Rage Against the Machine
Heather had a ten-mile drive ahead of her and only twenty minutes before her hearing was scheduled to start. She blamed Billy for the possibility she might be late for court. She had never been good at acknowledging accountability, especially if there were a man handy to blame. Thoughts of Billy continued to distract her and she turned up the volume on her car radio in an attempt to drown them out.
Heather was a social worker for the state child protection agency and her job required frequent court appearances. She often had to testify to the status of each case and with thirty kids on her caseload that meant she often faced conflicting hearings.
Heather usually saw the best qualities in the worst parent and her rapport with most of her families was strong. She worked many hours toward reunifying families after abuse and neglect separated them and was proud of her role in the process. At times, the responsibility for so many lives took a toll on her and left her fighting exhaustion, anger and confusion. She often felt trapped between her roles as representative of the state and champion for individual rights.
Her days were spent in the company of disparate groups of people. If she were a little less aware of herself, Heather could have easily convinced herself she suffered from multiple personality disorder. Two or three days a week, she found herself swimming in an ocean inhabited by attorneys, psychiatrists, judges and many other species of social workers. For the remainder of the week, she would be overcome by the poverty, bad parenting, threatening fathers and dirty children who all had a plea in their eyes. Too often, she felt ill-equipped to determine whether or not their sorrowful looks came from relief of pending danger or from fear of being removed from the only family they’d ever known.
Heather both loved and hated her job. She appreciated that her work drama was time-consuming and that it interfered with her need for personal crisis. She got paid to deal with tragedy all day and was able to return to a semi-normal home life. For Heather, there was never such thing as a normal life, or at least she’d never know because she had nothing to compare it to.
She hated the feeling of being late for court. If her hearing were called and she wasn’t there to represent the state, the hearing was struck and reset. It meant trouble for Heather and it made her agency look bad. Worst of all, it threatened to impede cases which were already moving painfully slow. Though she often had to run from the parking garage to the fourth floor courtrooms, she rarely missed a hearing. Most of her colleagues had faith in her despite the fact her briefcase usually had paperwork caught in its zipper and her clothes didn’t always match.
Heather was dressed in a baby blue business suit and her skirt fell just below her knees. The jacket she chose offset her bottom half with an aura of professionalism. When she used to wear her badge, it added to the sensation of authority but she had lost it a year before and strangely, her agency still hadn’t replaced it. She knew deep down her human resources department drew the line when she lost her fourth tag in as many years and she was adequately ashamed of herself.
Heather stumbled on her high heel and practically fell out of the car into the parking garage. She hated wearing heels but those shoes were the only ones she could find that morning.
Passing by the elevator, she shook her head at the line of the people waiting. She never opted for it because it was too small and she was already severely claustrophobic. Even on the days she was late she chose the stairs. She usually ran them so fast that she’d end up on the bottom floor before the elevator did anyway.
Heather’s success came not from speed or precision but more from her passion and creativity amidst chaos. Heather lived most moments of her life in a rush, as though every event were an emergency but she’d found a way to turn the bad habit into a positive work attribute.
She ran through the downtown streets and wondered if she subconsciously made herself late for everything. In therapy, she had discovered she often threw hurdles in her own way as a diversion to her thoughts and feelings. She was trying to teach herself how to live life from the inside. It was a dark and scary place with many secrets but something told her it was time for a visit.
Heather couldn’t hide her desires any better than she could hide her expressions. Her passions usually floated to the