I’m forty-three, I work the morning shift at a small supermarket on Main, and really? The world seems to be spinning a bit too quickly, and most days I feel like I’m just fighting to keep upright. On some mornings, I tell myself that showing up is half the battle as I watch the sunrise through the loading dock door.
After everything our family has gone through, I’ve learnt to respect stability even though it’s not a flashy or ideal profession. The refrigerator is full when it is stable. When the lights are stable, they remain on. My kid has a genuine chance at a future when she is stable. I merely want enough now, but I used to want more. Enough warmth, enough leisure, enough tranquilly.
My spouse, Dan, works full-time at the community centre, fixing broken toilets, cracked windows, and leaking pipes. He fixes anything you ask him to. Despite his constant physical labour and weariness, he never moans. Not once. The stakes are clear to both of us. He always has love in his eyes and dirt on his sleeves when he arrives home.
Maddie, our daughter, recently turned sixteen. intelligent child. Very intelligent. Excellent grades and a fascination with science, particularly biology. She has already started to list the universities she wants to go to, the majority of which are far from our small town and well above our means. I occasionally catch her gazing out her bedroom window at the stars as if they were speaking directly to her.
She never stops discussing scholarships. She will say, “Mom, I just need one good one,” with bright eyes. However, those scholarships are really valuable. If she doesn’t receive one, then To be honest, I have no idea how we would manage. However, we don’t say that aloud. We simply continue to work. Continue to save. Don’t give up. In order to save five additional dollars for her future, I’ve started missing lunch more frequently.
We’re not exactly impoverished. We’re not far away, though. It’s like attempting to solve a mathematical equation with missing variables every month. Gas, rent, food, medications, and school supplies. All of this accumulates more quickly than the pay cheques. No dinners out unless it’s someone’s birthday, and no vacations unless it’s an inexpensive road trip. Maddie ordered fries like they were a rare delicacy the last time we went out to dine.
But we’re strong in spite of everything. We adore one another. Together, we bear the burden. And that is more significant than I can express. There’s something indestructible about persevering through difficult times together.
In any case, I believe it was a Saturday morning in early November. It was so cold that when I walked to work, my breath froze in the air. The store is a complete mess on Saturdays. A flurry of people shopping as if the end of the world were imminent, half-awake parents, and weeping toddlers. By the time the sun completely rose, I had already broken a pallet of soup cans and spilt coffee on my apron.
A woman passed by my lane at around ten in the morning. She appeared to be around my age, if not younger. Eye fatigue, thin jacket. She had two children. A young youngster, about three or four years old, was holding her hand and massaging his eyes. The other was a slightly older girl who was simply gazing at the apples in the cart as if they were precious. Her stance, which was stiff and calm, gave me the impression that she was just hanging on.
As usual, I greeted them, struck up a conversation, and looked over their goods. There are only a few necessities in the trolley. Bread, milk, cereal, apples, and a few canned goods. Not very fancy. Nothing more. The kind of purchase that makes you consider budget stretch marks rather than enjoyment.
She blinked when I told her the sum, as if she hadn’t anticipated it. She remained silent for a while. As if it were literally painful, she simply reached gently into her coat.
