“One, two… three,” I count before it finally stops.
I don’t know what I expected from my life, but it was never this: the barely surviving, the barely making it. I live paycheck to paycheck. Penny to penny.
I’m tired.
I’m so damn tired and I know Kimmy is too. She deserves more.
I deserve more, and I’m trying to get us there, I am, but it is so hard when exhaustion has set itself in like a parasite in my bones. I rub my burning eyes and sag in the seat when I come to the red light. My mind begins to think of all the options I can to be a good mom. I can’t get another job, but maybe I can find something working from home? I hate taking time away from Kimmy. The less time I spend with her the guiltier I feel.
What do I do? Do we live paycheck to paycheck, barely able to afford ice cream or do I work harder to have more money—and then have no time to spend with her so we can get that ice cream?
The world is a fucked-up place to be.
I could always be a stripper.
I should have been.
Fucking morals.
“Still something to consider though,” I say to myself.
No one would have to know.
The light turns green, and I head straight, passing the road I would typically turn down to go to the Clubhouse. It takes all I have not to turn my head and peer down it. I just want to see if he’s there.
I turn back to the road and slam on the brakes in a sudden panic. The truck in front of me is at a stop. I nearly totaled my car ramming into it. My heart is racing with adrenaline, my skin is sweating, and my mouth is suddenly dry from the near-wreck.
When the traffic finally moves, the school is on the right. I turn into the parking lot, sighing in relief when I make it alive.
I park into a spot, lean against the seat, and close my eyes. I need to gather myself before I walk into that school to get Kimmy. “Don’t punch the principal in the face. Don’t punch the little boy in the face either. Child abuse is wrong,” I speak to myself again.
I’d never hit a kid. Ever.
I’m venting. That’s all.
I feel violent when someone hurts my child.
“Just move on with the day.” I inhale and exhale, grab the handle to open the car door, then step out into the beautiful day. I can smell the salt from the ocean and feel the warmth of the sun against my skin.
If I were a normal person, that would make my day a whole hell of a lot better.
Thrusting my shoulders back, I lift my purse up my arm, raise my chin, and start to walk. My heels click against the pavement and the reflection from the sun hitting the parked cars blinds me for a moment. I lift my hand to block my eyes and get a better view of the sidewalk. I step up over the curb, my heels sinking into the grass for a split second before they begin clinking onto the concrete of the sidewalk leading toward the school.
When I turn left by the brick wall where the gym is, I see the principal standing with her arms crossed and Kimmy sitting on the bench. I know it’s her before I see her face because of the bright purple Converse she’s wearing.
The principal has a stern, impatient look on her face.
“Ms. Price,” the woman judging me greets.
“Janet,” I call her by her first name to tick her off, since she wants to stand there and be rude.
She only said my name, but tone of voice is everything.
I might not be as successful, but I know I’m a good mother and I work hard. I won’t let anyone run or walk all over me.
Her lips press into a firm line and wrinkles form around her mouth. Her piercing blue eyes roam up and down my body, disgust written on her face. Her coarse, dry hair is pinned into a French twist, pulling her eyebrows back to give a lift.
She’s wearing a muted blue skirt and blazer with black stockings and a white blouse buttoned to the neck with low two-inch heels that my grandmother would wear. I bet she keeps a paddle in her office just dying to punish the children she can’t stand.
“Kimmy.” I drop to my knees and take the ice pack off her bruised and busted knuckles. I gasp when I see blood. “Oh my god, Kimmy. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Can we go?” Kimmy hops off the bench and keeps her eyes cast down toward the ground. Her red hair is messy and falling out of her ponytail, probably from the fight she had with that… boy.
Let’s be honest, kids are jerks.
And sometimes… they are shitheads.
There. I said it.
And that boy is a shithead.
Not that I’d say those words out loud. Those are internal thoughts only. I’d get burned at the stake if I said such things for the world to hear.
My kid isn’t, though. A shithead, that is.
She’s a perfect, sweet delicate flower. I know every parent thinks that, but in my case, it’s true.
“She isn’t to return for two weeks. Her homework is in her backpack,” Janet says. “Next time, Kimmy, walk away. Letting your anger get the best of you isn’t worth it. “
“And sometimes, Kimmy,” I interrupt. “It’s okay to feel your emotions when someone presses your button. Especially, a rude little boy who should be punished for starting the fight in the first place.” I take my daughter’s hand in mine and curl my lip at Janet before marching away.
“I can’t stand her,” I whisper to Kimmy.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she apologizes in her sweet voice. “I know I shouldn’t have hit him.”
When we get to the car, I open the passenger door and she hops in, buckling her seatbelt. “You shouldn’t have. Hitting isn’t ever okay unless they hit you first, and then you have my permission to protect yourself. That boy was trying to get a rise out of you.” I place my hand against her cheek and smile. “I don’t like the things he said either. Next time, if there is a next time, walk away.”
“I will. I promise. It hurts my hand anyway. I didn’t know someone’s face was so hard.” Kimmy flexes her injured hand and I shake my head when I see the ruined knuckles.
“That’s…” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That shouldn’t be the only reason, sweetie. Listen, I know what he said hurts, but I’m going to be honest with you right now, okay? He won’t be the last person to say something mean to you. Do you know what it means to have thick skin?”
She shakes her head.
“It means you have to toughen up to the world around you. It can be a harsh place, but it can be so beautiful and kind too. Sometimes the nice things are harder to see when cruelty makes you feel so bad, but it’s here, every day. We’re just so used to it that kindness doesn’t affect us like cruelty does.”
Kimmy doesn’t say anything, but her auburn brows knit together in thought.
Her bottom lip puckers out, she lifts her big green eyes so similar to mine, and they begin to water. “But why didn’t Daddy love me and why didn’t One-Eye want us? What did I do?” She cries hard, the dam breaks, and I throw myself around her to hold onto her tight.
“Oh, you didn’t do anything, baby. You are perfect.” I blink my own tears out of my eyes and curse myself. “Daddy wasn’t a good man, but One-Eye is. He loved you, loves you, so much.”
“Then why can’t I see him? I miss him.” She wails. “Why doesn’t he want to see us anymore?”