by Rebecca Lee
Brea just had no concept of life outside her little world. She was actually frightened by how far she had to go to be as generous in spirit as her mom.
Now she knew much much more about what made her mom tick. Maybe things might align for them to have impact in each other’s lives beyond any normal mother and daughter relationship. Because they most certainly did not have normal or conventional. That was assured when Donna climbed out from under her daughter’s bed and saw what she saw.
Chapter 6--The Measure of Grit
Donna hustled into her car and gunned it as fast as she could over to Carson. An obvious downside of living anywhere in Los Angeles was you were creating all kinds of problems if you were trying to get to things timely when you were late starting out.
She did what she could but was a solid ten minutes late for the interview.
At the interview, she did a super job in her view of acting like she loved the idea of being a legal assistant and really wanted the job.
“Tell me what excites you about the law?” was one of the questions from an old fat guy member of their three panelist interview team. Donna thought the guy looked miserable but figured he probably had made his money.
He introduced himself as a “partner” and sure enough Donna noticed his name was on the door.
“I love standing up for my position and the position of the people I work for,” she said with bubbling smile. “I think our system is wonderful because it affords people the opportunity to make that argument. That due process. (due process? She had been watching coverage of a pro football player losing his job over a bar fight he got into and heard everyone talking about it. It just came out.) Being able to compete against other people in the marketplace of ideas and find a way to win no matter what.”
She was lying on everything she was saying, but it sounded convincing. The truth was she hated arguing.
But she was desperate. The babysitting job looked like it was being curtailed because that family was cutting their expenses in difficult times. The waitressing job didn’t pay enough to make much of a difference. She needed this crap. She was fully convinced of it.
“Can you explain why you were late today?” one of the older female attorneys asked. She was some wills and estates specialist Donna would see with a big pull-out ad in the newspaper.
Donna was starting to get herself a splitting headache just being here. It seemed like the same old, same old. More begging for something she hated, just because she had no choice. Why did life have to be so devoid of choices?
This was what she asked herself as she answered the question.
“I misjudged traffic on the way over from my home,” Donna said. “I guess it’s better now then like later on when you hire me.”
She thought this would portray some brash confidence and maybe a lighthearted verbal dexterity. It fell flat to the hardboiled woman asking the questions.
“You realize we can’t miss deadlines on this job?” she shot back like she was cross examining a witness in the biggest case of her career. “We could cost our clients dearly if we did that. Maybe even get embroiled in a malpractice suit. You don’t seem like you understand how important it is to be on time?”
Donna could only shake her head without shaking it.
“Look, I understand that,” she said. “I’ve worked in the legal field before. I think I have a great work history and great references. But so does everyone else who you will interview today. Personally I need this job and the money to survive. Truly, you won’t find a more motivated individual because it is not far from the truth to call me desperate.”
The three people on the interview panel all looked down as soon as Donna attempted to make eye contact. They probably didn’t know what to do when someone got that personal about real life issues. The idea of living hand to mouth, paycheck to paycheck made them ultra uncomfortable. They weren’t feeling what she was saying and Donna knew she was sunk.
“That felt good and I am screwed.” Donna was thinking.
The fat older lawyer saw her to the door and instead of closing it when she left, he walked outside with her.
He thanked her for a second time and when he shook her hand, a business card was nestled in his palm. Donna had seen this before as a woman over 40. She remembers seeing it a lot more when she was a woman of say 25, but she knew what it was.
He wanted to see her again and there might still be a way for her to get this job.
The card on the back said simply: “call me if you are interested because I am”. The front said “Malcolm Bradley, Partner, Tucker, Bradley & Koenig, LLC, PC”.
He was fat, pasty looking, and smelled a little funny. Not bad, just funny.
Donna was only thinking in terms of tolerable and necessity. That card wasn’t getting thrown away. She would call him later that evening when she got home. No doubt about it
…
Across from the law office was a gas station and convenience store. Even though it was barely two in the afternoon, Donna decided it was time let off some steam. Brea would be at her friend’s place over in Hawthorne. Chris would be who knows where?
It was a beautiful day. The one job she had interviewed for was hanging by a thread basically at the mercy of a fairly gross fat guy. It was time to drink a little and forget about everything. At least that was how Passion Casteel was viewing it. As usual, she feeling pretty non-passionate.
She crossed the median on a “don’t walk” but didn’t see any cars. As she got near the opposite corner, a car burst around making a right turn onto the intersection she was crossing. Her mind was wondering thinking about what beer to choose. A bum on the corner she was heading towards had been holding a sign “Homeless Veteran Please Help”. He was sitting in a wheelchair.
Somehow he saw what was transpiring and slammed his chair forward down the incline towards the path of the car. Brakes screeched and Donna darted to her left so all that was between her and the car was the wheelchair bound bum. Luckily the car was a newer smaller model with lighter weight. It hit the wheelchair bound man's chair on the left side but still at a breaking rather than full speed.
The impact knocked over and toppled right in front of Donna who was clearly shaken. She knew the car didn’t slow down until the wheelchair made an appearance in his way. Otherwise she likely would have been hit at full turning speed.
“Oh my God!” she screamed as the homeless man’s body spilled out onto the road a ten feet from of his badly smashed wheelchair. He moaned but was still conscious.
The driver didn’t turn off the car. She appeared to be a middle-aged heavy set woman. She looked momentarily like she was going to open her glove compartment and then presumably get out of the car. Instead she weaved the car forward and opened the window.
“Damn lazy bum!” she screamed. “And you need to watch where you are going. I had green!”
She then sped off. Donna was able to get a description. But she wasn’t thinking about any sort of revenge paybacks by turning the woman into the authorities or any of that. She was only thinking about the man and his well-being.
He had saved her life.
The person who had done the damage drove off to her everyday existence with a slight dent on her front bumper and the thought that none of what happened was her fault.
Donna bent down to help the man. Traffic turning right from the intersection continued to simply slowly weave around them. He sat up slowly. She could tell right away that he was going to be ok. She also noticed that his legs seemed perfectly fine. He was shaken up but there was no blood. Nothing seemed to be broken or anything close to that severe.
He sat up on his butt and drew his ankles back towards his rear-end and locked his hands over his knees. He then started to smile like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Despite his grubby appearance with a military olive green jacket, patched jeans, and filthy white tennis shoes, he didn’t smell. His teeth were slightly yellowed but Donna thought immediately abou
t how the teeth of the partner in the law firm, Malcolm Bradley were worse.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Donna said while stooped over looking down at him. “I think you saved my life, now let me save both of ours. We should get out of the way of traffic. People are going to start going through rather than around. This is LA remember.”
She put her hand out wondering if the man would accept it or attempt to keep the hoax alive that he didn’t have legs that worked well enough for him to walk.
He looked at her and nodded his head a couple times up and down to acknowledge the gesture. He braced the ground with his right hand as he quickly hopped to his feet. He turned away from her and went to pick up his wheelchair. He grabbed it with one hand and took a moment to examine it.
It was dented but still ridable.
He smiled again as he realized the damaged chair might help him do better in getting handouts on this or whatever corner he worked. He rolled the chair back to the corner where his heroic deed first began five minutes earlier. His cardboard sign with the sharpie message was still intact leaning against the pedestrian traffic control pole.
“Lucked out there,” he said with a satisfied tone.
He immediately plopped down in the chair resuming his solicitations.
Donna followed him to the corner and pulled out a ten dollar bill.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I lost my shitty job over in Inglewood. I just don’t have a lot of extra money. I wish I could do more. I am so grateful.”
“Well I didn’t do it for the money,” he said. “I didn’t do it because you are probably the best looking thing that has walked past my corner in months. I just did it without thinking. Great we’re both ok.”
Donna smiled.
“Are you really handicapped?” she asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I know I can’t hold a job because mentally I can’t focus or think clearly enough. I was in the military and no I never got shot at. But why should that matter? My stress level went through the roof. I fear almost everything and I can’t control it. I can’t afford the meds and the VA is so strapped. They are no help.
“I know I don’t make a lot of sense” he said. “I know the world thinks I am either totally lazy or totally crazy. Or both. The world doesn’t account for what it never stops to consider.”
Donna was suddenly hanging on the man’s every word. Then the filter of what she believed she was seeing all along kicked in.
“Well if you need anything, here is my number,” she said writing her name and number on a slip of paper. “Give you a ride somewhere, a few bucks, whatever. I am so grateful to be here talking right now.”
The man reached out his hand but had his eyes fixed on the driver of the car stopped at the intersection to his immediate left. He was hoping the driver would be good for a donation
“Paul. Paul Mala,” he said. “Thanks for talking and not judging. I can tell even when a person is trying not to. You weren’t and that’s rare.”
Donna smiled and patted Paul on the shoulder. She kept walking on to the gas station and picked up her two 22 ounce beers for $3.33. When she came out two minutes later, Paul was gone.
Chapter 7--The Good Men
Donna battled more mid-day traffic heading back west to Inglewood. She was still feeling pretty frayed from having her life nearly ended.
She didn’t give a lot of thought to what Paul said afterward, although he surely had her attention at the time.
She was heading home and she hoped it would be an empty one like she planned. She had her Coors Lights and she had a definite idea of what music she wanted to play on the radio while she sat outside and drank beer at a her chosen pace.
As she got closer to home, she had a persistent bothersome feeling inside her. She wondered if she could be doing more to save herself financially. Was she hustling enough?
When she was working jobs making ends meet, she was proud of herself on one level, even if she was spinning her wheels. In the way she viewed it, at least she was doing something productive. At least she wasn’t Paul out there begging for handouts while people drove by and saw him.
At the same time she felt worthless. Like her own personal version of a lazy bum. She felt guilty she wasn’t working constantly or beating the bush harder looking for a job.
She arrived home and to her great disappointment there was Brea. She was on the couch and channel surfing like usual.
“Hey,” her daughter greeted her with a tone that was definitely different.
It was warmer and had a trace of understanding and even caring for her mom.
Donna only saw that Brea was here, doing what she always did. Her feelings of personal guilt about her own level of production were easily transferrable to her daughter in light of what she saw go on a mere month ago with Chris.
“How are you coming finding work?” Donna asked. “I need some help around here. It’s not something where I am being vindictive about everything. You are old enough. You can do what you want. I love you. Clearly. But I need you to chip in.”
Brea was abnormally quick with an answer which also surprised Donna because she saw Brea was actually engaged in their discussion..
“Mom,” Brea said with even more caring and understanding in her voice. “I know how hard you have worked for me. I know how difficult it is to have to work so hard when you’d rather be doing other things. I don’t know if it matters, but Chris and I are done. We’re friends but that’s all it should have ever been. We got high together one day and that’s how it started. I wanted you to know more, even though you never asked.”
When Brea finished, Donna turned around from her position a few paces down the hall taking special care not to appear too surprised by what had amounted to the longest string of words she had heard from her daughter in a decade.
It got Donna's attention.
“Brea, I…” she started to talk thank stopped and gathered herself again. “I am past it. Chris and I are friends too. You are my baby girl. A lot of what you are facing right now and what you are dealing with regarding him and the need to bring in money, it’s my fault. Remember, when you start out behind the 8 ball money wise in this world and you don’t have a plan or good education or both, time can travel awful damn fast….”
Donna began to cry as she spoke. It wasn’t a cry for anything or anyone, but for her own deep feelings of ineptitude. Something she hid from everyone and something she knew could only be overcome by being successful and having some actual money in this world.
“You know, I am starting to see the world different since you told me to find work,” Brea said. “By doing that, you changed the way I thought. You shocked me into action. I got a job. I’ll have money for you day after tomorrow. But you took the time to help me see it a different way. Instead of getting pissed, you made me first.
“I am so selfish,” she said. “I admit it. But I think I know where my talents are. I think I know. But I just can’t get myself to be what you are. I don’t want you to forget how unique that is. You are. The good men and women who have that power, well their dreams are never dead.”
Donna was still fighting back tears but glowing with gratitude that her distant and seemingly so aloof little girl was seeing things in this way.
Beyond that, it was eerily similar to what the bum Paul had said to her an hour earlier.
Donna felt inspired. She turned around and put her beers back in the fridge. She had a deep sense it was time to think and grind mentally until she had something more she could give the world. She had no idea what, but the beers could wait.
