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I don’t get fired.
Mrs. S hears about my nightly adventures, however. She lets me go with a warning. It’s a shock but I guess I know the reason.
Pity.
Pity is the reason. I see it reflected in everyone’s eyes. Maggie, Leslie, Grace, even Ryan. They all have been giving me sad, sympathetic smiles.
It’s like my parents died all over again and I have to go to the morgue to identify their bodies. And then, it’s like the bank took away my house again because of all the debt and missed payments. Now, I have weeks of begging to do until they give me another chance to somehow make a partial payment.
It’s history repeating without actually repeating itself.
So I’m happy just to be sent on my daily duties. Only Tina’s assigned to work alongside me and in order to shift the pity, I tell her about Ryan’s asking me out.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
And that’s her reaction when I tell her that I refused to go out with him.
“Nothing.” I shrug, pushing the cleaning cart as we walk down one of the hallways in tower two. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I can’t go.”
“It’s not even a question, Cleo,” she says, stopping and putting her hands on her hips.
“Do you know you look like a mom when you do that?” I ask.
She folds her arms across her chest, then, throwing me a stern look.
“Not helping the mom situation there,” I sing-song and resume pushing the cart.
She sticks her hand out and grabs the handle, halting our progress again. “You have to go. You’re going.”
Sighing, I roll my eyes. “I can’t. I don’t have the time.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I work all day and then…”
“Then what?”
“Doris might need me to babysit Art. She’s old and she gets tired easily. Plus I’m giving Art punching lessons. Do you know he’s getting bullied at his school?” I shake my head. “Seriously. What’s wrong with the world? How do these people, these fucking bullies, even sleep at night? Do they think it’s okay to torment people? Is it okay to scare them? Does it make them feel bigger? Like, seriously? God! World’s fucked up, Tina. Sometimes I think I should go and put the fear of God in those kids. Trust me –”
“Stop talking.”
“What?”
Tina puts her hands on my shoulders. “Just stop. You’re not going to put the fear of God in children, okay? Take a deep breath.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
“Fine. Here.” One deep breath later, “You happy?”
“Not particularly. But I think this will do. Now, repeat after me: My name is Cleo and I’m going to live my life.”
When I purse my lips at her she glares at me.
“My name is Cleo,” I parrot the words. “And I’m going to live my life.”
“And I’m going to try to find happiness for myself.”
