Page 2 of Truck Off

It’s been almost sixteen years since he moved, and he rarely comes back for a visit. I don’t entirely blame him. There’s not much to do in this small town. With his plumbing license, he can make a lot more in the city than in rural southern Ohio.

But he didn’t just leave to make more money. He left Dad and me. His only family. I can’t even get him to come back when we really need his help. It’s not like I can change the heating elements on the water heater. I can’t even afford to pay someone to do it.

Not if I want to pay for Dad’s medicine and keep him fed.

Jonas is just like Mom.

Mom always lied to us—to Dad. And she left us the first chance she got too. Dad, Jonas, and I weren’t enough to get her to stay. I guess Dad and I aren’t enough for Jonas either.

I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. People who should care the most are always the ones that hurt me the worst. It stings every single time like it’s the first time. It’s impossible for it not to.

I make my way back down the narrow hallway to the bathroom, where the water is still running. Thankfully, we draw our water from a well, so it’s not an expense I need to stress over. It just means the water is colder.

I rush through my shower like my life depends on getting out as fast as possible. I’m already running late, but it’s the chill that really has me speeding through my shower routine. I don’t even bother washing my hair. I did that yesterday. I can go at least one more day before it becomes a necessity.

Maybe one day I’ll get a hot shower again.

It won’t be so bad once summer is in full swing. Late April is nice, but hot summer days are still about a month away.

God, please don’t let me still be taking cold showers in June.

After getting dressed, I head to the kitchen. The floor creaks beneath my feet the moment I exit the hallway and enter the living room. The floorboards are giving way and it bows with every step I take.

A negative side effect from a leaky roof. This spring has been particularly wet. With all the rain we’ve gotten, it’s been next to impossible to change out the drip buckets fast enough to avoid spillage.

Nothing like adding a leaking roof and rotten floorboards to my long list of trailer repairs. I can barely afford to put food on the table, let alone fix a broken-down trailer that’s about twenty years past its life expectancy.

But it’s better than nothing, I suppose.

Dad’s asleep in his recliner with a book across his chest. He does that a lot these days. His illness and old age take a lot out of him. Between his liver disease and his constant battle over his cravings for alcohol, he struggles with energy. Dad hasn’t had a drink in over four years, but he still wants one. He says that craving never lessens.

I give him a quick kiss on the forehead before I head into the kitchen to make sure he has something handy to warm up for dinner. He usually does fine on his own for lunch as long as we have lunch meat and cheese.

Taking quick stock of what’s in the refrigerator, I groan. We’re running low on everything. There are only two slices of cheese left and enough turkey for three sandwiches. Sometimes Dad eats two for lunch. The mustard is about gone, and we’ve got less than a gallon of milk.

Looks like I’m stopping at the grocery store after work tonight.

There are still three prepared dinners in the freezer, so at least there’s that. I often make up several easy-to-reheat meals on my days off, so Dad is set on the days I work late. I’m rarely home to eat dinner with him. Thank goodness he loves lasagna, chili, soups, and enchiladas. Those freeze easily.

He’s got a few snacks left. The chips he likes are getting low. Better pick up more of those. But he still has an unopened box of the granola bars he loves.

I stare at my list and try to think of something different to get Dad. He eats the same things all the time and never complains, but he has to tire of it. Maybe if ground beef is on sale, I’ll pick up some of that and make a meatloaf. Dad loves my meatloaf.

And potatoes. If I can swing some store brand cheddar cheese, I’ll make up a pan of scalloped potatoes. Those will do well in the freezer too.

Satisfied with my list, I slip it into my back pocket and grab my purse and keys. I have to stop and get gas on my way out of town. I’ll grab myself a few snacks at the gas station to hold me over during my shift. I don’t want to eat the food my dad needs.

I have a couple of repeat customers on the schedule today, so hopefully my tips will be good. One of them already paid me to come up with a custom design for a full sleeve tattoo. Today I’ll lay the foundation for the design. It’ll take a few sessions to get it all done. He’s paying me in stages. Sometimes that earns me more of a tip. Other times, they hold off on the tip until the entire thing is done.

Fingers crossed, it’s the first scenario today. I need the extra cash.

Sliding behind the driver’s seat of my old beat up Civic, I send a prayer out to the universe that she starts. My fuel pump is going, but I don’t have the money to fix it yet. I need it to hold out until after I figure out how to fix the water heater.

I turn the key and my car sputters and groans but doesn’t start. I wait a few seconds and try again.

“Come on, girl. Please do this for me. I need you.” I coo and speak softly like that’s somehow going to make a difference.

One more month. Please last me one more month. That’s all I ask.

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