Selling My Soul for My Kids

Home Early

I told myself I couldn’t cry on the way home. I didn’t want Shanetta to ask me any questions. I didn’t want to explain that I had just been fired, and why. I just couldn’t handle it that night. A few tears fell, but I was determined not to have red, bulging eyes when I walked in the door. I did deep breathing exercises, something I had learned by watching YouTube videos, to help calm my nerves. Soon I was as cool as a cucumber, even if that coolness was being forced on me.

I turned the radio up in my car. “Drift Away” by the Doobie Brothers was playing. It was perfect for what I wanted to do at that moment. Just get a beat and drift away from all the problems to a world where Chris was still alive, and our lives were perfect. It hurt so much just imagining him holding me. I felt the tears coming back, and I pushed Chris out of my mind. This caused me to focus on reality.

I tried to process the fact that I no longer had a job at a time when we were about to be homeless. I was terrified of rolling my triplets around in their stroller on the street with nowhere to go. There was no way I could focus on getting us the help we needed when I would have to focus on their needs first.

It’s fine, I thought. I can get another job. Plenty of places need help on the third shift. I tried to reassure myself, so I wouldn’t completely lose it. I knew that if I lost it, there was a good chance I wouldn’t get it back. I started thinking of places that I knew were desperate to hire someone. Most of the places that were hiring quickly were restaurants, but deep inside, I knew that getting another job wouldn’t help my situation right away. A new job meant I’d have to work at least three weeks before getting any kind of paycheck, and one paycheck wouldn’t be enough to cover the money I owed Mr. Evansly. I thought about getting a loan, but being that I was freshly unemployed, who would be willing to give me a loan? No one, that’s who.

I pulled my old Buick Lacrosse into the old mom-and-pop gas station that I passed by every night when I went to work. I never knew the name of the store because they didn’t have a sign. Most people just referred to it as “the store”. I pulled up to the gas pump and parked. I was about to grab my purse and go in, but something told me to lock it in the car, out of sight. I didn’t want to tempt any unsavory character that might be looking for an easy target. I put my money in my pocket, got out, locked the door, and headed into the store.

“Hey, Amanda,” said Mr. Langley, one of the store owners. The other owner was his wife. She usually worked day shift and their son, Harold, worked the swing shift so that each of them would have a couple of days off.

“Hi, Mr. Langley,” I said. “How are things going tonight?”

“Slow,” he said. “One of those nights.”

“Yeah,” I said.

I didn’t have much to splurge on expensive snacks, so I just allowed myself a Cherry Coke to satisfy my sudden sweet tooth that had developed on the way in. I sat my drink down on the counter.

“Mr. Langley, you wouldn’t happen to be looking for help around the store, would you?” I asked.

He sighed. “Things have been really slow. We can’t afford the help right now,” he said.

“I understand,” I said. “Let me get ten on pump one.”

I paid for my gas and drink, thanked Mr. Langley, and went out the door. On my way out, I saw a man talking to a woman whom I was sure was a hooker. I saw the quick exchange of money—a one hundred dollar bill—and she went over to his car and got in. As I started pumping my gas, they sped away.

The things she probably has to do to earn that money, I thought. I would never. No way. I’ll find another job. I’ll collect garbage before I do that. Then, after a moment, I thought, well, if she has kids…

I pushed that thought out of my mind, finished pumping my gas and hung the pump back up. Suddenly, an array of gunshots cut through the silence of the night. I wasn’t surprised. This gas station wasn’t in the best part of town. I had no idea where those gunshots came from, but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. I jumped into my car and sped off.

Ten minutes later, I’d finally reached my apartment building. The old building was on the verge of being condemned, but Mr. Evansley kept the building up just enough to stay out of court. I hated having my kids in such an awful and possibly unhealthy living environment. I had seen mold around the building on several occasions, but I stayed because I couldn’t afford to live anywhere else.

Looking at my building suddenly made me tired. I had been fighting ever since Chris died. I had won a few battles, but I was losing the war. I trudged my way up the stairs and put my key in the lock. I heard a scrambling type noise as I turned the key. I frowned. What would Shanetta be doing that made her scramble like that?

I opened the door and Shanetta was sitting in her usual spot on the couch. She looked at me with a guilty look on her face, but from what I could see, nothing was wrong. Maybe I’m imagining things. I am pretty tired.

“You’re back early,” she said.

“Yeah, it was a slow night,” I lied. “Sorry for cutting your time short.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” she said. “It’s not a problem at all. I have some…uh…work to do anyway.” Shanetta stood up and grabbed her purse.

"The kids are all asleep. It’s been a peaceful night."

“Okay, thank you,” I said as she headed towards the door. “By the way, I may not need you tomorrow. I had to umm…I’ll be home.”

“Oh,” she said with concern on her face. I didn’t realize a tear had dropped from my eye.

“Amanda, what’s wrong?” she said as she put her things down.

I paused for a moment as I contemplated what to say. I looked down and even though I tried to hold back, the tears came. I dropped onto the couch where Shanetta had been sitting.

“Oh my god,” said Shanetta. She sat next to me and embraced me while I cried on her shoulder. The two-minute crying session felt like two hours.

“I lost my job,” I finally said. “I lost my job, and we’re about to be evicted. I’m so far behind—”

“Amanda, oh my gosh. The babies—”

“I know!” I said. “I don’t even have enough money to pay you now. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do,” I said through my tears. My nose had started running, so I used my sleeve to wipe it.

“Girl, don’t worry about that,” said Shanetta. “I had no idea you were going through that. You seemed so…fine,” said Shanetta.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to put this on you. I’m usually really good at controlling my emotions.”

“No, no! Hey, we all need a shoulder sometimes,” said Shanetta. By this point, I had gotten control of my crying. “Maybe you could talk to your landlord,” said Shanetta. “I mean, he knows you have three kids, right? No way he would put you out on the street.”

“I have been talking to him for the last few months,” I said. “He has been working with me, but he isn’t willing to work with me anymore. I have to find somewhere to go.” Then, after a brief pause, “I don’t have anywhere to go,” I said as the tears gushed out again.

Shanetta hugged me again. Then she said, “Amanda, I don’t usually tell people about this, but you’re in a desperate situation. I know a way you can get some quick money to pay your rent.”

I stopped crying and looked at Shanetta with big eyes…as big as I could stretch them with them being swollen, that is. “You do? Anything, anything! I can’t let my babies be in the street. What is it, a loan?”

“No,” said Shanetta. “Okay, you need to keep an open mind. Promise me you won't judge me to harshly.”

I wiped my nose with my sleeve again and shook my head feverishly in an up and down motion as Shanetta began talking. I couldn't believe my ears. As Shanetta kept talking, I felt my blood begin to boil.