First Class Ticket (Part II)

As promised, here's Part II of "First Class Ticket."


Sandra fumbles for a moment looking for her keys to unlock the door. She soon realizes she left them in her car, which was still sitting at the end of the driveway. Sandra runs back to the car as fast as she can, gripping tightly to what seemed to be her newfound fortune. When she reaches the end of the driveway, Sandra hops in her car and squeals her way to the top. She and the car come to a screeching stop when they reach the house. Sandra put the car in park, rips the keys out of the ignition, and leaps out of the car leaving the car door open in the process.

She fumbles with her keys and finally finds the one to the front. Her hands are shaking so much with excitement; she finds it difficult to put the key into the lock. After a few attempts the key finally goes in and Sandra unlocks the front door. She pushes on the door so hard, she nearly trips over onto the floor as the door slams against the inside wall. She drops most of her belongings nearly hitting the cats and stumbles her way to the kitchen table.

Sandra yanks out one of the chair and plops down at the kitchen table. She sits for a bit in silence and holds the letter out in front of her staring at it as if she was waiting for it to speak. Her eyes were fixed on the letterhead; she kept reading it over and over again in her mind.

“Weber, Naden & Todd: Solicitors, Chapel-en-la-Frith, High Peak, Derbyshire, England”
“Weber, Naden & Todd: Solicitors, Chapel-en-la-Frith, High Peak, Derbyshire, England” “Weber, Naden & Todd: Solicitors, Chapel-en-la-Frith, High Peak, Derbyshire, England”

As she repeated it to again and again the words became almost musical to her. After singing the song of the letterhead a few more times Sandra moved down to the rest of the letter.

“ Dear Ms. McKibbin,

We regret to inform you of the death of your Aunt Jillian Newcastle. We wish to extend our deepest condolences to you and your family in this your time of grief.

In the event of Mrs. Newcastle passing, her will was acknowledged and instructions of said will were to be followed to the letter. With that being said, we would like to inform you that you have been named sole heir and executrix to Mrs. Newcastle’s estate. Contents in which include but are not limited to, a country home, a flat on London’s west side and an account with the Bank of London estimated to hold up to forty-five million pounds in cash and stocks.

As executrix of the Mrs. Newcastle’s your presents is required in the United Kingdom to settle various legal and business dealings as soon as possible. Enclosed our firm has provided you with a First Class to England to be used at your earliest convenience. Please feel free to contact our office at anytime if you have any questions or concerns. Again we extend our sympathies to you and your family at this time.

Sincerely,David H. Naden, esq.”

Forty-five million pounds! Sandra didn’t know how much that was in American money and at that point she didn’t care. Nor did she care who Jillian Newcastle was; all she knew for sure was her life would never going to be the same again. And she was thankful.

The next morning Sandra contacted the Solicitor’s office in Chapel-en-la-Frith and told them she had some prior “business” to take care of before leaving town. She indicated to Mr. Naden she would be on the first plane to the United Kingdom the following morning. Out of curiosity, Sandra asked who Jillian Newcastle was. Mr. Naden provided the short version of her family history and it turned out Mrs. Newcastle was Sandra’s Great Aunt on her father’s side of the family. Sandra was her only direct living relative and so the estate left to her.

Aunt Jillian was a one hundred two when she passed away and spent most of her life traveling the world. She loved meeting new people and trying new things. She was an accomplished cello player and earned her black belt in karate. In her lifetime she met kings, queens, diplomats and concubines but her only regret was no getting the chance to meet Sandra before she died. Sandra sat and listened in amazement as Mr. Naden went on about her Aunt Jillian and her adventures. She found it difficult to believe she was related to such a person. The biggest adventure Sandra ever had was when she took someone else’s clothes home from the Laundromat. Sandra thanked Mr. Naden for all the information, hung up the phone and started to get ready for work.

As Sandra stood in the shower with the water running over her, she thought about what Mr. Naden had told her about Aunt Jillian. All the experiences she had, all the people she met and how she appreciated every moment of it. Sandra started to reflect on her own life, what she had done with it or what she didn’t do with it. Never taking a risk, always afraid to try new things or to meet new people. Staying safe, protected and sheltered. Sandra dropped to her knees in the shower and began to cry. Her tears mixed with the water running down her face, thirty-seven years of frustration and disappointment gushing out as if a damn had broken. All the years of pain, sorrow and anxiety being swirling down the drain with the soapy water. After a few minutes Sandra pulled herself together, got out of the shower and dried off. She stood in front of the mirror and stared at her image. In her mind she asked herself, “What now?”

Sandra began to search through the drawer of her vanity for the make-up her cousin gave her last Christmas. She found the kit hiding in the bottom drawer behind the curling iron she hadn’t used in years. She pulled them both out, plugged in the curling iron and started applying the make-up. Since she almost never wore make-up, the most Sandra could hope for was not end up looking like a rodeo clown. Once her “war paint” was on, Sandra began to curl her hair in tight thin curls. Being careful not to burn her forehead in the process. She brushed, combed, teased, splattered and spackled only to find when she was done, a whole new person looking back at her. Sandra held her head high, stood a little taller, pushed her chest out and smiled as she went into the bedroom to find a dress.

Looking for a dress in her closet turned into an archeological dig for Sandra. Deeper and deeper she searched until finally she came across the dress she wore to the company New Year’s Eve party two years ago. It was aquamarine with a hint of sequence and matching belt. Right below where the dress was hanging were the shoes she wore as well. She blew the dust off of the shoes, took a lint brush to the dress and got dressed.

Strutting out of the bedroom in her dress and heels she goes to the refrigerator to get a carton of milk. She bends down and grabs the cat’s water dish then empties it in the sink. She opens the top of the carton and pours milk into the cat’s water dish then puts it back into place. She snatches her purse with her keys, swings it over her shoulder and twirls out the front door to her car. She hops in the car, starts it up and tunes the radio to the alternative rock station. As she heads off to work Sandra decides to take the long way in, for a change.

Twenty-nine minutes Sandra pulls into parking lot and parks her car right in front of the employee’s entrance. When she gets out of the car, she leans back and takes a long hard look at the CILCO building. For the last thirty-seven years she never bothered to notice how much her workplace resembled a prison. It nearly made her ill just to think about it. But that feeling passed rather quickly, Sandra refused to allow this place to take any more away from her. So she stood up straight and marched inside.

When Sandra walked inside she noticed right away the steamy, foul smell of the place she had been ignoring for years. She wondered ho she stood it for so long, as she walked over to the time clock. Sandra looked on the wall and noticed her punch carded was the only one remaining on the wall. She rifled through her purse for a lighter. When she found one, she ripped her punch card from the wall and lit it on fire. Holding it in her hand for a while, she smiled as she watched it burned down to the corner before dumping it into an empty trash can near by.

Sandra took that same trashcan with the ashes of her punch card in it and dragged it to her workbench. She pulls the can along side the bench, flips on the overhead lamp and with one tremendous swoop of her arms knocks everything on the table into the trash. When all the metal, tools and equipment hit the can it made such an incredible crash that everyone stopped what they were doing. When they looked up all they saw was Sandra take a moist towelette from her purse, wipe off her workbench and flip off her overhead lamp.

As she walked out of the factory for the very last time, one of her co-workers shouted to her, “Hey Sandra! What’s going on?”

Sandra stopped, turned and said, “I quit and the name is Sandy.”