After Goodbye

Chapter 1.

The wind howled, echoing through the thin walls of the apartment building as Grayson released an exhausted sigh. The exhale became voiced as he groaned, smoothing a hand over his thick curls as he glanced at the letter and the words that were staring back at him.

Dear Mr Colby,
Thank you for attending the interview for the position of bookkeeper at our Coventry store, with Waterstones.
After careful consideration and reviewing your qualifications, we regret to inform you that you have not been selected for this position.
The human resources team would like to thank you for the time you have invested in this process. We encourage you to apply for any future openings for which you qualify.
We sincerely wish you the best in your ongoing job search.
Kindest regards,
Hannah Smith
HR Director at Waterstones ltd.

"It's just one setback," he muttered to himself, feeling the familiar burn of tears at the back of his eyes. One setback that was now forcing him to evaluate every decision he had made in the last three years. Simultaneously he considered what influence this hindrance might have on his undetermined future. Permitting a sniffle, Grayson rolled the paper into a perfect ball, expertly throwing it into the paper bin, where the growing collection of rejection letters had now reached the brim.

It had been four months since Grayson had been in any form of employment, and the stress of searching for a job was beginning to show its impact. He had lost a significant amount of weight; his average clothing now appearing baggy, and his jeans were struggling to be held by their paired belt. His dark afro curls were now overgrown and hung limply, depressed by his ongoing anxiety. The four walls of Grayson's apartment were beginning to cave in, giving the impression that he lived in a prison of sorts.

Grayson had reached out to every possible job he could be licensed for. Retail shops, fast-food franchises, and he even frequented the local jobcentre to secure employment. The problem for him, unlike many of his unemployed counterparts, wasn't that Grayson didn't have credentials; it was that he was over-qualified. In a sector that he knew he could never return and therefore apply to. He was trapped in an endless cycle of knowing the truth but raising his hopes, anyway. It was the only way he had been able to survive the last four months, but today's letter had indeed been his last chance.

The remains of his bank account would be wiped out by the end of the month, with his rent. His dietary intake had already been limited to a can of tomato soup, shop brand- not the good stuff, or beans on toast. It was highly repetitive, but when one did not choose, they ate whatever they could. Grayson was running out of options. Fast. And today's letter had only confirmed the worst news of all.
If a miracle did not occur in the following days, Grayson would have to move back to his childhood home. Though his mother had pleaded, he moved in with her; at least while he got back on his feet, it was still something he found very difficult to consider. Let alone actually do. It would be another source of prison, and he was nearing the breaking point. Returning to his family, where sympathy would mar their expressions, and whispers would follow him out of rooms would only push him over the edge.

The thought alone transported Grayson back to his apartment, where he was standing, half-dressed, his legs clad in pyjamas bottoms whilst a hoodie donned his chest. Exchanging the cotton for denim, he wiped the tears that had mistakenly leaked before compelling a smile on his face. Ensuring he had his wallet and keys, he shrugged on his coat and strolled down the avenue towards the city centre that was brimming with life.

The late September breeze teased his face and forced Grayson's hands into his coat pockets as he marched onward; the small smile now a permanent fixture on his expression. As he so aptly named him, the pensioner fed the local gulls and tipped his hat in greeting as Grayson offered a polite wave. Raj Sharma, a man he once attended school with, now operated a sweetcorn cart, locals gathering to warm their insides with the buttery goodness, and he too grinned in acknowledgement. Meanwhile, Carol-Anne turned the sign to 'open', alerting customers that her charity shop was now exposed for business when she also waved.