My job at the manor was pretty straightforward. I was part housekeeper and maid, responsible for any little tasks that came up throughout the day. In a home with this many bedrooms and bathrooms, the upkeep was an enormous task. The job didn’t pay all that well, and of course, there were no benefits, but it paid the rent, and even better, there was one advantage that made all the bullshit worth it.
And I kept a picturesque reminder of it taped on my bathroom mirror for me to see every morning.
I always saved the best part of my job for last. After making the beds up for guests arriving today, scrubbing toilets, sweeping, and dusting, I was ready. I pushed open the back door and was hit by the sweetest scent of jasmine, honeysuckle, and freshly cut grass. I took a deep breath and wondered if I would ever get sick of this feeling. Walking out to the shed to grab my tools, I decided I probably wouldn’t.
Here I come, you beautiful garden.
At the shed, I clipped on my tool belt and checked the list left for me by the head groundskeeper. Pruning, weeding, and harvesting, the perfect way to end a day’s work. I was a journalist, and one day I’d graduate and leave this snobby little rich town behind to go work for one of the top newspapers in the country. But, I also loved to garden. I loved tilling the land with my hands and watching my creations grow. I loved planting and eagerly watching every morning as their greenery slowly poked up from the dirt. And one day, after I purchased a reliable mode of transportation and established myself enough to purchase my own place, I’d have my own garden. I’d live off my own land as much as possible. And I’d be rid of the Carlisle Family for good.
Digging my hands into fresh-tilled soil, getting out in the sun after a long day of classes, and working for my incredibly spoiled classmates, there was no better medication.
I had been a student at Bryers University for two years. Two full years of walking the ivy-shrouded campus on charming cobblestone paths, of award-winning professors, gourmet café meals… and of being surrounded by absolute idiots. My classmates were a spoiled group of narcissistic, entitled douchebags used to having everything they ever wanted, not only on a silver platter, but a silver platter being presented to them by a white-gloved butler.
That’s not to say they were all bad. I had found one decent, reasonably human student on the campus that was often used to film blockbuster hits. My best friend, Tae Hawthorne, was--it had to be said--entitled, rich, and even spoiled. But she was also funny, supportive, and kind. Other than Tae, this was a school chock-full of people who made me feel like stabbing myself in the eye within ten minutes of being together.
It probably doesn’t have to be said at this point that I didn’t quite fit in here. An outreach-student, I had been accepted into Bryers on a journalism scholarship. Between that and my need-based aid, I would be able to walk away debt-free from one of America’s most prestigious universities—home of alumni that went on to be NFL players, supreme court judges, and senators. Without my scholarships, no way would I have been able to go to any college, much less one of this stature. But I would be lying if I said that I never wondered if all the accompanying bullshit was really worth it.
So, I worked harder than anyone around me. I had a 4.0 grade point average while maintaining a full-time job at the Carlisle Manor, where I got an up-close-and-personal look at the many privileges afforded to my classmates, although it may be an unfair example.
After all, The Carlisle’s even made God Himself look lesser.
They were one of the most affluent families on campus, as evidenced by Carlisle Hall, the Carlisle Library, and the Carlisle Rec Center. Congresswoman Carlisle was the star of our little affluent town of Hampshire, where I’d been born and raised. Steadfastly conservative and hailing from a long line of high-class elite, the Carlisle name held a huge amount of influence here. All I could do was ride their coattails on my meager salary and Carlisle scholarship—you see what I mean when I say this family runs this town?—and keep my head down until I graduated and sailed out of this town forever.
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