by Ray, Lexie
I started to use my letters to push him away, to make him feel what I felt.
Finally, one day, after nearly a year of arguing back and forth via writing, a knock sounded on my door, as I cleaned up from my waitressing job and got ready for my new retail job at a secondhand store not too far from my apartment.
I didn’t answer the knock on my door. Unless I expected someone—and I rarely did—I never answered. I didn’t have time for bill collectors or salespeople or, what was most often the case, people as poor as I was trying to sell things to make ends meet.
But the knocking persisted—first on the door, then on my one window, then on the door again. It seemed whoever was out there wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
I sighed and yanked open the door, ready to give whatever persistent jerk was out there a piece of my mind, and was shocked to see Marcus.
“Hi,” he said, looking sheepish but as handsome as ever.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out. “You’re supposed to be at that job.”
“I took a break from it,” he said, shrugging. “I wanted to see you.”
Part of me glowed with excitement—that Marcus would make me a priority over all of his business dealings—but the rest of me resented the fact that he made me feel guilty for being chosen. Couldn’t there even be happiness at just the fact that he was here?
“Aren’t you going to hug me?” he asked, pouting prettily, and I sighed.
It was good to have his arms around me. I couldn’t discount that. And it was good to have physical contact with somebody, anybody. When was the last time I’d touched someone and it hadn’t been an accident, like giving change back to a customer or handing a full glass to someone at the restaurant? Was my life really that pathetic?
“You’ve actually kind of caught me at a bad time,” I said, breaking the hug and stepping away. “I have to get to my other job.”
“Your other job?” He frowned. “How many jobs do you have?”
“I waitress at a breakfast spot in the mornings, and now I have this retail job at a secondhand store,” I said. “At night, I cocktail waitress at a club downtown. That’s the best money, but I need everything else, too.”
“You need to get your GED,” Marcus said. “Honestly, Parker, education is the only way forward.”
I was quiet for a long time, stung at this whip-fast assessment of my life.
“Here’s the thing, Marcus,” I said slowly. “You can’t make your way forward until you can keep yourself afloat, and that’s the point I’m at. I’m just trying not to drown. I’m trying to keep this apartment. I’m trying to keep food in the refrigerator.”
“All I’m saying is that you would be able to find a single, better paying job if you had your GED,” he said. “Or you should’ve stuck it out in L.A. until you graduated high school. Things would be better. Think about enrolling in a community college. Give up one of your jobs.”
“Do you know what it’s like to sleep on the streets?” I demanded, feeling my face go hot with rage. “Do you know what it’s like to sleep in a bunk bed dormitory full of homeless women? Are you ever afraid of not eating, of not being able to find your next meal? I’m pretty sure the cafeterias you enjoyed in school were always very well stocked, and that your bed was warm and comfortable. How dare you come all the way here just to insult me about my life? I haven’t once questioned you about yours. Don’t insert yourself into mine until I’ve asked for your help.”
I could see that I’d wounded Marcus, and I regretted it a lot less than I thought I would. We’d never fought before, and this was turning out to be a doozy.
“I wouldn’t question your life if I didn’t see solutions to it,” he said, his dark eyes smoldering. “I don’t want to see you struggle, Parker. I hate to see it. You’re obviously struggling, and I don’t care if you don’t want my help. You’re getting it.”
My eyes widened as he plucked his wallet out of his pocket and thumbed through the bills within it.
“Don’t you dare,” I hissed. “I’ll never take a handout, and certainly not from you. I have jobs. I’m getting by.”
“Use this money to float for a while as you get your GED,” he said, laying the bills on the table. “Then look for better jobs. They’re out there. I promise you.”
“I have to get to work,” I grumbled, turning and leaving him in my apartment.
It wasn’t any surprise that he wasn’t there when I got back, my feet and back aching, and the knowledge that another shift was still in front of me before I could go to bed. Years and years of not seeing each other was ruined by my pride—and his condescension.
All that was left of that fight was a neat stack of bills on my coffee table that I was supposed to use to get my GED, to further myself in the way pompous Marcus saw fit.
I used the money instead to pay last month’s rent, get the water turned back on, and buy myself a fat cheeseburger for dinner.
It tasted like ash in my mouth, and it was a long time before I returned another of Marcus’ letters. And it would be many more years before I saw him again.
~ To be continued ~
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