Terrifyingly Close to Mr Height

holiday application.

Everyone loves flowers, was the first thought confined in my head as I headed towards the shop, the old man told me about. People always took advantage of flowers for a stupid romance! My mind protests.

The flower shop is really hiring today, so I checked it out. Tons of customers inside, picking flowers arrangements for bouquets. People are choosing a combination of roses of different colors or sunflowers and a pair of dahlia, but only the old woman stays undecided in front of the daisies. I saw her eyes mesmerized by them but lonely like it was holding a thousand memories. A tear soon came when she started sniffing the daisies, I looked away and went to the counter.  

“I saw the poster outside, I want to apply.” I was straightforward as I faced the lady over the counter with my head up. Her left hand was leaning on the counter table as she was examining me by her look. 

“What do you do?” She asked with a sound of assertion.

“You mean, tell you about me, myself? Oh.” I say with my hand on my pocket and shrugged as I step forward. She waits for a little to hear me out but is irritated. “I just need a job because I need the money to pay for my living.”

She paused and stared for a while, “We don’t need you in our shop. I am very sorry.” She said and quickly ignored me, handling another customer. Great. I clenched my hands. I’m out here, people don’t like me! I scoffed. 

“Sure, apologies accepted,” I said that line twice now in sarcasm and on my way outside. This is really a habit.

After hours of walking, I started feeling the pain in my right ankle, it was the fifteenth hiring shop I went by. But I always ended up not being hired because of my look. What is wrong with my look! I gave up and decided to go back to the trailer after this long day. I snuggled down the couch, throwing my boots in the corner. “I want to sleep the whole day.” 

I almost take a nap when my stomach complains stronger than my ankle pain. I haven’t eaten since I left this morning. It's 2 P.M. now. I stand up, checking anything to eat in the kitchen. In the drawer, my phone rang. It has 4 unread text messages. I scoffed knowing who it is from. Troy. 

‘I sent the money for you to buy something.’

‘I know you’ve been expecting a lot from me.’

‘I should’ve been a good father.’

‘Ven a casa ahora, cariño.’

I gripped the phone harder, almost broke it, and instantly deleted the messages except for that one message. My thoughts insisted that I am not going home. Ever! I rushed to the common mailbox in this trailer park and looked for the mail he sent me before anyone noticed it had money. When I arrived, many different mails were mixed in the box. Everyone doesn’t care about their mails that are mostly dues and billings. 

I was too close to loosening up but before I knew it, Becka had already found the mail, it’s too late to hide it. “From your father, I took 600. You have one month ahead.” She said and waved the envelope before giving it to me.

“What?” Hold on. I don’t like where this conversation is heading. I checked the envelope, there is still money I haven’t counted. If he sent me the same amount as the last month, probably, there’s still 1,400 dollars on this envelope. “Give it back, Becka. I told you I will pay after a week!” I said, holding my anger but my eyes are raging.

“You’re good, you still have that trailer.” She replied, pointing to the trailer.

“I said I can pay!” My voice is up, and I can’t look straight.

“No, you can’t!” Becka replied instantly. “Did you find a job today?” I know I just lost, but I don’t want to admit it, so I keep my ego standing in silence, I sighed. “I keep the money, you keep the trailer.” Becka left me frozen. 

“I don’t need anything from that person,” I said, wiping a tear that was brimming in the corner of my eyes, and leaving a hard kick on the whim back to the trailer. He never was a father to me, to begin with.