Humans never realize how heavily they rely on trust. You always trust that things will go a certain way, will fall into their respective place in the world. You trust that the sandwich you are eating for lunch will be prepared in a sanitary manner, you trust that your flight back from a business trip in Chicago will take off and land without incident, you trust that the Ford Explorer at the intersection will stop for the red light. You spend a lot of your life trusting that things will go normally.
I woke up that morning, ready to enter the outside world full of my normal trust in things. I had hot water for my shower, didn’t run out of toothpaste or shaving cream. Minor accomplishments, but trust earned nonetheless. Every little bit counts.
My regular routine led me to the train station to catch the local 7:56 downtown. It was two minutes late, but I trusted it would come. Everyone has an off day, and two minutes is nothing to have a heart attack over. After gliding down the tracks without incident, I stepped off the train at City Center, a story deep into the ground. The stairs took me to the main terminal of the station, the escalator took me to the surface of the city; the elevator took me to the 27th floor, where my office resides. My foot didn’t get mangled in the escalator; the elevator didn’t skydive with the help of gravity. I arrived safely in my corner office, fully furnished, a beautiful glass-topped desk stood proud as the centerpiece. It overlooked the eastern half of the city, and a little bit more on the clear days. Lo and behold, the view was still there, just as I trusted it would be. I hadn’t been in my office for a week, just returning from Chicago, representing one of the bigger names in my portfolio of cases. My boss stopped by a little after I started my workday. He didn’t have too much to say.
-Have a nice weekend Trev?
-Yeah. The wife and I took the kids up to the lake.
-Excellent. Nice weather for it?
-A little cloudy in the morning, but it cleared up nicely by the afternoon.
-Sounds great. You’ll have the Zimmerman case ready for me at 3 today right?
My computer booted as normal, I had pens, paper, post-it notes. If I messed up, White Out was at my disposal. My printer had ink and toner; my voice mail recorded each message and notified me of them when I returned to my office. Judge McMannon took the plea bargain for manslaughter, just as I trusted he would. Each daily success becomes a droplet of trust that you absorb.
Lunch that day was uneventful. I headed down to the deli on Market Street, ordering a turkey and provolone on rye with mayo and lettuce, and one of those cool dill pickle slices, the long ones, not the round ones. All the food was fresh, chilled to appropriate temperatures. My lunch hour ticked by, as it should, and I returned to my office to finish a day’s work. I had to write a few case briefs for a handful of small trials that were scheduled to start next week, as well as call a couple of clients to check in on their statuses, but overall, nothing major.
I called home during the afternoon to check in on my wife. She used to work at a small baby boutique, two towns over, but arthritis in her knee recently kept her sidelined from the job.
-How is the knee treating you?
-Not too bad today. I swear it’s because it’s not raining.
-That’s good to hear. Are you still meeting up with Ness after dinner tonight?
-Probably, but only for a little bit. She has to pick up Connor from indoor soccer at 8.
-What time will you be home?
-I can probably head out a little early since the caseload is light right now. I’ll probably take the 4:36 out of the city, which should get me home a little after 5.
-Ok. I’ll see you then. Love you Trev.
I trusted that the phone would connect, that the numbers I dialed would direct me to my home, and they did. I trusted that it would be my wife’s voice I would hear in my earpiece and it was.
I lucked out and was able to head out of the office like I predicted. I strolled the couple of blocks down the street back to the underground train station and hopped on an outbound Route 5. Just like the ride in, I glided down the rails with no problems, and stepped off at my destination. I trusted that my car had not moved since I left it in the parking lot in the morning, and sitting in spot number 13, a freshly washed Volkswagen Passat, a hunter green color, with a beautiful shine. I put the key in the ignition, turned and started the car. Slipping the manual transmission into first gear and giving it a little gas, I was rolling towards the exit.
The house that I own rests less than a mile from the train station. I turned out of the parking lot and headed down Main Street towards my abode. I trusted that the direction I was driving would lead me home. I trusted that the Ford Explorer would stop for the red light at the intersection.
I trusted that my airbag would deploy.
