JustLife

By T. Scott Watkins

Amy Buchanan has lived a somewhat thoughtless life until one of her friends is seriously injured. Caring for her injured friend in her home changes Amy, allowing her to look at her life and her acquaintences in a new way.
She starts to appreciate a previously despised co-worker, Ed. Ed teaches Amy about showing concern for others by only buying products made in a way that treats people fairly. Amy gradually comes to share his lifestyle. As their friendship develops, they fall in love and get married.
By seeming coincidence, they take in Mai, who has escaped from slavery. She was kidnapped from Thailand and sold to a wealthy Seattle man. The three of them continue to develop their life of compassionate consumerism.
They meet Joe, a wealthy retiree looking for a new challenge. He is intrigued by their ideas, and appreciates their integrity. Together with Amy's friend Dawn, they develop a non-profit organization, JustLife, which makes it easier for people to join them in changing the world through compassionate shopping. First domestically, then in adventures in Ed's native Indonesia and Mexico, these friends are able to better the lives of many people by helping others to think about how they spend their money.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. Scott Watkins
• Release date: Jan 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465986399

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Just Life

Published by T. Scott Watkins at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 by T. Scott Watkins

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

Amy

Ed

Mai

Back to Amy

Joe

Indonesia

Mexico

AMY

As she waited for the traffic light to change, Amy watched the windshield wipers intermittently sweep away the light Seattle rain. The contrast between the cool, drizzly weather outside and the warm cocoon of her vehicle turned her thoughts inward, leading Amy to reflect on the course of her life as she made the familiar drive through the crowded streets of downtown on her way to work.

Amy Buchanan and her younger brother Wyatt were born in St Augustine, Florida, the oldest city in the United States. Their father was a successful lawyer in this small, prosperous city, while her mother had been involved in volunteer civic groups. Since she lived in a town with over five hundred years of history, there was always something to see. From the early Spanish history, she could visit the park commemorating the original expedition's arrival, complete with a small chapel, a cemetery, a visitor center, and interpretive signs along the beach. She and her friends could drink from the fountain of youth, a spring so dubbed by Ponce de Leon. She also enjoyed visiting the Castillo de San Marco, a fort built, and used, by the Spanish to secure the harbor, with a labyrinth of rooms well suited to playing explorer or hide and seek with her friends. Even their family’s church was historic, a cathedral built during the era of Spanish occupation. When her family went to church at Christmas and Easter, she could endure the long services by looking around at all the beautiful statues, paintings, and decorations, or enjoying the pageantry of the service itself. As she walked or rode her bicycle through the old part of town, she could see homes and businesses still standing from the eighteenth century. Maybe that was the reason that she had always enjoyed history in school, since she had been immersed in it all her life. When they wanted to do something fun for vacation or a weekend, Orlando and Daytona Beach were only an hour away. For a little girl, it was an ideal environment, with opportunities for fun at every turn, and a sunny day in which to enjoy them.

As she got older, Amy and her friends would come to the center of the city for shopping and people-watching. Original snowbird and oil billionaire Henry Flagler had built three large hotels around a park that defined the downtown of St Augustine. One was still a fine hotel, with a variety of shops on its ground floor. The second had become Flagler College, with a vibrant student community. The third had professional offices, a museum, restaurants, and a decorative garden. Her dad’s office was on the third floor, so Amy would sometimes stop by, then go downstairs and have soda or coffee and listen to her iPod if she was alone, or sit and talk with a friend if someone else was around. Like many Floridians, Amy would stay inside, where it was air-conditioned, during the hot summers. But the rest of the year, she and her friends could play outside in the sun, hanging out at the beach, swimming, shopping, and playing team sports, primarily softball and soccer. She ran cross country and swam in high school, but her parents made sure that her extra-curricular activities didn't interfere with her schooling. As she tested her limits, in fact, Amy found that this was the main limit on her behavior. As long as she got good grades, wasn’t rude or embarrassing in public, and didn’t hurt anyone, her parents let her do what she wanted. They even bought her a nice car for her sixteenth birthday. Amy had thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of her childhood.

When she graduated from high school, Amy and two of her friends rented a house in Gainesville and attended the University of Florida, her dad's alma mater. In this college town, there was always something fun for her to do. She had quickly made some new friends of both genders, while staying in touch with some fellow St Augustine residents who were also attending the school. Her parents had required good grades of her as a youngster, and it felt good to be free of that burden. The party came to a sudden halt for Amy when her parents saw her first quarter grades. They had warned her that their support was contingent upon her continued academic success, but Amy didn't expect them to do anything if she failed to meet their expectations. She discovered how wrong she was when all her spending money disappeared. Due to her poor academic performance, they paid only her tuition, housing, and books during the second quarter of her freshman year. Amy even had to eat in the cafeteria, since her parents prepaid her meals. The quarter was interminable and embarrassing. She ran out of excuses when her friends asked her to go out, and soon they all pitied her for getting herself in so much trouble. For the first time in her life, Amy had to economize, and she didn't like it. Her protests wouldn't change her parents' mind, so she focused on her classes and homework and dramatically improved her grades. When she got her spending money back, she did a better job of balancing her academic and social lives, and completed her undergraduate degree with a very good grade point average. She applied to the graduate program in business, and was glad to be accepted. By this time, she had developed a great life for herself at the university, and didn't want it to end. She spent her weeks attending class and doing homework, hanging out with her roommates and going shopping. The weekends were for fun, with football games, road trips, parties, dates, and trips to the beach. At first, the constant stream of new experiences made each weekend an adventure. After six years, when she completed her master's program and passed the CPA exam, she was tired of the party scene, which now seemed childish to her. She decided it was time to take responsibility for her own life. She interviewed for several jobs the summer after college, and was pleased when she was offered a job in nearby Jacksonville working for the mortgage division of Washington Mutual Bank.

Amy didn't realize it at the time, but she started her career in the midst of an economic boom. An intelligent, confident, and attractive young woman, her position and income increased rapidly within the company. In retrospect, she and her colleagues should have seen the obvious, that customers' ability to make their house payments was the underlying fundamental of her business. At the time, however, consistent rapid appreciation in real estate allowed customers to use their house as a cash machine, constantly refinancing as the paper value of the property increased. Mortgage brokers such as Amy were able to make a very good living from the fees generated with each new mortgage. After a while, Amy transferred to Washington Mutual's home office in Seattle, where much higher home values promised even greater income. At first, Amy missed the warmth and near-constant sunshine of Florida, but she bought a wardrobe of coats, sweaters, and umbrellas and adapted to the cooler, wetter, but more temperate Seattle climate. She found herself loaning money to people who would hold the property for a year or so, make a considerable profit, and come back to Amy to finance an even more expensive property the following year. As she and her company floated along in the seemingly never-ending stream of commissions this shell game generated, it seemed as if she had found an easy way to perpetual success.

Then the attacks of September 11, 2001 occurred. The boundless optimism and supreme confidence that had supported the substantial rise in home prices for over a decade vanished almost overnight. Many of Amy's customers had taken mortgages that were very difficult to pay, confident that they needed only to hang on for a short time to realize a substantial profit. Suddenly, their home was worth much less than they owed, and many decided not to continue making payments. The nature of Amy's job changed almost immediately. She no longer spent her days initiating large loans with high commissions. Suddenly, very few people met the new, strict lending requirements. Instead, she was reduced to trying to collect delinquent payments as the company struggled to stay afloat. Her income went down, her own home decreased in value, and her stress level seemed to be the only thing climbing. Her supervisors kept her around as long as they could, but Amy joined the ranks of the unemployed when Washington Mutual finally failed.

After the bank job ended, Amy found herself very far from home, battling boredom and depression as she was turned down by one accounting firm after the next. A well-meaning personnel director finally told her that the bank failure had severely tainted her resume, making it unlikely that she would find work as an accountant in a weak job market. The bleak, short, wet, cold, gray days of winter were a mirror of the hopelessness she felt as her prospects and her savings dwindled. She widened her search, trying to find a niche job in which her skills would be useful. Finally, she spotted a job handling payroll, bills, collections, and financial reporting for a small dental laboratory in downtown Seattle. Chuck, the owner and general manager of the sixteen person business, didn't seem to care that her last job had ended with such failure, as long as she was willing to agree to the terms he was offering. By this time, Amy really needed work. Since this job paid more than her unemployment checks, she was eager to become the entire financial department of this small business.

And that, she said to herself, is how I’ve come to be riding a slow elevator rising through an old building in downtown Seattle, the only accountant in a chemical-smelling manufacturing business. Like many administrative employees in small businesses, Amy found that her job was ever-evolving. She wound up in charge of personnel, for instance, a task for which she had no training and little interest. But she did enjoy the varied nature of her job, and the relative freedom that came with unique knowledge and little direct supervision. Dental laboratories themselves, Amy mused, are a surprise. Like most of her friends, Amy had never wondered how crowns, veneers, partials, dentures, and the like were made. If pressed, she probably would have said, I guess the dentist makes them in a back room. Over the last two years, however, she had discovered that dental labs are a unique business in which skilled craftspeople custom-make each dental device by hand. In this field, technicians must join mechanical precision and artistry to make all kinds of customized dental prostheses.

Another day of elevator introspection, she joked to herself as she finally reached her floor and headed down the hall to the laboratory. Entering through the glass-fronted door into a well-lit, comfortable, but small reception area, she spied Jan Davis, the young receptionist/scheduler/delivery coordinator. After an exchange of pleasantries, Amy left her lunch in the break room refrigerator and headed to her office to begin her day.

Between bi-weekly payroll, interviewing, writing invoices and statements, purchasing supplies, collections, banking, and financial reporting Amy found that she was always busy. The only benefit of the personnel aspect of the job was that it introduced her to all the staff members. Her co-workers were a varied group. Some had schooling in dental technology, others had years of experience, while some had been trained by Chuck and his staff on the job. Some had been born in the United States, but there were several other countries represented, as well. They ranged in age from early twenties to late fifties. An unexpected benefit of Amy's involvement with such a diverse group had been a marked broadening of her understanding of the world around her, for which she was grateful.

After a busy day at work, Amy got back in her car, wound her way out of the garage, and took her place in the vast parking lot that is Seattle traffic. Surrounded by water, Seattle's series of bridges create bottlenecks in this bustling city that guarantee slow traffic at almost any time of the day or night. Fortunately, Amy had worked in downtown ever since she had moved from Florida, and her water-view condominium in Ballard, a northern suburb of the city, was only a thirty minute commute from the office in traffic. Arriving home, she again congratulated herself on the way in which she had decorated the place with attractive but surprisingly inexpensive furniture and wall coverings. By shopping at various discount big-box merchants, she had found a way to express her personal style yet not break her budget. Like her clothing and shoes, mostly bought on sale, she had assembled an expensive-looking lifestyle on a budget tightened by a relatively large mortgage and car payment. This prevented any real saving, but appealed to her aesthetic sensibilities and gave her a sense of parity with her friends. Before it became too dark for safety, she changed into her running outfit and did her usual four mile run. By running most days, she found that she could preserve her figure without starving herself.

One of the advantages of Seattle's cooler climate is the ability to exercise vigorously in the afternoon. In her native St Augustine, running on a summer afternoon is a recipe for heat exhaustion, whereas one could exercise at almost any time of any day in Seattle with appropriate clothing. As she returned to her condominium building, rode the elevator, and walked down the hall, she was struck by the number of people whose homes she passed every day without really knowing them. There were a couple of fellow joggers that she had waved at for years, but whose names she didn't even know. She could pick the occupants of the neighboring condos out of a lineup, but she didn't know the first thing about them. This was the first time, since going back to work, that she had been struck by the isolation built into her life. I guess this is what I want, she reflected. I work all week, and then go out on the weekends. I call my family from time to time, and visit Florida when the gray, cold Seattle winters get too long. Nothing had changed recently to make her question her lifestyle. But today, for whatever reason, her self-imposed isolation bothered her. As the week dragged on, she couldn't shake the feeling of isolation and lack of purpose that was growing within her. Amy decided that she would add some excitement to her life to eliminate these troubling thoughts. She hadn't been out on the town for a while. By Thursday, she decided to round up her friends for some weekend fun. Char must have been thinking along the same lines, however, since she called first.

Hey Amy, you wanna go out tomorrow?

Sure, what's up?

Jada says she's up for dancing and meeting some guys. We both feel lonely and unsatisfied.

I'm in. It must be something in the water, Amy joked, Because I feel the same. I'm stuck in a rut and I need to get out of it.

Let's go clubbing in Pioneer Square.

The prospect of a night out on the town made the work day seem especially long for Amy. Fortunately, Friday was slow at the lab and Amy was actually able to leave a little early. On the way home, she mentally picked out an outfit that would be especially flattering. Once in her condo, the pre-party hair and makeup ritual that was so automatic that she could let her mind go. Even with the prospect of fun with friends, the isolation of her daily existence was still on her mind. She shook her head as if to drive off those thoughts as she selected the appropriate shoes, jewelry, handbag, and protection. Amy confirmed by text message that Char was on the way to their favorite club already. Jada hadn't left yet, but that was typical. She had almost made fashionably late into an art form.

Char and Amy met in the parking lot and headed toward the loud music and subdued lighting of the club. The friends were a study in opposites, with Char's blonde hair and tan complexion contrasting markedly with Amy's almost black hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. They liked to joke that most people would pick Seattle native Char, not pale Amy, as the woman from sunny Florida. They each purchased a drink at the bar and found a small, empty table from which to check out the room. There weren't too many familiar faces, but the night was still young. The loud music didn't allow extensive conversation, but they were able to share a summary of their respective work weeks as they waited for Jada.

It wasn't long before Jada made her entrance. Tall and statuesque, she didn't quite stop the music as she entered the room, but it was unlikely that anyone failed to notice her arrival. Jada looked around for her friends, then spotted them in their out-of-the-way table and sat in the open chair. Unlike the other two women, Jada had not stopped at the bar. Jada NEVER bought drinks, and it was a standing bet among the three young women how long it would take for the first free liquor to appear. Tonight was a win for Char, as less than five minutes passed before a man sent Jada a drink. She nodded her thanks across the room, and then took a sip. Where are all the hot guys tonight? she asked.

Now that you're here, we'll find out, opined Char. When they first met, Char and Amy had felt envious of and intimidated by Jada's supremely good looks. As they had gotten to know each other, those feelings had passed. Indeed, Amy and Char discovered that Jada was like honey for the single men buzzing around any club. Tonight was no exception. Soon their out-of-the-way table was surrounded by young men eager for a dance. Jada would only dance with one guy at a time, so there were plenty of handsome guys for her friends to enjoy. Soon all three ladies were out on the dance floor enjoying the freedom and physicality of dancing. Amy had come looking for a pleasant diversion from her troubling thoughts, and she had already met a couple of guys who could be just that. One in particular seemed drawn to her, and they enjoyed a sensual dance together. They ended with a passionate kiss, which the handsome, muscular man returned expertly. What's your name, she asked. Eric, he replied. She waited a minute to see if he would go on, but there was just silence. Not much of a conversationalist, Amy noted wryly. Since conversation wasn't really on her mind, this didn't bother her. She loved the way that it felt when he was holding her on the dance floor, and knew that she had found her man. She saw that her friends were romancing their own suitors, and let them know that she was going. She took Eric the Silent's hand and led him out of the club. He had come by taxi, and was a little too buzzed to drive, anyway. Amy's first drink had been her only one that evening, so she was able to drive them back to her place. Fortunately, it was a short drive. Eric’s hands were all over has as she struggled to unlock the door, desire clouding her ability to perform even this basic task. Once through the door, she was able to reciprocate his passion. They left clothing strewn behind them on their rapid trip to the bedroom. She helped him with the protection, and they made love. Eric was an excellent lover and, physically, Amy experienced exactly what she wanted. But, as they lay in bed together, the lack of emotional connection between them just drove home the feelings of isolation with which she had been struggling. Disappointed, Amy called a cab for Eric and sent him home. No promises, no overnights, she told herself, just a little diversion. Eric seemed satisfied with the one-night stand, so neither had to make any false promises about a non-existent future together. Amy locked the doors and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

She was dragged back to wakefulness by the phone’s strident ring, seemingly in the middle of the night.

Half asleep, she slurred her hello.

Nothing but sobbing on the phone. Amy slammed the phone down in annoyance. How juvenile, she thought to herself, and in the middle of the night. She intended to block the call, but was too tired and groggy to push the right buttons.

The phone rang again. For some reason, she knew she had to fight through her annoyance and lack of sleep to pick it up. The sobbing was muted this time, and a female voice spoke her name.

Yes, she replied, struggling to alertness.

It’s Char, then more tears. There’s been an accident. Jada's at Harborview and I don’t think she is going to make it.

Where are you?

I’m at the hospital. Jada’s parents called me as soon as they heard.

I’m on my way, said Amy, quickly pulling back her hair. She put on the first clean sweats she could find and dashed to the garage. Fear and sadness assaulted her as she drove towards the regional trauma hospital. The adrenaline flowing through her woke her more effectively than strong coffee as she drove through the almost deserted downtown streets. During the relatively short trip to the hospital, Amy dragged from her memory the prayers of her youth. She wasn't really sure if anyone was listening, but she didn't know what else to do. She found a parking spot in the emergency room lot, then strode quickly through the automatic doors and met Char in the waiting area. Fortunately, Jada was out of surgery and her parents had given Char her room number. As they walked down the hall, Char told Amy what had happened.

Jada was going home with some guy. They both had a few drinks. He was driving too fast, lost control of the car, and crossed the center line. They hit an oncoming garbage truck, and the guy was killed immediately. Jada wasn’t wearing her seat belt, and was thrown through the windshield. Fortunately, no one hit her as she lay, unconscious, on the road. The garbage truck driver called 911, and she was brought to Harborview. She has no injuries to her internal organs, but the massive blood loss and trauma to her head have left her comatose, and her vitals are very weak. The doctors have patched her up and given her transfusions. Now, all we can do is wait. The doctors don't seem optimistic.

At the end of this whispered conversation, they turned the corner into and approached Jada’s room. Amy could see her friends' parents sitting next to each other inside the room, tears drying on their empty faces, as their child clung to life just out of Amy’s view. Then she and Charlotte got their first glimpse of Jada in the bed. It was hard to believe that this bandage shrouded, intubated mummy had been, just a few hours ago, their beautiful and vivacious friend. Tears that had been locked up by the urgency of her frantic journey to the hospital finally flowed down Amy’s face as she wept for Jada. It was shocking how quickly her lively friend had been reduced to a shapeless, immobile thing. If it weren't for the placard at the foot of the bed, Amy wouldn't have known her good friend was in the room. Amy stood by the bed for a while, trying to think of something she could do, and then coming to terms with her helplessness. Still weeping, she turned to Jada’s mom and knelt down and hugged her, their mutual tears saying what no words could. She tried to reach out to Jada’s dad, but he couldn’t even meet her