Under the Pile

He had been searching for a job for months. He had a daughter in the second grade. He was tense, always tired, always calculating.

He even tried learning to drive, thinking maybe he could get a driver’s job. He failed the test.

"Hey, beautiful girl, how was school today?" He asked his daughter as he placed the stone on the shelf. He did this every night.

"It was nice." Replied the daughter with a bright smile.

His daughter’s school fee deadline had passed. The school gave him a second chance, generously, helplessly, with a fine.

They lived in a small house far from the city. Winter had arrived, and his daughter had caught a cold.

Then he got a job. A data-entry job.

Just enough.

When it was time to get paid, there was an error with his bank account. He went back to the office. They tried again. This time, the transaction went through.

The school accepted only cheques.

He signed one and rushed to the school. It was the last day of the second chance. The queue was long, full of other parents who had also been given one more day to breathe. A teacher advised him to go directly to the bank and deposit the cheque, just to be safe.

So he went.

The queue wasn’t long, thanks to the bank’s management system. When his turn came, he handed the cheque to the clerk.

“It’s not signed.”

In the hurry, he had forgotten. He searched for a pen. He had none.

He asked. The clerk gave him one—it was empty. She gave him another.

He signed.

His work was done.

The next day, he found out the cheque had bounced.

His daughter was expelled.

He went home. He placed the stone on the shelf... it broke.