Just Enough

I wrote this for a creative writing class I was taking. The task was to write a monologue from the perspective of another person...

I guess it is sort of funny if you think about it. I mean, not funny like an Eddie Murphy sketch, but funny in the way rich celebrities have loads of cash, and to top it off, they are given everything for free. You know, peculiar funny. In my younger years, I would have used the word queer, but in this day and age of everyone being so damn P.C., I would probably get in trouble for making a derogatory comment about the gays.

Now don’t get me wrong, because I rather enjoy the gays. They certainly make me feel safe walking down my street at night and lord knows they have made my neighborhood look better than ever. It’s just that I can’t quite understand how they think it is appropriate to have that physical contact, when it is very obviously not how God intended. But to each his own. Lord knows I can certainly relate to the courage it takes for those gays to defend their rights.

Being a black child in the 50’s, I can still remember a much different world that half of these snotty brats that come in here, night after night, very obviously take for granted. When I was a child, it wasn’t just separate bathrooms for men and women, but a whole separate bathroom for coloreds. You know, I don’t really know how you got me on any of these subjects. I am just so used to being invisible in here. I am so surprised to have someone acknowledge me, let alone ask about me. So, back to your question.

I am a school teacher. I have been an elementary school teacher for the last eighteen years. I have always had a fondness for those second graders. It’s that final year before they start running at high speeds to grow up. That final year they are still happy and content to be a child. Now, don’t you be tellin’ anyone, but even though they call it a job, I consider it a priviledge to teach those kids. There is nothing more fulfilling than knowing you have just introduced a future Picasso to paint or a future Neil Armstrong to his first math equation. The complete fascination and wonder as they encounter their first life experiences. That is my one true joy I still possess in this world. It keeps my hope burning. My hope that I will inspire a child to make the most of their life. And I pray for them. I pray that they avoid the loss and heartache I have known in this lifetime or at least have the strength to overcome it all. I‘m sorry. I did it again. I didn’t mean to get so maudlin on you. And somehow, I have once again rambled off on a tangent and still haven’t answered your question.

Y’know, I don’t know how I ended up here. It happened so long ago it seems. I lost my husband about 6 years ago now. Lost him to the fight against cancer. We were high school sweethearts. This may be too much information, but I am proud to say it. He is the only man I have ever been with. It was a love people fantasize about when they watch movies. When I was with him, we were invincible. And ooh-wee, he was a looker, I tell you. 6 foot 5 and every ounce a man. One of those real low voices that could quiet a room. Y’know, I don’t think I ever heard him raise it in all of our years together. Oh and he was smart. I could lay in bed all Sunday morning and listen to him read me the newspaper. He could explain anything I didn’t understand and nothing made me feel more alive than listening to that voice all day.

I always felt so safe when I was with him. He had those big strong arms that were tender when they needed to be. I knew I would always be taken care of so long as he was in my life.

The hardest part of the cancer was watching how weak it made him. I was never prepared to have to be the strong one. He ran the house, paid the bills. We did cook together. He never minded my not making a lot of money because he knew I loved working with those kids.

He fought that cancer for the longest time. There were moments the doctors actually thought he was going to lick it, but in the end it just cost us thousands of dollars. After awhile, the insurance wouldn’t pay anymore and we used up all of our savings. By the time he finally passed on, I had to sell the house and I was left with nothing but the burden of debt. I had no choice but to get this as my second job. And that believe it or not is the answer to your question on how I ended up here.

I just thought it was funny, peculiar funny, because no one ever talks to me in here. They are usually too embarrassed. Never take the time to find out I too am human. The parents don't seem to have any problem talking to me during the day, but I have had one or two of them come in here at night and not even look my way. I am not ashamed to be a bathroom attendant. My momma and daddy taught me long ago the importance of a good work ethic. Even though it doesn't pay enough, they will have to drag me away from those children before they can get me to retire at that school. Sure this isn’t the most glamorous job I could have chosen, but it helps to pay the bills, and every so often, a kind person like yourself takes the time to ask me how I am. And sometimes, that is just enough.

To Do It For Gina

There are times in my life I have paused to reflect. To look at where I have been and remember where I came from. The people that have passed in and out of my life. The ones that stick around when you think they will never be anything more than acquaintances when you meet. They turn out to be your best friends. And the ones you meet that you immediately can’t remember your life before them, only to one day realize it has been years since you last heard from them. I believe that people come in to our lives for a reason. Some to inspire, some to give us strength, some to make us question ourselves and those around us, but most of all they teach us about life. What it means to love and to live. To explore who we are and why we are here.

Gina was one of those friends that did all of the above. She was my strength when I was at my weakest. She was my shoulder when I needed to cry. She was my smile when I wanted to laugh. She was my friend when no one else would be.

Our paths first crossed in the 6^th grade. I had just moved to Everett, Washington. A small town above Seattle mostly known for the papermill that stunk up the state. It was a town that was divided by class. The rich people lived up off the cliffs, while the poor people lived below and the middle class occupied the south. It was on the poor side of town that we first met.

I was living with my mother in a small one bedroom house. My room was the pantry and my bed was the couch. We lived on welfare and bought our food with food stamps. On the really tight months, our food came from the dumpsters of the grocery store with expired dates. We were poor. Down the street was Gina. She too lived with her mother and her little brother. Gina was also poor, but at least had her own bedroom.

One afternoon I was taking the bus home from school. Gina and her friend Jennifer were on that very same bus. We all exited the same stop. I was about 4 feet tall and a waif. I had skipped second grade so my body was a year underdeveloped than others in my class and because of that, my voice was higher than most. During that walk home, Gina and Jennifer began picking on me. And I ran home in tears.

Every day the torment came and every day I grew stronger and stronger. One day, I finally let them have it and all they did was laugh. And from that day forward, I was no longer afraid of them, and actually began to be treated more like a twirpy little brother instead of a social outcast.

By the end of the school year, our differences were somehow put behind us and we actually considered ourselves friends. I can still remember feeling so cool because I got to hang out by her 8^th grade locker and look at the Prince poster she had hanging inside.

She went off to High School and moved to a different part of town. So for the next 2 years, I would rarely see her and we were never the kind of friends to talk on the phone.

When I finally made it to High School, we ran into each other in the hall. Over the summer, my mother had wed her boyfriend and we were living in the rich part of Everett. Somehow, my mother had found an inexpensive house to rent in the heart of the snobby people. When Gina and I were reconnected at school, we were immediately the best of friends as if we had been our entire lives. She introduced me to her circle of friends and I was quickly accepted as one of the crew. It turns out that when she moved away, she had also relocated to the rich part of Everett. Somehow we were once again neighbors.

For her 2 remaining years in school, I was one of her best friends. I was her date to the formal dances and the ear she felt comfortable whispering her dreams into.

She graduated in the summer of ’89. In January of 1990, I moved from Everett to San Jose, California. For whatever reason, when I arrived to San Jose, I could not make a friend to save my life. It was my Junior year of High School and my prom was coming up. So I called my best date I knew and she couldn’t be more happy to escort me. I remember thinking, this will be the greatest. Gina and I will dance the night away. People will think we are the hippest couple ever and then everyone will want to know me. I will for sure begin making lots of friends.

Gina and I talked on the phone every day for two weeks. Planning out the evening. Discussing our outfits. Where we would eat. We had tickets to the Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation Tour. We were scheduled to have the time of our life and all I could dream of was my new school finally embracing me.

Two days before Gina’s flight, I received a phone call from her aunt. Gina had gone to the beach with her friends the night before. You had to cross train tracks to get to the water. It was dark. It was a blind curve. There were several sets of tracks. A train had just passed. As they were crossing, they heard another train approaching. They ran to the track that the last train had passed by on for safety. While running, Gina tripped. In the flash of a second, I lost my best friend.

Dealing with her death was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. It wasn’t until a year later that I realized I hadn’t lost her, but had actually been blessed by her. I had been given the chance to meet what I consider, my guardian angel. Since her death, my life began taking many different roads. Roads that lead me to one greater place after the other. It was in her memory I would find the courage to take the more dangerous paths of life. Anytime I was frightened of where I was going, I would think about Gina and find comfort knowing she was out there.

I had decided shortly after her death that I would embrace the sound of trains than live in fear of them for the rest of my life. Whenever I hear the horn of a train pass by, I imagine it is Gina passing through, reminding me she is still in my life watching over me.

I will never forget the night I was walking across the parking lot of my school. It was opening night of the school play and I had one of the leads. I was terrified. As I was walking across the parking lot, I was thinking of how quiet it was. Cars hadn’t arrived yet. It was dark. The only sound was the herd of elephants trampling around in my stomach. Then from a distance I heard a slight horn and before long my ears were filled with one of the loudest train horns I have ever heard. The tracks were probably eight miles from my school, but in the quiet of night, it sounded like it was in front of me.

Immediately my nerves were calmed. My stomach settled. I knew Gina was with me and I was going to perform that night for her. I believe that people come in to our lives for a reason. Some to inspire, some to give us strength, some to make us question ourselves and those around us, but most of all they teach us about life. What it means to love and to live. To explore who we are and why we are here. Gina’s short time on this earth, has taught me all of that. She is still a strength to me today. Whenever I feel like it’s all too much and I’ve lost the energy to go on, she finds me. She reminds me she is there. And I find myself inspired. To do it for Gina.