I retired from the Internal Revenue Service in D.C., then bought a home in Chesapeake, Virginia, as it was close enough to my happy place of Virginia and Carolina beaches, yet rural enough to where I didn't have to deal with a lot of people regularly.
I did 31 years in that organization hated by so many, starting off as a secretary at the office in my backyard of Manhattan, (born and raised in the Brooklyn), buried there and working my ass off the first 17 years while going to school to earn a degree in monetary studies, then getting promoted as lead auditor and finishing the final 14 years of my career in Washington, D.C.
"Congratulations. I wanna divorce," said Laura, my wife of 30 years and the mother of ny two daughters told me the say after my retirement. "Eddie, its time for a change, babe."
She was right as she and I grew apart in our relationship, but there was no hostility in agreeing we'd remain cordial for our girls. The kids took it well, as they'd become wives and mothers themselves and respected our decision, and the next day after sharing the news, we spoke to lawyers and put our home in Arlington up for sale, eventually splitting the profit and just playing out the string until the official day of divorce at court, in which we kissed and hugged one last time, and thanking each other.
"Honey, you know you can always call me if you need anything. You're the mother of our children, a wonderful grandmother, and just good people in general," I told Laura after our final exchange.
15 minutes later, I drove to a storage unit cross town where some of my belongings were, then headed south to Chesapeake to speak with my realtor, and three months after that, I was closing on a brand new, four bedroom, three bath home tucked in the Hickory section of the city.
"A fresh start," I put as a caption in a photo sent to all friends and family of the freshly erected home.
"Eddie when's the last time you changed your oil, " I heard a voice yell.
I was in a euphoric state taking the photo until I heard the question coming from Davey, my young neighbor. I wondered what made him ask the random question and he explained he noticed a smell coming from the truck.
"Eddie, at least every 3,000 to 4,000 miles,my guy," he stated once I gave him his answer.
Davey lived to the left as his home was only six months older than mine. He and I met times prior when I came with my realtor to check out the site, and he'd actually be a reason I made the decision I made for he explained the benefits of the area better than the realtor, and well, he seemed friendly.
"You are retired, so you might have money to burn, but getting an oil change vice locking your energy can save you a ton," he said. "I'll even do it for you."
I had the truck two years and maybe gotten the oil changed once or twice. My negligence couldn't be explained, but I was saved by Davey when he offered to do it for me.
