Ed. note: Welcome to the latest installment of “Notes from the Breadline,” a column by a laid-off lawyer in New York. Prior columns are collected here. You can reach Roxana St. Thomas by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook.
One evening after work, or at least the hours during which most people engage in employment-related activities, Lat and I sit in his office, contemplating an evening stroll. The office has the deserted feel that settles over most workplaces as the summer winds down, and I find myself waiting for a tumbleweed to blow by, rattling gently past the empty desks and rustling the leaves of the donut plant, which droop with late-season crullers. At some point, when we weren’t looking, August slipped away and turned to September, announcing its presence with cold evenings that jolted us from our summer reverie. Fall, I think, is like a cruel gym teacher, snapping our unguarded bums with a wet towel.
“How did this happen?” I wail plaintively, shivering. “I want a few more months of sunshine and warm weather.”
Lat strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Well,” he says absentmindedly, “I guess it has something to do with the tilting of the earth on its axis, relative to the sun. But I was an English major, so I’m just guessing.”
We spend a few minutes lamenting the advent of fall. No more seminude Hollister hotties, I remind Lat. No more flip-flops, he counters. Though the loss of these small luxuries is predictable, it is no less painful. We sigh glumly.
The end of summer is always wistful, like the day after Christmas or first love. One moment the world glitters with warmth and possibility, and even the air around you seems kinder. But when you look again, these pieces of ephemera — drooping stands of tinsel, the giddy thrill recorded in your diary — stare back, nothing more than frail relics of passing brightness. The most radiant instants slip away too fast, laying bare the impermanence of magic.
Usually, however, the sadness of summer’s end is offset by the renewed energy of fall. Fall is when things begin again: vacation ends, judges return from their summer travels, and cases resume. People have purpose! Having rested and loafed, they are ready to face the tasks at hand with renewed vigor, attired in new clothes. Perhaps this is why, this year, summer’s passing seems even crueler. This year, I have nothing to go back to.