I’d had to grow up faster than most kids, which was why I was here, talking to the lawyer my grandmother had entrusted to handle my inheritance.
“I don’t want you to worry about it,” he continued. “They might delay the process, but they're grasping at straws. In this case, I’m Goliath, and in my work, Goliath wins.Every time.There is a reason your grandmother personally selected me to take care of this.”
My fingers stilled over the leather, the music cutting off in my mind. I missed my Nana every minute of every day. I thought after seven years, the pain of losing the one person who truly loved me would lessen, but it hadn’t.I need you, Nana.
He must have sensed my sullen mood because he leaned over the desk and folded his hands under his chin. “Look. You have five more months until you’re twenty-one and then you’ll never have to speak or look at them ever again. I need you to continue being a good boy by staying out of trouble and continuing to prove that you’re mentally fit–”
“I always was,” I cut in, my throat dry and itchy. “And any problems I had are their fault.”
“I know that. But it was never beyond your parents to twist the truth,” he said. “In any case, keep doing what you're doing. You just need to hold out a little longer, okay?”
I nodded with a sigh. I wished I’d emancipated myself from my parents, but they’d manipulated and isolated me, and twisted my thoughts into thinking I was the problem. By the time I was eighteen, it was too late to go that route.
“Are you still working at the grill?” he inquired, shuffling papers again.
“Yes,” I lied, but lying came easily when you had parents like mine.
The fibs had started off as little inconsequential lies such as telling them I’d studied my bible for two hours, when in reality it had been an hour and a half. Later, the dishonesty had grown in proportion to my parent’s disapproval. I’d learned quickly to never talk back, always do what I was told, andnevertalk to them about my feelings. So lying to Mr. Salvatore had come easily. It wasn’t my fault the grill was doing poorly and had to scale back.
“Okay, good. Keep it up. When your parents do decide to challenge your mental faculties, showing proof of work historyadds a notch on your belt. Save any pay stubs and deposits you might have.”
“Anything else?” I asked, wanting to get off the misery train.
“I think that’s it for now. I’ll see you next month.”
I got up from the leather chair, stretched, and shrugged into my beat-up backpack.
As I was walking out the door, he said, “And keep your phone nearby. Once the ball starts rolling, it’s going to roll fast.”
I said goodbye to Wanita, the law secretary at the desk, who had always been nice to me and offered me the remainder of the morning donuts, then headed into the elevator. On the way down, I finished off the last of a jelly donut, a spring of hope chiming in my mind like theheaven chord.
Five more months, a few hops through some hoops, and I wasfree.
The elevator dumped me on the first floor of the Willis tower, and I proceeded to wait at the closest bus stop. It was chilly out, the December air near the lake nipping at my exposed nose and ears.
While I waited, I fished out today's newspaper and circled prospective jobs. Most were high-end career starters requiring specific degrees and I figured it would be best to walk into the nearest McDonalds. I’d never found much work in the wanted ads, but I liked to keep my options open. I wasn’t above flipping burgers and my only expenses were two-hundred dollars a month on a bed I rented, fifty bucks for my prepaid cell phone, and food money, which with the cost of ramen and chicken nuggets, wasn’t that much. A minimum wage job had always been enough to tide me over until I received my inheritance.
The bus arrived and I claimed my seat at the back. While it took me toward the west side of the city, I closed my eyes and tapped on my knee in tune to Chopin’s “raindrop”. My mood hadalways dictated my preference of music and like the first rains of spring to help the flowers bloom, hope filled me for the first time in three years. I’d hit rock bottom, and there was nowhere to go but up.Things can only get better, right?
I got off at my stop and walked the two blocks over to the apartment building where I rented my bed. As I neared, the cluster of police vehicles and vans labeled with ‘department of housing’ washed away that hope.
I flagged down a police officer. “What’s going on?”
“The building has been condemned,” he said and motioned to a woman with a clipboard.
“Sir, do you live here?” she asked.
“Ah, Iusedto, apparently.”
I gave her all my information and she jotted it down on the clipboard. “Okay, if you can provide us with a valid lease and proof of the previous month’s rent payment, we will help you find temporary housing in the meantime.”
“I don’t have one, I’ve been renting a bed from one of the tenants,” I said, the jelly donut souring in my stomach.
She sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and offered me a blank expression as if this job had sucked out the last of her joy. “Unfortunately, the program only extends to those with valid leases. There is a shelter a few miles down. I’m sure one of these nice police officers can drive you.”
I blinked at her, hearing what she’d said, but unable to form much of a response. “What about my stuff?”
“I’ll have someone accompany you to collect your belongings,” she said on her way to gather someone else’s information.
