Desperation

MINA

“Getting dressed. What does it look like I’m doing? And don’t raise your voice at me, young lady,” Mom said as she slipped her shoes back on.

I nearly dropped her coffee the moment I saw her regular clothes back on. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

She took her coffee from me. “Now, let’s go home. You need to rest before heading off to work.” She walked out the door.

“Are you going to tell me when you start treatment?” I asked after our silent ride home.

“I’m not.”

My mouth fell wide open. “What do you mean you’re not?”

She curled up on the couch under a blanket. “I talked with the doctor, and the treatments will make me sicker and won’t do anything to the cancer. It’s too far. I just want to spend the time I have left at home with you.”

I couldn’t believe what I just heard. “So, you’re just going to give up?”

“I’m not giving up, just embracing my life. You have to be at work soon, why don’t we talk about this later?”

She was incredibly strong-willed. I knew that once she had made up her mind, there was no changing it. Reluctantly, I showered and got ready for work. I kissed her goodbye and set out to walk the four blocks to the diner. Along the way, I decided I would pick up as many shifts as I could.

***

It had been a month, and her energy was up and down. She’d even made it to work a couple of times. As much as I had wished that the doctor was wrong, he wasn’t. A second opinion confirmed the original diagnosis.

I had to work nearly every day since the night we went to the hospital. My feet were hurting with every step I took home; I pulled a double shift today.

We survived mainly on my income, and the past due bills kept piling up. I avoided our landlord as much as possible, already a month behind on rent and this month was late. I didn’t make enough to cover it, and what I had earned had gone towards her pain medicine.

As I walked into our tiny apartment, my worst fear greeted me: Mom lying on the floor, blood-covered tissues all around her.

I rushed over to her. “Mom! What happened?”

I helped her up and into bed. She was weak and could barely talk, a major change from just that morning. I got her cleaned up, changed, and called off work for the next day.

***

A week passed. I sat next to her every day, and she barely moved. Barely spoke. My boss fired me. I had fifty dollars left, and the landlord had threatened us with eviction.

“Mom, I need you,” I whispered, holding her hand and crying.

She lightly squeezed my hand. “I love you, Mina.”

She died that night.

***

I had no money. The city buried her. A cross with her initials marks her grave. I couldn’t even give her a proper burial. How pathetic of a daughter was I? She sacrificed for me, and I couldn’t even buy her the headstone she deserved.

“One day, Mom. One day, I’ll get you a headstone and make you proud of me.”

Halfway home it started to rain, and by the time I got there, I was soaked through. Walking up, I saw all of our things had been placed outside, and a padlock was on the door. EVICTED in big red letters.

This had to be the worst day ever. I had just lost my mom, and now my home. I stuffed whatever fit into my old backpack, put on a pair of jeans and a sweater over my dress. Grabbing an umbrella, I headed back out into the night.

I made it to the park and hid inside the women’s bathroom all night. It was warm and dry.

I had no family. Nobody I could go to for help. Twenty dollars would have to last me as long as possible.

In the morning, I brushed my teeth, put my hair up into a bun. My dress was still damp, but it would have to do. I slipped on my shoes and walked out to face the day.

I stopped at every business I came across and asked if they’re hiring. Most said no. The ones that said yes handed me an application, but I knew that they’d throw it away as soon as they saw that I had no address. Nobody wants a homeless person working for them, no matter how pretty I was.

It started getting dark as I made my way back to the park, stopping along the way to buy a cheap sandwich and water.

Thankfully, I had taken soap, a toothbrush, and toothpaste before I had left the apartment. At least, I could keep myself relatively clean.

Every night, I washed in the park’s bathroom. I didn’t smell, but I was dying for a shower.

***

Every day I looked for a job. It had been nearly a month, and I hadn’t yet found one yet.

I had spent my first, and last, night in a shelter. I was finally able to take a real shower, but I wouldn’t ever stay there again.

Since I was single, I was placed in a mixed room, with men and women, where there was nothing separating the beds, just a big room full of cots.

I used my bag as a pillow. I didn’t want anything to get stolen.

I woke up in the middle of the night and saw an old, dirty man standing over me, jerking himself off. It was disgusting, and he smelled. I ran out and back to the park afraid of what he might have done to me if I stayed one minute longer.

It wasn’t like I was some virgin, but the idea of a stinky old man banging me was not what I called a good time. I wanted a bed to sleep in, but I wasn’t that desperate.