Cracking Concrete

Ceril chips away at concrete in the afternoon sun. His body has become a bronze statue over the summer; muscles lean and cut, colored with rays of heat shimmering off sweaty flesh. He thinks to himself, This is penance for faulty karma, for an unknown wrong in a previous existence. What have I done to the universe? Ceril has to consider this to keep himself sane. How else can he explain why an intelligent man is making a living doing grunt work for morons?

It’s 95 degrees. His last boss would cancel the work day when temps approached 90. But goofball Billy needs to brag about hours on site. Even his satellite crews hate him. Job turnover is one season; long enough for the builder, welder, bricklayer, drywall installer to get a sense of the cocksucker and get the fuck out of Dodge. Ceril is surprised Billy is still alive. He gets at least one threat per crew. Most of these are to save face after a public slight. A few are backed up with weapons. A plumber showed up one day with an AR and Ceril sipped coffee in the cab of his Toyota until the screaming stopped. Billy was one percent kinder that day. Still, the crew wanted to kick his ass when the shift was done.

“Ceril! How is it possible to fuck up your job?”

“What do you mean, Billy?”

“The blocks in that pile are too big. Do ’em over. You cost me an extra hour.”

Ceril imagines his sledgehammer falling on Billy’s skull. At least 20 guys would buy him a beer at Duke’s bar. Then he’d have to pay the consequences. And where would Billy be? Is there really a hell for toxic souls? What if earth is the dumping ground? Last stop on the karmic cruise. That would be beautiful. God would be laughing his ass off.

Ceril recracks the pile of concrete. In between breaths he thinks of the double IPAs in the back of his fridge. Just one will calm him down. Two will make him forget Billy for the evening. In the morning he’ll remember him again and get sucked into his boss’s terrible tractor beam.

Ceril stops cracking when he notices Nick, the project manager, having a heated discussion with Billy. He’s screaming close to the foreman’s face. Ceril knows this is way worse than a pile of wrong-sized rubble.

When Nick is finished, he passes by Ceril’s workspace. He glances at the broken concrete, then at Ceril.

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine, sir.”

“I’m getting a replacement for your asshole boss. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, sir. Fine with me.”

Nick looks at Ceril for what seems to be a long moment, continues walking to the parking lot. As their transaction sinks in, Ceril’s spirit soars. His second wind propels him through the remaining concrete, carries him to his car even though he’s dead tired.

Pulling off the site, Ceril sees Billy in his rearview mirror. The devil looks defeated, done, and Ceril thinks that’s the way it should be.