Two

Don’t Worry About a Thing

Sharleen’s hardships continued into the following week. Priding herself on being self-sufficient and resourceful, she felt confident that finding work would not be the struggle she thought it would be.

Deciding to register with a temp agency, they called the next morning with her first assignment: working in a call center. The job sounded simple, yet it was anything but. Overwhelmed by the complicated software system, her short-reaching headset, and the glaring eyes of a mean-faced boss named Polly who swam through the pool of employees like a stealthy shark, Sharleen knew her time there would be brief. It wasn’t long before Polly stood beside Sharleen’s claustrophobic cubicle, fuming in her nylons, orthopedic shoes, and polyester power suit. Without a word, Sharleen grabbed her cumbersome backpack and brown lunch bag, knowing she was fired. And she was.

On her way to the bus stop, a Help Wanted sign in the window of an all-night diner caught her attention. Desperate for help, the owner decided to overlook Sharleen’s lack of restaurant work experience (she had none) and offered her a two-sizes-too-big waitress uniform, and a grease-stained printed schedule on the spot, along with the comment, “You’re a very sad person. I can tell. See you tomorrow morning.”

Optimistic, Sharleen tried her best as a waitress. Twenty minutes in, enthusiasm dimmed when she realized she’d served the wrong orders to the wrong customers. While attempting to fix the problem, she stumbled, dropping several plates in the process. They shattered into pieces on the grimy floor. As the angry owner stormed in her direction, Sharleen knew her fate was doomed. From behind the counter, she grabbed her overstuffed backpack and headed for the exit.

I am so totally fired. Again.

After scouring every online job posting out there, Sharleen eagerly accepted an offer to work for a neighborhood dog walking company, although she had never owned a dog in her life. Assuming dogs were less moody than people, Sharleen approached the new position with gusto. “Remember,” the freckled-face owner named Tamara said in a voice that sounded like a Kindergarten teacher. “We are in control of the situation, the dogs are not. You are the human.”

“I am the human,” Sharleen repeated over and over as she struggled with five leashes and five dogs who were walking her, instead of she walking them.

As the local park came into view, Sharleen relaxed a little and let out a long sigh of relief. One of the dogs seized a lapse in Sharleen’s state of alertness and broke free. She watched in terror as the beautiful dog headed toward the open door of an idling taxi with its designer leash trailing behind like a moving piece of evidence. An audible gasp escaped her lips when the dog jumped into the backseat of the cab. A well-intentioned stranger in an expensive-looking suit shut the car door. As the dog stared at Sharleen through the window, the taxi pulled away from the curb. Holding back a mixture of tears and profanity, Sharleen stood on the curb as the taxi and dog disappeared into the distance like a getaway car fleeing the police.

That afternoon, Sharleen sat at the table adjacent to her grandmother’s shoebox of a kitchen. Defeat had left Sharleen’s spirit crushed and her stomach empty. Alma Gutierrez, her grandmother, stood at the nearby stove stirring a pot of simmering beans.

Although in her late seventies, petite and quaint in appearance, Alma was a force to be reckoned with. The overpriced assisted living community she lived in was a constant source of anxiety because of the strict management. Her apartment was small and cramped, due in part to the impressive assortment of various forms of cows she collected—mostly porcelain. She dusted each piece every week on Thursdays, and washed them by hand on the first Saturday of every month.

“Don’t worry about a thing, m’ija,” she reassured Sharleen. “You’re going to eat some dinner and then I’m going to write you a check.”

Adamant, Sharleen shook her head. “No, you’re not.”

Alma gave her granddaughter a stern look. “You know better than to argue with me.”

“I’m not arguing,” Sharleen insisted. “I’m not taking money from you, Lita. You struggle enough as it is. I don’t want you getting sick again.”

Alma started to prepare a plate of food for Sharleen. She did so with the precision of a gourmet cook and with a deep sense of joy on her face which was damp from steam. “There’s no need to worry about me,” she said. “I have everything I need.” Alma put the plate down in front of Sharleen. Then she was off to the kitchen again. Seconds later, she returned with a fork and a napkin.

Finally, Alma sat at the table with a cup of decaf coffee in hand. “It’s not fair,” she said. “How can they just take away your job like that?”

The sight and smells of the delicious food brought an immediate sense of comfort to Sharleen. Being with her grandmother always seemed to cheer her up—food or not—even on the worst days. “It was because of budget cuts,” she explained before placing the napkin on her lap. “It happens.”

“Taking money away from a school?” said Alma. “Are they crazy? Why would someone do that?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out,” Sharleen said. “I always do.”

“I want you to come see me more.” It was a command. “That way at least I know you’re not starving. You’re too skinny, m’ija.”

“I don’t need a reason to come see you. I like being here with you.”

Alma took a sip of coffee before she spoke again. “I worry about you. I don’t like it … that you’re on your own so much. Do you want another tortilla?”

“No, I’m fine,” Sharleen said. “This is so much food.

“You need to eat more. I’ll fix you some to go for later.”

“You need to focus on your health.”

Staring deep into Sharleen’s eyes, Alma’s gaze amplified tender sentiment. “You remind me so much of your mother. You look like her. You sound like her. I miss her every day.”

Reaching out, Sharleen gave her grandmother’s hand a gentle squeeze and said, “I know.”

“I remember the night your mother came home after meeting your father for the first time. She was so young. Only sixteen.”

Sharleen smiled. “I love this story.”

“There was a wildfire in her eyes,” Alma explained. “You have the same look when you talk about playing your piano. Your mother was so happy that night. I knew she was going to fall in love.”

“I’m very glad they did,” Sharleen said, followed by a short laugh. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“When your father came to our house to ask for your mother’s hand in marriage, he was very nervous. But he was so polite. It was important to him to have our blessing,” Alma recalled. “I can still remember their wedding like it was yesterday. So many flowers. So many people. All from the old neighborhood. They would be proud of you, m’ija. How hard you work. All that you do. How you look out for me.”

Overcome by a wave of emotion, Sharleen put down her fork. “I would give anything to have them back. Even if for one day.”

Alma stood. “That reminds me.” She walked into the kitchen. “I have something for you.”

From where she sat near the window, Sharleen watched as her grandmother reached into a kitchen drawer. From it, she took out something and held it to her heart before handing it to Sharleen. It was a strip of three pictures of her parents when they were young, taken in a photo booth years ago. Sharleen stared at their faces with a deep sense of longing. “I’ve never seen these pictures of them before,” she said. “They look so happy … and so young.”

“It’s yours now.”

Sharleen couldn’t take her eyes away from the photos. She swallowed, fighting back tears. “It’s still so hard to be without them. Especially during the holidays.”

“I know, m’ija.”

“I hate it.”

In her own tiny kitchen, Sharleen opened a can of soup, poured the contents into a pan on the stove, then clicked the burner on. Letting out a yawn, she stirred the thick mixture with a wooden spoon, realizing she was making the soup out of boredom, not hunger.

The kitchen table hummed with the buzzing of her cell phone. She leaned forward and reached for it. For the sake of space, only one chair was placed beside the small table, while the other three lived in the overflowing storage space in the basement of the apartment building. While the sole chair was practical, it was a constant reminder of how lonely she was. On the table, a small, lonely Christmas tree made its presence known with a half-eaten candy cane as its only decoration. Sharleen glanced at the sad tree with a mixture of pity and shame.

She placed the cell phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hello.” It was a woman’s voice, firm and authoritative. “May I speak to Sharleen Vega?”

Sharleen froze. Fearing the caller was another bill collector, she lowered her voice a few octaves, hoping if she disguised it the collector would end the call. “May I tell her who’s calling, please?”

“My name is Maisy Prewett,” the woman explained. “I’m a supervisor with the City of Harmonville’s Department of Parks and Recreation.”

It’s a job. I can feel it in my bones.

“Let me see if Miss Vega is in. One moment, please.” After a quick breath, Sharleen assumed her normal speaking voice, adding an extra layer of kindness to her words. “Hello. This is Sharleen.”

“Sharleen, hello. My name is Maisy Prewett. I received your resume and application for a seasonal position at the Department of Parks and Recreation. Are you still interested?”

I was right!

Trying to contain her excitement, Sharleen struggled to keep her tone professional and calm. “Yes. Very much.”

“I would like to invite you to my office for an interview,” Maisy said. “Tomorrow at two o’clock?”

“I’ll be in class until two-fifteen,” Sharleen explained. “Would it be possible to meet at three?”

There was a pause before Maisy spoke again. “Yes, I can do that. Do you know where the Parks and Recreation department is located?”

“I do. It’s the tallest building in town.”

“Great. I look forward to seeing you then.”

“Thank you for the call.”

A newfound optimism hammered through her. It was a rush of hope, a surge of faith … a much-needed sense that everything was going to be all right.

To celebrate, Sharleen reached for the candy cane on the tree and started to eat it. On the stove, the soup boiled over. Leg muscles had her off the chair, rushing to the stove in no time at all to turn it off. In the process, the photo Alma gave her caught her eye from where it sat on the kitchen counter. Sharleen picked up the photo. Returning to the miniature Christmas tree, she placed the photo booth memory of her parents at the center, nestling it between two branches. Stepping back, it was a welcome sight of her two parents staring back at her, frozen forever in the trio of pictures.

For once, Sharleen felt the loneliness loosen its tight grip on her heart.