AMANDA'S NEW DECISION
1364 Words
*Chapter 2
She had 13 days left. And the city suddenly felt bigger than just Aunty Mae’s couch.
Amanda sat on the curb outside the corner store. The bread was gone. The peanut butter jar was empty. She licked her fingers clean. Her legs were stiff. The concrete left red lines on her thighs.
_2:17 PM_.
She looked across the street. The girl with the blue braids was gone. The coffee shop window just showed a barista wiping tables. No blue. No smile. No _“You good?”_
Amanda stood up. *Her fingers touched the key in her front pocket. Aunty Mae left it with her at _7:02 AM_. She carried it. She didn’t hang it anywhere.*
She started walking. Not back to Aunty Mae’s. Not yet. The house smelled like cigarettes and grease. The brown spring in the couch was waiting.
She walked past the gas station. Past the library. Past St. Luke’s Church. The soup kitchen sign said _“Opens 4 PM”_. Her stomach growled. She had _$49.50_. She couldn’t waste it.
Her feet took her back to Maple Street. 422. The steps sagged. The mat said _“elcome”_.
*She pulled the key from her pocket.* The metal was warm. She unlocked the door. It stuck. She pushed with her shoulder. Click.
Inside smelled the same. Dishes in the sink. Crusted pot on the stove. Aunty Mae came home at _2:41 PM_, went straight to her bedroom. No words. Door shut.
Amanda sat on the edge of the couch. Not on the spring. She counted her money. _$49.50_. *She put it back in her pocket. Next to the key.*
The fridge hummed. Stopped. Hummed.
At _5:12 PM_, Aunty Mae came out. Yellow blouse. Didn’t look at Amanda. She boiled water in the crusted pot. Dropped ramen in. Three minutes. She took the whole pot to her room. The door shut.
Amanda didn’t move. The smell of fake chicken filled the house.
At _6:30 PM_, the sun went down. The living room got dark.
Amanda laid on the couch. Bag as a pillow. The zipper pressed her cheek.
She didn’t sleep.
At _3 AM_, Aunty Mae coughed. Wet. Hard. Two minutes.
Amanda stared at the ceiling. Water stain shaped like Florida.
At _6 AM_, Aunty Mae’s door opened. Pink robe. Scarf. She drank coffee by the window.
At _6:30 AM_, she picked up her purse. Keys jingled. She looked at Amanda. At the bags under her eyes.
“Two weeks. That’s it. I mean it.”
The door slammed.
Amanda sat up. _13 days left_. Now it was 12.
She waited one hour. _7:30 AM_.
She got up. Back hurt from the wood frame. She went to the bathroom. Shower dripped. Soap was a sliver.
She took her bath. Cold water. Gasped. Scrubbed fast. Under her arms. Her neck. Her feet. She had to be clean.
She dried with the damp shirt from yesterday. Put on black pants and the other shirt. The clean one.
*She checked her pocket. Key was there. Money was there. _$49.50_.*
She walked to the bus stop. _7:45 AM_.
The bus came right away. She paid _$2.50_. Got on _that time that time_. _$47.00_ left.
But she didn’t go to City General. They didn’t call. They won’t call.
*She was tired. Tired of the interviews. Tired of wasting bus fare on _“We’ll call you.”_ She knew they wouldn’t employ her. No experience. No CNA. No hope.*
_“I won’t die. I’m a human being,”_ she whispered.
She got off at the corner by the big church. _8:20 AM_.
She walked. Four blocks. Feet blistering. The blister on her heel popped. Wet in her sock.
She stopped at _Mama’s Soup Kitchen_. Green awning. Windows steamy. Inside was full. Men in boots. Women with kids. A man in a suit.
She pushed the door. Bell jingled. The smell was chicken. Rice. Bread. Real food.
A big woman was at the counter. Purple scarf. Name tag: _MAMA_.
Mama looked at Amanda. At her shoes. At the bag. At how small she was trying to be.
Mama didn’t ask questions. She grabbed a tray. Scooped rice. Scooped stew. Chicken and carrots and potatoes. Tore bread. Poured water.
“Eat,” Mama said.
*Amanda pulled _$5_ from her pocket.* _$42.00_ left after.
Mama pushed _$3_ back. “It’s two dollars. You eat.”
Amanda took the tray. Hands shaking. She sat in the corner. She ate. Slow, then fast. The stew was hot. Salty. Real. Chicken soft. Rice filled the holes. Bread soaked the sauce. She cleaned the plate. Drank all the water.
Food made her think straight.
*No more hospitals. No more _“Experience?”*_
She stood up. _9:10 AM_. _$44.50_ left. She had the key. She had her bag.
She walked out. Bell jingled.
First was the corner store. A man with Toothpick.
“Excuse me,” Amanda said. “Do you know anybody looking for a nanny? Or housekeeper? I’m hardworking. I don’t steal. I can start today.”
The man chewed. “No.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
She walked out.
Next: laundromat. Hot. Loud. Woman folding towels. Kids running.
“Excuse me. Do you know anybody who needs help? With kids? Or cleaning? I took care of my mom for two years.”
The woman didn’t look up. “No. We full.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Next: barbershop. Music. Hair oil smell.
“Excuse me. Does anybody know someone looking for a nanny? I can work. I’m clean.”
A man with clippers stopped. “You got references?”
“My mom died. But I took care of her for two years.”
“People want experience with other people’s kids, little sister. Sorry.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Shop to shop. Block to block. Sun hot. Shirt stuck to her back. _11:30 AM_.
Pharmacy. “No.”
Bakery. Sugar smell thick. “We don’t need anybody.”
_12:40 PM_. Five shops. Five no’s.
She sat on a bench. *Touched the key in her pocket.* 422 Maple Street was 8 blocks away. Aunty Mae wouldn’t be home till 5. The couch was there. The spring was there.
She had 12 days left. _$44.50_ left.
A shadow fell over her.
“You good?”
Amanda looked up. The girl. Blue braids. Backpack with patches. _“Be Kind”_. Holding two waters. She handed one to Amanda. Cold.
Amanda took it. “They all said no.”
The girl sat. “Yeah. People maybe scared because You are a stranger.”
“I’m not a stranger. I’m just… new.”
The girl shrugged. “Same thing.” Any one they aren't familiar with is a stranger. She was quiet. Then: “My auntie needs help.”
Amanda turned fast. “With what?”
“Her son. He’s 6. She works three nights a week at City General hospital. Needs somebody 7 PM to 2 AM. Three nights a week. Cash. _$60_ a night.”
Amanda’s breath caught. _$60_. That was Aunty Mae’s two weeks. That was food. That was time.
“Where?”
“Jefferson. By the school.” The girl stood. “But she don’t take anybody. You gotta come correct. Wash up. Look presentable.”
“I will,” Amanda said. She stood too. “I’ll go home. I can be there by 6.”
The girl studied her. At her shirt. At the hole in her shoe. Then nodded. “Aight. Meet me here. _5:45 PM_. I’ll take you.”
She walked away. Blue braids swinging.
Amanda stood there. Cold water in her hand. _$60 a night. $180 a week._
She had 12 days left.
But 12 days felt different now.
*She put the water in her bag. Checked her pocket. Key was there. Money was there.*
She started walking back to 422 Maple Street. Fast.
She had to wash. She had to look presentable.
She had an interview. Not at a hospital.
At a house. For a 6-year-old boy.
And for the first time in 13 days, maybe someone would say yes.
- Writer
