for paper and cans. I don't know why, but it makes me want to cry. It has such a feeling of finality, as I sit in my lawn chair, shivering. I thought that maybe office chairs and filing cabinets made sense. That's valuable stuff. But the garbage cans and the recycling bins aren't worth anything. Not really. You can get them for a couple bucks at Wal-Mart. You wouldn't pay money to pack them up unless you really meant it.
###
"So that's really it," Jorge says. I expect him to crack a joke or say something about how it's going to be okay. He's the cheerful one. He's always been that way. He's the guy who can tell jokes in staff meetings that make the managers laugh. We expect him to keep us laughing. But he's just watching, with a sad look on his face, and I'm suddenly more scared than I've been this whole time. I'm never going to find another job. Not one like this. Nobody hires forty-eight year olds. Not these days.
###
"Yeah," I say.
###
We watch. We don't say anything more. After a little while, Jorge goes to the thermos on the little plastic table and fills up his travel mug. He still doesn't say anything, but his hands are shaking.
###
So are mine.