the other left

Dot sits in her car, tapping the steering wheel with her fingers and watching the minutes tick by on the clock. 8:35 a.m. She needs to get Arthur to his workplace by nine o'clock sharp. Preferably earlier; it's his first day, and a good first impression never hurts.

At 8:36 a.m. Arthur walks out of his apartment building and down the stairs. He wears a nice suit, and he carries the briefcase she bought for him a few days ago. His hair is as neat as it can be. His socks are mismatched. As Dot watches, Arthur stands on the sidewalk and looks up and down the street. Then he walks over and opens the passenger-side door.

"Good morning," Dot says, as Arthur climbs into her car.

"Hey, Dot." He plants the briefcase next to his feet and fiddles with his tie.

"How are you doing? Did you take your meds?"

"Yeah. Yes." Arthur takes a deep breath. "Took my meds. Drank some water."

"Good." Dot puts the car in drive and pulls onto the street. "It's a big day."

"I guess." Arthur rubs at the back of his neck.

"It is," Dot says. "New job. New place. This will be good for you. It'll help get you back on track."

"Yeah," Arthur says. He doesn't sound convinced.

"Did you get enough sleep last night?" Dot says. Arthur doesn't really get excited for things anymore, but this morning he seems even more subdued than normal. "Oh, did you eat a good breakfast? That's impor—"

"Yes, Dot! I went to bed on time and I ate breakfast. I did everything I'm supposed to do." Arthur crosses his arms and hunches up his shoulders. He stares through the windshield. "You don't have to treat me like I'm five."

The words hurt. Don't get defensive, Dot tells herself. He doesn't mean it. "I'm just trying to help you," she says in a calm voice. "I'm sorry if I come off as overbearing."

"Yeah, well, you are overbearing," Arthur says. "A lot. I'm doing fine, okay? I took my meds, and I got my eight hours, and—and everything else. So just... just leave me alone. I'm fine."

They sit in silence for a while after that. They're out of Arthur's neighborhood, now, heading eastbound on Edlund Street. "Fishladder and Sons," she says, half to herself. "Where is it again? On Arneson?"

"No, it's off of Speiser," Arthur says. He glares at her, just for a few seconds. "We talked about this."

"I know," Dot says. "I know. I have a lot on my mind right now. We both do."

"It's on the south side of town," Arthur says. "2113 Woodland Circle."

"You know the address?" Dot says.

"Yeah, of course I know the address, Dot."

"That's great," Dot says, trying her hardest not to sound patronizing. "You can be my navigator."

"Fine," Arthur says. Several seconds pass. Edlund Street splits in half and curves around. It turns into a one-way street heading south.

"Um," Dot says. Arthur looks at her. "I just need to know where to turn. So...."

"It's 6th Avenue," Arthur says. "It's not for a while."

"Okay."

Minutes pass. The hum of the engine fills the silence. Arthur keeps fiddling with his tie. He isn't used to wearing one. Dot searches for something to say. Something neutral, something that will help them both settle down.

"So," she says. "Are you excited? About the job?"

"It's an accounting office," Arthur says. "I don't think it's supposed to be very exciting."

"Well, yeah," Dot says, "but it's new."

"So you keep saying."

"It's a fresh start," Dot says. Arthur gives her a skeptical look. Dot stares through the windshield and searches for something else to say, something that won't sound patronizing. Arthur turns his head to look out the window.

"I think that was our turn," he says.

Dot hits the brakes, but it's too late. 6th Avenue is already in the rear-view mirror. There's no traffic light or stop sign to mark the intersection, just a narrow side street tucked between multi-story complexes.

"That's our turn? Are you sure?" Dot says. Edlund Street is one-way. She can't make a U-turn; she'll have to loop back around through the grid. She moves into the left lane.

"That's what the map says."

"A little more warning might be good next time." Dot turns left. Then left again at the stop sign, and left a third time to head back towards Edlund Street.

"I said to turn right on 6th Avenue," Arthur says.

"No, you never said to turn right. And I've never driven this route before, Arthur, so if you want to get to work on time I am going to need you to tell me where to go!"

8:47 a.m. They're on Edlund Street again, passing the same buildings and trees and parking meters. "I should've just taken the bus," Arthur says.

"No," Dot says. Dammit, she is not going to let this get to her. She is going to be a good big sister. "It's okay. I wanted to drive you. It's your first day of work. This is special."

"Yeah, well," Arthur says. "I don't think it's as special to me as it is to you."

"It's a fresh start. It's progress," Dot says, starting to feel like a broken record.

"It's just a job," Arthur says. "I'll probably just get fired again in a few months, anyway."

"Don't say that," Dot says. "Don't start catastrophizing again. You can do this."

"You're the one who's always telling me to keep it real. Well, the reality is, I—I can't keep a job. I either get fired, or, or have a mental breakdown, or something. Every time." Arthur faces straight ahead with wide eyes, staring at the dashboard without really seeing it. "It's a—a statistical certainty."

Knowing Arthur—knowing his obsessive tendencies and talent for math—he probably has plotted out the statistical curve of his failed jobs at some point. The thought is a little bit sad and very frustrating. Dot drums her fingers against the steering wheel and stares through the windshield, just in time to see 6th Avenue pass her by again.

"Fuck!" Dot hits the steering wheel. Then she hits it again, unable to tamp her frustration down as everything bubbles to the surface. "Dammit!"

She can't drive like this. She can't. She can't go around in a circle again to try and make one stupid fucking right turn. She pulls over next to the sidewalk, and parks, and braces her hands against the steering wheel. She takes a long breath in, and out. In, and out. When she looks over at Arthur she sees him staring at her.

"Are you okay?" he says. His voice is quiet. He sounds worried.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine."

8:52 a.m. They need to go. Dot's hope of getting Arthur to work early has already evaporated, but she can still get him there on time.

"If you need a break..." Arthur says. He looks away, out the window. "It's okay if we're late."

"No, it's not." Dot puts the car in drive. "You want to make a good impression."

"I think you want to make a good impression," Arthur says. Then he looks away. "I'm sorry. That was mean."

"I'm just trying to help," Dot says. She makes yet another left turn.

They circle back around to Edlund Street in total silence. This time Dot is watching for 6th Avenue. This time she slows down with plenty of time to spare, and she makes the turn onto the little side street. It curves away immediately into a different neighborhood. Dot can't recall ever having driven here before.

"It's kind of out of the way, huh?" she says. Arthur nods.

The accounting office really isn't very far from Arthur's apartment. 6th Avenue runs for five blocks before it turns into Speiser Road. The whole area seems a little mysterious, tucked away in the center of the city the way it is.

"There it is," Arther says. He points. "That building."

At least the Fishladder & Sons building looks normal. Dot parks in front of it at 8:59 a.m.

"You should go," she says.

"Yeah," Arthur says. He hesitates, like he's going to say something else, and then he opens the car door and steps out.

"Hey," Dot says. Arthur looks back at her. "I'm sorry for snapping at you," she says.

"That's okay," Arthur says.

"It wasn't your fault. I—I got frustrated, and I didn't handle it very well."

The words sound trite to Dot, filtered through years of therapy and psychiatric research. Still, Arthur nods. He seems to be absorbing everything she says, taking it seriously.

"I snapped at you, too," he says. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you."

Arthur grabs his briefcase. He goes to shut the car door. "Good luck," Dot says.

Arthur smiles. "Thanks," he says. Then he shuts the door and walks up the stairs to his new job.

⁂