“Cleveland Crash”

c. 2019 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-19)

Friendship.

A human bond that may exceed the limits of logic, self-discipline, practicality, and decorum. A partnership often deeper and more everlasting than any romantic paring. A connection likely to endure across decades of mortal existence and beyond the finality of death itself.

This is the definition of my non-marriage to Janis.

When I arrived at my last supermarket, as Co-Manager in Geneva, Ohio, she was there already. A clerk and dependable member of the crew. Bohemian as we used to say. A feral cat in human form. One who was wild but pure, not unlike Janis Joplin, the singer and 60’s icon. With long, scattered hair and no makeup. Wearing clothes that looked like thrift-store merchandise given new purpose. Sometimes, adorned with a plastic spider around her neck. She had been cross-trained to perform various responsibilities, including stock replenishment, cashiering, ordering, receiving deliveries and file maintenance. All of these tasks were accomplished with the same indifference to convention or formality. She did the job. But made little effort to mimic habits of her coworkers. Her preferred spot on the store map was one colored by shadows. She sought no accolades or career advancement. Her persistence was driven by basic need. Working for a paycheck. To get cigarette money and funds for Chinese food or Taco Bell.

Our friendship was forged in iron, after the Store Leader and Human Resource Manager approached me with her personnel file. They hoped I would ponder this accumulation of paperwork, critically. Each insisted that our out-of-the-mainstream employee deserved to be terminated. Yet a quick review uncovered only random notices of discipline, for minor infractions. The sort of ticky-tack fouls that could have been called against nearly every associate on our team. I reckoned that their negative opinions were more founded on distaste for her rough exterior than for real incompatibility in the workplace. As someone carrying a toolkit of various skills, I reckoned that her employment would be guaranteed for life at one of the company’s corporate-owned locations.

When I voiced this opinion, it fell like a meteorite in the sea. Swallowed up with waves of disbelief, shock, and frustration. We did not discuss the issue again as a trio of salaried supervisors.

Janis continued her service over the years, seeking no particular distinction. She labored, simply, for a paycheck. But I learned to depend on her for extra duties. When our business sold to a new owner in the chain, one who already held the Ashtabula location, she transferred to that store as Head Receiver. This happened in 2016. Shortly afterward, my tour-of-duty came to an end. Health concerns pushed me toward retirement and disability. But we remained close, even at a distance.

She worked six days out of the week.

We normally saw each other only on Sunday. For a trip to the Waffle House in Austinburg or Mary’s Diner, closer to home. At first, these encounters over comfort food were heavy with stories of accomplishment and satisfaction. But in recent months I noted a change in tone. From her typical, free-spirited, breezy sort of thinking, to a darker mood. She complained often about fatigue. Sometimes oversleeping in the early morning, when her workday was about to begin. She was late and late again. A vexing problem because of her important position. Though I did not know it at the time, she had begun to slip in work quality and accuracy. A dreadful development as steward of vendors with incoming merchandise.

Sadly, she never mentioned being coached or disciplined.

Meanwhile, I suggested a doctor visit to assess her personal health. My own physician was friendly and caring. A woman that seemed perfect to handle this feral feline with respect. Instead of arguing, she accepted. I was surprised, but happy.

Days before the appointment, Janis revealed that she had lost her position in Ashtabula. This ended a streak of employment that spanned 13 years. My stomach churned with agony. Yet typically, she professed little concern. I urged her to keep the date with my doctor. Her health insurance was likely to continue for at least a few more weeks. She agreed reluctantly. In reflection, I sensed that she knew that her body had reached a point of exhaustion.

To ensure her attendance at the clinic in Madison, I volunteered for chauffeur duty. My Ford truck served as her personal taxi. I arrived early, stalled only by a train on North Myers Road. At the doctor’s office, she fumbled through forms authorizing care with obvious disinterest. Almost like considering a plate of sour lemons at a buffet. I sat in the waiting room while she was ushered toward an exam cubicle. The expense of time seemed like a bargain because I knew it would help her endure. I only hoped that any admonitions of healthy conduct would sound sweet in her ears. Not bitter with the din of dire predictions.

She appeared after about 30 minutes. “You have to take me to the emergency room in Geneva,” she spoke with numbness. “My blood pressure is very high...”

I tilted my head. A maneuver often used at home by my Labrador Retriever to indicate serious consideration before an unwelcome task. “The emergency room?”

“We have to go… now,” she repeated. The doctor says to take me immediately.”

At Geneva Hospital, Janis registered a blood pressure of 258/158. Amazingly, with no obvious symptoms such as a headache, sweating, or jitters. The ER physician immediately suspected Renal Hypertension. But tests revealed other issues. She had a cyst on one of her ovaries. With no shame, she confessed having discontinued medicines in the past because they were a bother. Something I did not know.

After a long wait, she gave us more unexpected news. “They are going to send me downtown, to Cleveland. The main University Hospitals location.”

I gasped out loud.

Her residence at the facility lasted for six days. They poked and prodded as medical professionals are known to do, considering every possibility. Her brain showed evidence of having survived small strokes. I realized that her endurance with on-the-job duties had been a sort of miracle. Having to check in product and break down a complete grocery order every day was stressful work. The schedule must have taxed her body to the point of breaking. In a sense, I felt that she was released from service because of this silent sickness. A pity. Empathy for a suffering member of the team seemed more appropriate than being discharged.

But perhaps it had saved her life.

I visited during her stay with co-pilot assistance from my younger sister. My own disability made navigating the streets of Cleveland less than ideal. Yet we stayed connected, in person or over the network. I kept my cellular device nearby throughout the week. When enough examinations had transpired, Janis was freed from her room in the Lerner Tower. Her adoptive mother, who was another member of the crew in Geneva, provided homespun Uber service back to Ashtabula County.

Visiting the pharmacy in town, hours later, felt very strange.

It rained through the evening. Fogging my vision and multiplying threads of stray light like cobwebs left from the woeful experience. Janis played on her phone as if nothing had happened. Still, occasionally, she began to choke on tears when revisiting her ordeal. Never surrendering to the weight of her burden. But wounded without words.

My observations were met with defiance, or deafness. “I know you do not believe in God. But on an occasion like this, it is appropriate to say that he allows u-turns in life. Hell, atheists can make u-turns. Anyone can...”

She pretended not to hear.

“This was a wake-up call,” I continued. “You could have been alone, on the concrete floor at work. Do you understand?”

She scrolled through noisy video clips on her Facebook account.

“You deserve a second chance,” I declared. “Call your store. Talk to the owner.”

Janis frowned and tightened her jaws. “I don’t want to go back there. Never.”

Worry over her crash made me weak. I surrendered without further combat. My energy would be needed in the days ahead. For trips to seek Medicare coverage, more doctor visits, perhaps public assistance, and ultimately, a new job.

I was her friend. A connection made to keep.

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