Page 2 of Quiet Chaos

Jimmy slaps his leg and laughs. “Pretty girl, you’re funny.”

I don’t understand his comment or reaction. Does he not have a friend? Did he lie to his family about visiting a friend? I softly ask, “Why is my question funny?”

He clears his throat, face releasing the smile, and mutters, “Never mind.”

Three stops later, Jimmy escapes the confines of the bus. No one else boards, so the bus jolts into drive. I slide to the window seat to admire the landscape. I haven’t been outside of our little town, so now I get to see God’s artworks. The scenery is flat, yet enormous mountains jut skyward. An amazing thing to witness. Snow-capped peaks close to heaven. My eyes water from the magnificence of it all. Salt Lake City comes into view. Mountains, greenery, and blue skies are backdrops to the city. My heart flutters in terror and anticipation.

The bus pulls into the terminal. I snuggle my purse and bag close as I stand in the aisle, waiting to start my new life. Many people bustle around the station. Mothers exhausted from crying children. Men in suits, carry briefcases, and talk into the air. They are looking at phones, but I don’t know why since I’ve never had what they call a smartphone. I held one once whena homeless woman came to the shelter after finding it on the ground.

Some people shuffle around, dirt littering their clothing, and they carry a cup, begging for money. I dig into my purse for a couple of dollars and hand them to a man with a dog. I ask him where the cabs are, but his rheumy eyes look into nothing. There is a young man by the station doors, blowing out puffs of smoke. Leaning lazily on the wall with his head against the bricks and ankles crossed, he appears uninterested in his surroundings.

I’m holding the piece of paper Sister Mary wrote the address on. I take timid steps toward him and ask, “Excuse me, sir.”

His eyes narrow at the sight of me. “Yeah?”

I clear my throat before asking, “Could you tell me where I can find a taxi? I need to get to my lodgings.”

He lets out a snort. “Lodgings? Who talks like that?” My head and hand drop as I tell him I do. “Walk around the building and you’ll find them there.” I thank him and walk in the direction he noted.

After what seems like hours, I arrive at the quaint little house on the outskirts of the city. Sister Mary’s friend, Ms. Adeline, welcomes me with open arms. Her frail frame embraces me. Ms. Adeline’s spine curls into a question mark. Her home is one level. From the wear and tear of the décor in her house, I guess it got lost in time. Dingy lace drapes hang from the windows. The furniture is worn and faded. Flower wallpaper dresses the walls throughout the kitchen and living room. Even so, it’s cozy and warm, like Ms. Adeline.

She guides me to a couch, so she can prepare the tea. I offer to help, but she declines. Ms. Adeline carries a tray, piled with teacups, a small kettle, and a plate of biscuits. We nibble, sip our tea, and talk about our lives. Ms. Adeline never married and doesn’t have children. This thought saddens me, because sincemy teens I’ve dreamed about having a husband and a houseful of children.

In the bedroom, Ms. Adeline says, “This is your room and your home. I put clean sheets on the bed, fresh towels in the bathroom that we’ll share, and the rest of the house is at your disposal.”

“This is lovely, Ms. Adeline. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“Nonsense, sweetheart. I’m doing it for selfish reasons. It’s nice to have company. I’m sure you’re tired, so I’ll let you get situated.”

An Afghan covers a single bed, so I sit down. My room is painted yellow and has sunflower curtains. There’s a single dresser, a small closet, and a little desk. It’s an upgrade from my plain room at the convent, which only had a dresser and a bed. I unpack what few things I have and stretch out. With the softness of words and a gentle touch, Ms. Adeline has already made this feel like home for me. We’re going to be good friends.

***

A couple of weeks have passed as I venture into the city to find work. It’s easy to get there since Ms. Adeline doesn’t live far from a bus station. So different from Wyoming, this city is alive. There are countless people rushing from one place to another either on foot, public transportation, or a car. And there are a variety of people, such as skin color and hair. The fashion ranges from tight to flowing.

These observations keep my attention while my trust in getting a job diminishes. I try to be positive, pray daily, and whenever possible, slip into a catholic church for mass. Every job wants more than what I can provide. When I tell them I’ve lived in a convent most of my life and I don’t have any work experience, they act as if the devil himself cursed them.

I walk down the street and come across a large woman with a laugh the size of the mountains. She has short, brown curly hair tucked into a hat too small for her head as she wipes down the outside of a diner’s window.

Stopping in front of it, she says, “Well, aren’t you the cutest thing. I’m Babs.” She swings her arm toward the door and says, “And this is my diner.”

I smile at this big, beautiful woman. Like Ms. Adeline, Ms. Babs makes me feel like home baked bread.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Babs.”

“Oh honey, Babs is fine.”

I fold my hands in front of me. “Babs. Would you, by chance, be looking for help? I can do anything, such as wash the dishes, cook, make coffee—”

She crosses over to me, favoring her left leg. “Of course! I could use a girl like you to brighten the place up. How about waitressing?”

Another position I’m unqualified for. An anxiousness rises because I don’t want to answer. If I do, she’ll dismiss me, and I need a job. Ms. Babs ushers me inside to the diner’s counter. Her eyebrows cave, narrowing her eyes while she watches my internal struggle. I bite my lip and rub my hands together.

My thoughts are cut short as Ms. Babs says, “I’m guessing you’ve never waitressed.”

“No, ma’am, but I’m willing to try if you’ll have me.”

She pulls me into a hug, her body jiggling with laughter, forcing mine to join. I guess I make her happy.

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