1
Jessalyn
* * *
I’ve come to accept that smelling like diner grease is an unfortunate trait of mine. I used to hate smelling like burned hamburgers and French fries all day, but now it’s just one of the things I have to look past because I don’t have any other choice. It’s disgusting, I know, but working at Hooger’s as a full-time waitress is the only way I’ll be able to help Daddy with the rent, and even that doesn’t seem to cover it some months.
Hooger’s is just a short distance from the trailer park where Daddy and I live, so thankfully, I can just walk to work. Randy and I only have one vehicle, which is his truck, but he uses that for his job, leaving me with no option but to walk. Being on my feet non-stop for ten hours every day is tough, and when I first started working at Hooger’s, I’d have to come home and ice my feet every night. However, after a few months, I’ve learned to live with aching soles and a stinging sensation in the balls of my feet. The exhaustion in my bones, on the other hand… that’s harder to shake.
I feel it this evening as I trudge home from my shift. I typically get home anywhere between seven thirty and eight at night, depending on how busy the diner is, and tonight I’m off a bit earlier. As I make my way into the trailer park, I see Mrs. Foster over to the right, puttering in her small patch of garden. Then, there’s Grandpa Ralph on the left, drinking a beer in a plastic folding seat. This is my family, for better or worse, and I put a smile on my face.
“Hi,” I call cheerily. “How are you?”
Mrs. Foster waves back and Grandpa Ralph gives me a nod. I smile again, like I’m enjoying the balmy weather. But really, I can’t wait to shower and lie down. As I approach our trailer, already removing my stained apron, my shoulders slump with exhaustion. Then, I open the door and let the screen shut before freezing at the sight of my dad lying on the couch, a lit cigarette in his hand. When Randy smokes inside–something he knows to only do outside of the trailer due to my nagging–I know something’s up.
“What are you doing home?” I ask, treading carefully once I see several empty beer bottles scattered on the floor.
Daddy groans from his position on the worn-out sofa. He’s usually not back this early. In fact, Randy doesn’t generally get home until much later at night. Working as a handyman at a hotel in town, his shifts start late in the day and he usually gets off close to midnight. But I don’t mind the unorthodox schedule because it gives me time to myself to relax before I have to start dealing with his issues.
Taking a deep hit off his cigarette, my dad’s eyes stay closed and his thumb traces a line on his forehead.
“Fucking asshole,” he slurs. “Always favoring that damn Hernando instead of me when I’m the one that’s been there the longest. Who the fuck does he think he is?”
I sigh, immediately knowing he’s talking about his boss, Malcolm, and Hernando, one of the other handymen at the hotel. He constantly complains about the two of them, but I try to ignore it. Still, it doesn’t answer the question of why he’s home early. It’s probably something bad.
“Telling me to do all this shit again because I didn’t do it right the first time and–”
“You got fired, didn’t you?” I ask flatly, cutting him off.
My eyes are hard as I look at him. Meanwhile, Randy turns to me with demon eyes. It’s a frightening sight. His eyes appear yellowish, and look like they’re glowing from the centers. Plus, although my dad’s only fifty-five, he looks much older than his age. His thinning grey hair, wrinkled face, and stained teeth are the results of tobacco, alcohol, and an unhealthy diet. He resembles a corpse, and that would be an unfair comparison to the dead body.
Growing up, I told myself that I’d have to take better care of myself than Randy does. It must have started when my mom left us. I was just a baby when that happened, but I’ve heard Randy talk about her when he’s drunk. He’ll ramble about how pretty Veronica was and how she made him feel like such a man before they had me, so I’ve always wondered if he blames me for her departure.
“Yes, they fucking fired me,” Randy gripes, sending intense waves of panic through me with that one sentence. “But it’s so fucking unfair. I’m going to take my ass down there tomorrow and make that fucker realize who he’s messing with.”
Ignoring him, I march over to one of the drawers in the kitchen and pull it open. My fingers find the yellow slip of paper I had been pushing out of my mind for the last several days, and I take it out with trembling fingers. The late notice for our rent came earlier this week. I was panicked when I pulled the notice off our door, but I made myself relax because Randy’s supposed to get paid tomorrow. Tomorrow. We would have the money for rent by the end of the week, I told myself. There was no need to worry… until now.