Page 14 of All In
Me.
But that doesn’t mean I want any of this.
Despite the blur of tears, I force myself to read the letter again, trying to fully grasp what Sam has said.
He thinks I want money.It’s of no importance to me.
He thinks I don’t love him.My love for Sam will endure until my final breath.
He will not fight for me.Why would he? I broke his heart. I wouldn’t fight for myself, either.
Looking at his handwriting is unbearable. I can’t take it anymore, so I get up from my bed and walk to my closet, the old blue carpet from my youth soft under my feet. I slide open the door, and I’m met with empty hangers and some odds and ends that I’m not taking with me. But there is one box that’s staying.
With a heavy heart, I navigate to the back of the space, lowering myself down onto my hands and knees. Along the back wall is a small door that looks out of place. This door serves no purpose and was here when my mom and dad bought this house when I was a kid. It was my secret hiding spot for the things I wanted to keep hidden as I grew up.
As I turn the gold knob, the door opens with a creak. Resting on the floor is a floral box. I open the lid, and years of Sam’s letters stare back at me. As I placethis letter on top, a sudden pang of sadness grips my chest, knowing that this is the last time I will place a letter in here.
I kiss the tips of my fingers and then rest them gently on the stack of letters. “Goodbye, Sam,” I whisper. With a gentle tug, I unclip his watch from my wrist, the one he gave me as a gift at graduation. I flip it over to read the inscription on the back for the last time.
The etching stares back at me.Yours, Sam.Tears pool in my eyes at his words. I place the watch in the box, effectively closing my time with Sam. But I hesitate as something stops me.
The memory of the day he gave it to me fills my head, replaying like a vivid movie. There’s no way this watch is going in that box. It doesn’t belong there. So I shove it into my front jean pocket. I’ll hide it from Chad. I’m not ready to shut the door on Sam.
Not yet.
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor, I sift through stacks of CDs, feeling the smooth plastic cases in my hands. Keys jingling and the door opening alerts me Mom is home from work. She walks through the threshold with heavy footsteps, looking tired from a long night. She’s a janitor at a local hospital.
“Hey, sweetie,” she greets me in a weary tone. She places her purse on the chair and sits on the couch facing me. The dark circles under her green eyes are visible against her pale skin, and her dirty blonde hair is a mess. Proof that she worked her butt off. She’s also looked thinner lately. More than likely, she’s not eating much because of stress. Like mother, like daughter.
“Hey, Mom. How was work?” I ask, even though I know the answer. She cleaned up vomit, poop, and blood. I’m sure it sucked. But she won’t admit to that.
“Good. Not too busy tonight.” She sounds exhausted, and yet I can feel her intense stare on me.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur in response as I study a Celine Dion CD, trying to decide if I want to take it with me. Chad loves Celine Dion, so it’s staying. I sit it back on the CD rack.
“So, did you see the letter that I left you on the counter?” She knows I saw it.
“I’m not doing this tonight, Mom.” I keep rummaging through CDs, hoping my curt tone gets my point across.
“Maria, you know you don’t have to do this. I’m working, your father is looking for work. I’m sure he will find something soon. We will be fine.”
I stop what I’m doing and toss the CDs onto the floor in a pile as they clank together. Frankly, I don’t want any of them. I stand and head to the kitchen, trying to send a message that I don’t want to talk. She doesn’t take the hint. “Maria, honey,” my mom pleads, following me, “you don’t need to take care of us!”
My mom and I have had this same argument for the last few days. It started when Dad gambled away my parents’ whole financial means of living. And by that, I mean they have lost everything. Their current savings, their retirement, and now they are drowning under a mountain of debt. They may even lose the house. The house I grew up in. On top of it all, my dad got fired. Another job, gone. So yes, now my mom has been working as a janitor. It’s gross, back-breaking work that she wouldn’t need to be doing if it wasn’t for my selfish father.
Thankfully, it’s only temporary. My mom started taking night courses at Ohio Northeastern about a year ago to be an LPN. She knew she needed to work outside the home since my dad was in and out of jobs all the time. She should graduate soon, and when she does, hopefully, she can find a good-paying job as a nurse. But as of right now, this is where we are at.
Thanks, Dad.
I’ve never blamed my dad for losing jobs due to his disability. Employers can be cruel and not very understanding. They would always view my dad’s slower processing and memory loss as him being lazy. But he’s not. Far from it. When you give my dad a job to do, he will give two hundred percent every time because he wants to prove himself. But sometimes, his brain has other plans.
However, instead of trying to find more work, what does he do? He gambles. My mother would always defend him, even though the gambling caused a lot of tension in their marriage. It’s the wash, rinse, and repeat of my life, and I’m so over it.
This time, he has gone too far.
Which leads me to my current life dilemma. Chad came onto me soon after I started at the warehouse. Obviously, I rejected his advances, but he didn’t stop. His sexual harassment was intense and constant. I didn’t dare tell Sam. I was embarrassed and scared. Plus, the money was good—great actually—and I was trying to save for our future. One I knew was coming.
But then he threatened to fire me if I didn’t date him at the exact time my dad screwed up. There is no way I’m leaving my parents destitute. Even if that means making the ultimate sacrifice in losing Sam. I hope someday I can explain it to him. And that he will understand.
