AMANDA SOWIES

Chapter 1 “*So you say you Andrea’s kid?*” The smoke from Aunty Mae’s cigarette hit Amanda’s face first. Then the words. They were sharp, like the woman didn’t believe her. Amanda Sowies was 20 years old. One bag. Her mother’s letter with _422 Maple Street_ on it. Andrea had died three months ago from cancer. This house was all she had left. “I’m Andrea’s kid,” Amanda said. She tried to keep her voice steady. “She told me to find you. Before she…” She didn’t finish. Aunty Mae looked at her shoes. At the holes where Amanda’s big toe was almost showing. At the bag with the broken zipper. She sucked her teeth. “You can stay two weeks. No job by then, you pack out. I ain’t no charity.” Amanda nodded. Her throat was dry. “Okay.” Aunty Mae turned and walked inside. Left the door open. The screen door banged behind her. Amanda followed. The house smelled like old cigarettes and grease that had been on the stove for years. Dishes were stacked in the sink. A pot with something crusted inside sat on the counter. Crumbs everywhere, like someone ate crackers and just walked away. “Sleep there,” Aunty Mae said, pointing to a couch. The fabric was torn. Brown springs were pushing through the cushion. One of them looked sharp. She went to her room. Shut the door. The lock clicked. Amanda sat down on the edge of the couch. She didn’t unpack. Her bag stayed zipped by her feet. She didn’t trust the room enough to let go of it. She didn’t sleep that night. The springs dug into her back every time she moved. The house made noises. The fridge hummed loud, then stopped, then hummed again. At 3 AM she heard Aunty Mae coughing hard from the bedroom. It sounded wet. At 5 AM she heard the toilet flush and the pipes groan through the walls. At 6 AM, Aunty Mae’s door opened. She came out in a faded pink robe. Her hair was wrapped in a scarf. She saw Amanda sitting up, awake. Said nothing. Walked past her to the kitchen. The coffee maker gurgled. The smell filled the room. Aunty Mae poured one cup. Didn’t offer any. She drank it standing by the window, looking at the street. At 6:30 AM, Aunty Mae picked up her purse and keys from the table. The keys jingled. She finally looked at Amanda. “*I’m going out. I’m gonna leave the key at the vase by the door. In case you go out and come back.*” The door slammed. The whole house shook. Amanda waited one hour. She counted 60 minutes on the clock on the wall. The house was silent except for the fridge. Her stomach hurt. It was folding in on itself. She hadn’t eaten since the plane. That was two days ago. She only had water at the airport. *She went to the bathroom and took her bath.* The water was cold and it made her gasp. The shower head dripped. The soap was a sliver, thin as paper, sitting in a dish. But she scrubbed her whole body clean. Under her arms. Her neck. Her feet. She had to look presentable. She had to look like someone they could hire. She couldn’t smell like the bus or like fear. She dried off with her own shirt from her bag because there were no clean towels. She opened her bag on the couch. Two shirts. One pair of black pants. Her mother’s letter, folded so many times it was soft. And $60. That was it. She had to find a job. Today. She put on her clean shirt. The other one was still damp. She walked two blocks to the bus stop. Her shoes hurt. She got there at 7:45 AM. The bus pulled up right away. She paid $2.50. The coins felt heavy in her hand. She asked the driver, “City General Hospital?” He just nodded and pointed ahead. “Get on. I’ll call your stop.” She got on _that time that time_. No waiting. The bus was half full. She sat by the window and held her bag on her lap. It took 25 minutes to get to City General. At City General, the woman at the front desk didn’t look up. Her nails were long and red. She was typing. “Yes?” “I’m here about a nursing job,” Amanda said. She kept her hands in front of her so they wouldn’t shake. “Experience?” The woman still didn’t look up. Amanda’s hands stayed still. “*I’ve never worked in a hospital. But I have worked for people as a personal nurse. And I’m really good.*” Her mother had taught her. She took care of Andrea for two years. Now the woman looked up. She looked Amanda up and down. “We need hospital experience. We’ll call you.” *Amanda pulled out a paper. Wrote her number down with the pen from her bag. “In case you guys want to call me back.”* The woman took it. Didn’t read it. Put it in a drawer full of other papers. “We’ll call you.” Amanda knew she wouldn’t. She walked out. It was 8:40 AM. The sun was hot already. She didn’t go home. She couldn’t. Not yet. 13 days wasn’t enough time to give up. She walked four blocks to St. Luke’s Community Hospital. Her feet were starting to blister. Same questions. Same answer. “We’ll call you.” She left her number anyway. It was 9:50 AM when she walked out. She bought a bottle of water for $1 from a corner store. It was warm. She drank half and saved the rest. Then she walked six more blocks to Mercy Health Center. The security guard there was kinder. He let her sit while she waited. But the HR lady said the same thing: “No openings without a CNA license.” It was 12:30 PM when she left Mercy Health. Her shirt was sticking to her back. Her stomach was louder now. She took the bus back. It cost another $2.50. She was down to $54.50. She unlocked Aunty Mae’s door at 1:03 PM. The house was empty. She saw the vase by the door. She didn’t put the key back in the vase. Aunty Mae would get mad. Instead, she walked to the small table in the hallway. There was a bowl for keys and a hook on the wall. She hung the key on the hook and dropped the vase key on the table. She checked the fridge. A half-empty bottle of ketchup. A carton of milk that expired last week. No food. Nothing. Aunty Mae really didn’t have food. She grabbed her bag. Locked the door with her own copy now. She couldn’t stay in that house hungry. She walked to the corner store again. The man behind the counter watched her. She bought a loaf of bread for $2 and a jar of peanut butter for $3. That left her $49.50. She sat on the curb outside the store and made a sandwich with her hands. It was dry. But it was food. She chewed slow so it would last. A bus stopped across the street. A girl her age got off. She had bright blue braids and a backpack with patches on it. She was laughing into her phone. She looked free. The girl caught Amanda staring. She didn’t look away. She just raised her eyebrows and smiled a little, like she was asking _“You good?”_ without words. Then the walk sign flashed and the girl crossed the street, still on her phone, and disappeared into a coffee shop. Amanda looked down at her sandwich. For the first time since her mom died, she felt something other than panic. It was a question. _Who was that?_ She had 13 days left. And the city suddenly felt bigger than just Aunty Mae’s couch. [End Chapter 1]