Did you ever have a run of bad luck, and no matter what you do, everything you touch goes wrong? Well, that is what is happening to me. It’s just one thing after another. I no sooner get one mess straightened out than something else happens. I’m at the end of my rope.

It all started about six months ago. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I thought, well, that didn’t go the way I had hoped, not even close. I had been recently laid off from my dream job. A job that I had worked hard for, one that I had planned over a long period of time. And then finally, I got the call it was my bosses boss that called me. He said, and I quote, “Jerry, this is Mort Thalman. We are considering you for the upper management position that just became available. Please come to my office for the corporate interview. It’s just a formality, but still, we would all like to have the opportunity to talk to you personally about what we have in mind for you. Are you interested?” 

I almost jumped up and down. I was so thrilled. And then I heard Mr. Thalman say,” Are you still there?” “Yes, yes, I’m here. I’m on my way up right now. “ And I practically flew out my office door and up three flights of stairs. When I arrived at his office, I knocked madly at the door about five times, and then I heard Thalman’s secretary say, “Come in, come in. For heaven’s sake.”

I tried to calm down a bit. I took a deep breath and tried to walk calmly into Thalman’s office, and I said, “Good morning, Mr. Thalman asked me to come up to his main office.”

“Yes, I know. Just go straight through the door right there. They are all waiting for you.” And then she put her head down and continued working on her computer. I headed towards the door. As I knocked on the door, I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. I heard a gruff voice say, “Come in, come in. We’re waiting for you.”

I walked through the door and, low and behold, sat all the big wigs of the company, and they looked at me, and I said, “Good morning.” And one of the corporate bigwigs whose name I didn’t know said, “Please take a seat at the end of the table. We will try not to make this too difficult.”

And what followed was nothing short of an inquisition. I kid you not. They asked me about every job I ever had, starting with my high school job of delivering newspapers in the small town I grew up in, which was Mt. Ephraim, New Jersey. After at least forty minutes, they arrived at my current position of Account Executive for new accounts. And then Mr. Thalman said, “Let’s take a few minutes break. I had my assistant order some coffee and donuts.” “We will be discussing with you what opportunity we have in mind for you. Oh, here comes the coffee and donuts. Relax for a few minutes.” They all started eating the donuts as if they hadn’t eaten in a week, and gulping coffee like it was the last cup they were going to get. My mouth was dry, and my stomach was turning. I sure wasn’t going to eat donuts. I sat down and took a couple of deep breaths. And I waited for them to go forward. I took several drinks of water and tried to swallow it without choking. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous except when I was applying to Temple University, and I was interviewed by the Dean of the School.

I tried to maintain a calm demeanor. But, that couldn’t stop my hands and forehead from sweating. My throat felt dry and raspy. Finally, I asked if I could have a drink of water. I gulped it down so fast that I started choking. The secretary handed me a napkin and smiled down at me. Somehow, that smile did the trick, and I started breathing more normally and calming down. After all, I told myself this wasn’t the only job in the world. If I didn’t get this one, I had confidence that eventually, I would be hired, and I would excel at whatever I set my mind to.

After about twenty more minutes of questioning me, they asked me to step out of the office until they called me back. It seemed like a lifetime before that happened. Finally, the secretary said, “They’re ready for you now. Please follow me.” And so I did. When I reentered the office, I looked at each of their faces, but no one gave anything away. And then Mr. Thalman said, “Congratulations, we have all agreed that you are the man for the job. And he stood up and shook my hand. It was the best day of my life.

And so, I started my new position the following week. And for five years, I worked from morning until night. And I was successful. I received raises in my pay grade every year. And in the fifth year, I was offered a new position at the corporate headquarters. And I accepted it, thinking I’ve had the world at my feet, and that nothing was going to stand in my way to the top.

And then suddenly, without any warning that I can ascertain, little things started to go wrong. At first, it seemed inconsequential. My computer developed some weird glitches, and the IT department couldn’t find the problem. In the end, they decided to provide a new computer. So, for a little while, it was smooth sailing.

The next thing that happened was one morning, I was running late, and the traffic was heavy and unbelievably congested. It was bumper to bumper. And then, out of the blue, two cars ahead of me, a guy driving a Volva hit his brakes. And the car in front of me did the same, and I rear-ended him. It was awful. And just when I thought, oh, it’s not that bad, a car rear-ended me. Now, my car, one that I loved with all my heart, was ruined front and back. I started crying right then and there. I was still crying when the state trooper came over to my driver’s side window to see if I was injured. He found me crying like a baby. I couldn’t even manage to calm down enough to answer his question. I just sat there and cried as if I just lost my best friend. About a half hour later, a tow truck came by and towed my car, with me sitting in his front seat, crying the whole way. 

A couple of months after the CAR ACCIDENT, That’s how I always referred to it in all caps, THE CAR ACCIDENT. I was finally ready to buy a new car. I had been carpooling with a co-worker of mine. I was still somewhat trepiduous about driving, but I was somewhat confident in my ability to drive again. For the most part, I was right, but if anyone got too close, I would start hyperventilating and break out in a sweat, and my heart would start beating like a snare drum.

The next unexpected event was that my immediate boss quit because he found a better-paying position with a competing corporation. It took a while for my group to come together again and work as a team. I eventually was moved up to a higher position. Which was great, except I was now working twelve-hour days, and I was totally exhausted mentally and physically worn out.

As a result, my health started to fail, I started having asthma, and I hadn’t had any symptoms in years. It was just awful. I decided perhaps it might be psychosomatic and made an appointment to see a therapist. The therapist listened to my whole tale of woe and decided I had developed PTSD. He put me on Seratonin. It evens out my behavior, so I don’t overreact to any event that might occur.

There was a peaceful lull that lasted about four months. And I thought, oh thank god, that’s over. And things can finally go back to normal. And for a while, it did. And then, late one night, I received a call from my mother’s neighbor. She told me that my mother, who was in her mid-seventies, had taken a fall and was taken in an ambulance to the hospital. Either I come and take care of her, hire someone to stay at the house with her, or put her in a nursing home. She wouldn’t be able to live on her own anymore.

So, I had to take time off from my job and go down to Florida to take care of my mother. I hadn’t been there in over a year. My boss tried to be understanding, but he told me to please come back in a week’s time, or there was going to be a big problem.

I flew to Florida to save time. It was a short flight considering how far Florida is from where I live. I had called several Home Care companies in the area where my mother lived and arranged to meet four possible home caretakers. I was sure I could handle the whole issue and be back to work in less than a week. But, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I had contacted my mother’s physician to see if it was possible for my mother to go home two days after I arrived in Florida so I would have time to interview the possible caretakers. He said, “Yes, of course. We wouldn’t be able to release her unless there was going to be a family member or a skilled caretaker in her residence. I thanked him and gave him my contact information.

I interviewed two women and a young man. I was surprised when a man showed up because I guess I never really considered a man would want to care for an older woman. And when I put some deeper thought into it, I realized that there are men who are nurses and caretakers and doctors. So, of course, there would be men who would work as caretakers.

That afternoon I waited for the first woman to show up. I hoped that she would be willing to do some housekeeping and laundry because my mother’s house looked like a bomb had hit it, literally. There were clothes, dirty towels, filthy sinks, and food that was spoiled sitting on every surface from the kitchen to her bedroom. I kid you not. It was absolutely disgusting. My first impulse when I walked through the front door was to turn and run back into my rental car and back to the airport.

I spent the first several hours cleaning the kitchen from floor to ceiling, changing the filthy sheets and bedspread on my mother’s bed, but worst of all was her bathroom. It looked like the bathtub and the shower hadn’t been clean in, well, forever. The more I saw, the quiltier I felt my mother only had me, and obviously, she hadn’t been able to depend on me. I had failed her completely. She had been living in a pigsty. I cried for the first half-hour I was there. I had to stuff tissues in my nostrils to keep the stink out. Because the smell made me want to throw up, I vowed that I would never allow this to happen to my mother again, I was going to have to get a full-time caretaker or have her move into a facility for aged people who could no longer live independently. I knew my mother would hate it, but anything was better than how she had been living up until now.

That afternoon I interviewed three people for the caretaking position, two middle-aged women and one young man named Joseph, who looked to be about twenty years old, but told me he was twenty-nine and he had amazing references and had done this kind of work since he was twenty after he had taken care of his own mother who developed early onset Alzheimers. I hired him after checking all his credentials. He said he would arrive the morning of my mother’s release from the hospital and was even willing to go and pick her up from the hospital.

All that night, I tossed and turned in the hotel bed. I kept waking up and having flashes of the condition of my mother’s house when I first saw it. At one point I started crying. I felt so ashamed of myself for not keeping in contact with my mother and being completely unaware of her circumstances. I vowed once again that I would never allow such a thing to happen again.

The next morning I slowly rolled out of the fold-out bed and stood up. I felt hungover, even though I didn’t have anything to drink. I was just exhausted from no sleep and worry. I took a quick shower, threw on my clean clothes, turned on my GPS, and headed to the hospital to pick up my Mother. Steven, the new caretaker, promised that he would be at my mother’s house and make sure everything was in order. And I believed him.

I took a deep breath, and when I arrived at the hospital, I spoke to my mother’s physician. And he assured me that, luckily, my mother was not injured physically, but was quite frail, since it appeared as if she hadn’t been eating properly. And probably skipping meals since she stated that she didn’t like eating alone. I felt a tear run down my face, and many more followed. The doctor put his arm around me. And that made me cry even more. And I kept apologizing for the state my mother was in and what had happened to her. And I was lucky she hadn’t died. He kept saying,” Now, now, you’re here now. And I know you will do everything you can to make sure nothing further happens to your mother.”

The nurse followed me into my mother’s hospital room and said, “Mrs. Taylor, your son, Jerry is here to take you home. I’m sure you are more than ready to get out of this hospital bed and back in your own bed. You have my number, or you can call your personal physician if you have any problems or if you have questions. I hope you are back to your own self asap. And with that, he turned his back and was gone. I stood there next to my mother, who I hardly recognized since she had lost so much weight. I started to cry again. I tried to gain control of myself. I wasn’t a crier, but the guilt of my mother’s condition and the condition of her home was overwhelming. My mother said in a low tone, “Please, Jerry, it’s alright, you are here now. Please, please, can you get me out of here? I hate hospitals. I was so afraid I was going to die here alone in this room. I’m so happy to see your handsome face.”

These were the kindest words that my mother ever said to me, and once again, more tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I said, “Yes, yes, let’s get you home now. I want you to know that I hired a wonderful young man to help take care of you and your house until you have fully recovered. And maybe you will decide that you would like him to continue staying with you after you feel better. But, I let you decide.

About twenty minutes later, I had my mother checked out and taken in a wheelchair out to the car that I had waiting at the curb. We had a quiet ride home to her house—neither one of us knew what to say. Finally, my mother said, “Oh, Jerry, thank you so much for coming. I love you so much and have missed you with all my heart. I’m sorry the house looks so terrible, I just haven’t had any energy to keep up with it, and maybe I didn’t care anymore. I felt so alone in that house, and I couldn’t think of a reason to go on anymore.”

When we arrived at my mother’s house, my mother said, “Yeah! We’re home. I awkwardly helped my mother to the house, and when we got up to the door, Joseph was standing there with a wheelchair and said, “All aboard.” My mother looked at me and then looked at Joseph and laughed. And Joseph easily lifted her up and placed her gently onto the wheelchair. “Here we go, hold on, Madam.” My mother said, “Oh my, two young men taking care of me, how wonderful.”

And that, my friends, was a wonderful new beginning for my mother and me and an end to the “Bad Luck.”

 

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Hello, I wanted to let you all know that as of this week, I will be posting my new short story or memoir on Fridays and posting one of my previously posted stories on Wednesdays. I hope all is well with you. Best Wishes, Susan A. Culver

Dear Followers, I am reposting one of my older stories and taking a week off writing. Here is the link:https://susanaculver.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=4188&action=edit&classic-editor&classic-editor__forget

Susan A. Culver

Every time I think, I’ve written my last memoir about my experiences as a young girl who was raised as a Catholic and attended twelve years of Catholic School. I remember yet another experience that has lain dormant deep down in my oldest memories.

In fact, almost every experience I had up until my eighteenth birthday affected my relationship with the Catholic Church and the nuns that taught me everything from basic math to calculus, how to read and write English Grammar properly, and how to read Latin and speak French. I still retain the ability to read French after almost fifty years. Thanks to Sister Renard, my French teacher, for three years. And more than any other lesson I learned was self-control and knowing when to keep my mouth shut. And keeping a secret is not necessarily a lie.

I come from a fairly large Catholic family. I had five sisters and one brother. My twin sister and I were the youngest. We were born in 1951. And my middle sisters were seven and eight years older than me, and my twin. My older sister Jean was thirteen years older than us, and my brother was nineteen years older. Both my older brother and my sister Jean have passed away.

My next two older sisters both attended Catholic School through high school. I do not know how their Catholic School education affected them, but I do know how it affected me. Of course, since my older sisters and my twin, and I attended school, we were all affected and part of the baby boomer generation. After World War II there was a tremendous increase in the number of babies born after World War II when American soldiers returned from serving time in the military during WWII and the Korean War.

Elementary Catholic School classrooms were overcrowded. In first grade, I didn’t have my own seat. At first, I sat on the windowsill, and later I got my own desk and chair, but it was parked directly behind a large post that supported the ceiling. And I could only see the blackboard if I stuck my head out on either side of the pole. I could hear everything alright, but I could see anything but that pole, including what was written on the blackboard. At first, I would raise my hand to get the attention Sister John Michael’s attention, but she either couldn’t see my arm flagging her down, or she was intentionally ignoring me.

I was a quiet kid and tried to keep my head down and out of trouble for the most part. Really, the last thing you wanted to do was gain the attention of any of the nuns during your tenure as a Catholic School student. Because if you did, you would get your name written on the blackboard, and you would have to stay after school and do chores or write things like I will not talk during class one hundred times. I used to go down the page and write each word one hundred times and then do the same for all the other words until they were written one hundred times.

During my elementary school years, I had two lay teachers, Miss Norris and Mr. McElliot, my fifth-grade teacher. It just so happened that Mr. McElliot knew my older brother and had worked with him at the Maple Shade Post Office. And he told me that my brother was one of the smartest people he ever met. I had always been extremely proud of my brother, Harry, because he was the first person in my family to go to college and earned his Ph.D. in Psychology.

Later, my sister, Elizabeth, went to college. She earned a nursing degree and also taught high school. I went to college when I was thirty-six to the Tyler School of Art in Pennsylvania and earned two degrees in art by the time I was forty. My English teachers at Tyler always asked me if I attended Catholic School because of my grasp of grammar and literature. And the ability to write a coherent sentence and spell correctly.

Aside from learning reading, writing, and Arithmetic in Catholic School, I learned self-control. Because if you didn’t know how to sit quietly in the classroom, you would get your hand whacked with a wooden ruler with a metal edge. Over the eight years I attended Catholic grade school, I had my head bashed into the blackboard multiple times. Usually, it was for passing notes to other students. But, more often, it was because I had a difficult time doing math, especially the higher maths like geometry and algebra. You will be happy to know that eventually, I did finally grasps math. But, it didn’t occur until much later when as an adult, I decided to volunteer to teach basic skills to adults who didn’t graduate from high school and were trying to earn their GED. I purchased a math book and then went through it from beginning to end and finally taught myself math. And I was then able to teach that skill to my GED students. But, I really owed the nuns for their perseverance in trying to teach me math for twelve years.

When I look back at the twelve years that I spent in Catholic School, the year that stands out the most for me was fourth grade when Sister Joseph Catherine was my teacher. My fourth-grade class was held in the basement of the Catholic School on the stage. Because the school was so overpopulated by students that they ran out of classrooms. Sister Joseph Catherine was petite. In fact, she was only a few inches taller than I was at nine years old. But within her small stature was hiding a whole lot of repressed rage and anger. I have no idea what she was so mad about, but it was clear to everyone that had ears and eyes in their head that they better not cross her. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.

But for no reason that I was ever able to discern Sister Joseph, Catherine picked me to be her constant companion and slave. Everywhere she went, I went. And I had to carry her books and whatever else she needed to be transported from one place to another. In class, it behooved everyone to do as she told, or there would be hell to pay. I can not remember what I did in her classroom to aggravate her, but one day she called me up to the blackboard to solve a math problem. As I have mentioned, math was not a strong point for me. So, Sister Joseph Catherine wrote a problem on the blackboard with chalk and called me up to solve it.

Of course, my mind went completely blank, one reason being my difficulty with math and, secondly, because she was standing behind me berating me at the top of her voice about how stupid I was. This did not encourage me. I just stood there dumbfounded, my mind blank, shaking like a leaf. She came up behind me and banged my head repeatedly into the blackboard in front of the whole class. Who for once was completely silent. Not a word was said. I don’t remember how the incident ended. I did know that my days of being her slave were over. And I refused to follow her around and carry her stuff. When I went home, I told my parents what happened, and my mother said she was going to go and talk to Sister Joseph Catherine. And I begged her now to because I thought it would get worse for me in the classroom.

Looking back on it, I think I should have let my mother have a word with her, a harsh word. Maybe it would have prevented all of Sister Joseph Catherine from physically attacking any future students. Fortunately, the following year in the fifth grade, I had Mr. McElliot as a teacher. And he was a great teacher that made learning fun and interesting. He encouraged us to ask questions and have opinions. Needless to say, I did much better in his class. And he encouraged us to go to the library and read and learn about the world. And that is exactly what I did for the rest of my life.

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Sara had always considered herself to be an optimist. She looks forward to each new day as a new beginning. And an opportunity to do better than she had the day before. She is one of those people who always see the light at the end of the tunnel. Each morning when she wakes up, she looks out her bedroom window, and rain or shine, she is happy that she has the opportunity to begin a new day.

When Sara hits any roadblocks in her life, she finds a way around it and believes she was better for having overcome them. Her confidence in herself grew and grew. She had always been an independent person who prided herself on her ability to create her own success and not rely on other people.

Sara is a person with a big heart, and she is always willing to lend a helping hand to anyone who needs it. Sara has always set goals for herself from the time she was a little girl playing hopscotch on the sidewalk in front of her house. She wouldn’t give up until she hopped all the way to the end of the hopscotch and back again without touching her other foot to the ground. And when she succeeded, she would smile from ear to ear and jump up and down. Her girlfriends always laughed at her for getting so excited over a game of hopscotch.

As Sara grew up, she set higher and higher goals for herself. She always wanted to have the highest grade point average in her class, and she was the president of her class all through eight years of grade school and four years of high school. She was the valedictorian of her senior year in high school at graduation. And she was accepted into every college she applied to during her senior year. She decided that she would only attend the best university in the USA. She was accepted at Harvard, Princeton, and Yale. She decided on Princeton University since it had the highest rating of all the universities in America. She was offered a full scholarship.

Sara had a lot of girlfriends but hadn’t dated at all during high school since she felt her education was more important than dating, which she considered to be a waste of her time. She had no plans to get married any time soon, if at all. Her parents had divorced when she was in the third grade, and her memories of the time before that were of her parents arguing and disagreeing with each other all day and night. She had no desire to replicate that experience in her own life.

Her Freshman year at Princeton was challenging, to say the least. Princeton had a beautiful campus, and only the cream of the crop was accepted as students who would be expected to direct all their energy and time to their studies which were a preparation for their future. Sara had planned on her future being driven by her desire to make new strides in Biological Research. Sara believed that biological research helps us understand all of the living world and its many species, including humans, to function and evolve. And ultimately will advance improvements in medicine, biotechnology, and many other areas of biology, which will improve the quality of life for all the life on our planet.

During her third year at the university, Sara had to declare her major. This was always a stressful time for students since it was not unknown for students to be conflicted by their many interests, and picking one major was a kind of litmus test to see which students had evolved enough in their years at the university to make adult decisions about their future lives. And how they wanted to use that time. Sara had always known what she wanted to do with her life. But still, because of the high pressure, Sara found herself questioning her choice to the point that she was having difficulty falling asleep in the few hours of sleep that she allowed herself. And in addition, she found her appetite had decreased to the point that between little rest and poor appetite, she had lost considerable weight and energy.

Finally, one of her friends at the university stopped by Sara’s door room and ask if she could take a few minutes out of her studies for a short discussion. Sara looked at her friend and thought that she must be having some boyfriend issues. Sara had no experience with boyfriends since she didn’t date and had no desire to waste her time on the drama of young love that she saw all around her at the university. When her friend, Miriam, ask her if she could come in, Sara sighed and said, “Well, just for a little while. I just started doing the research on my thesis, Miriam.”

“Well, you are probably not going to like what I have to say, but here goes. I and the rest of your friends are concerned with your well-being. You don’t get much sleep, you never do anything that is fun or relaxing, but most of all, you are concerned about how much weight you have lost. Are you eating at all? Have you developed some sort of eating disorder? You know that the university has people that can address issues like this. What do you say? How about we go set up an appointment and see if there is a real problem or you just not getting enough sleep and not eating regularly?”

“What, I don’t have an eating disorder; I’m busy. I have a lot of work and research to do in a short amount of time. I supposed I do forget to eat occasionally. But it’s not a big deal. I’m young, and I will rebound, and in time I will finish my studies and move on to the real working world. Which I’m sure will be even more challenging than going to university, don’t you think?”

Miriam responded,” Could you please just stand up next to me and look in the mirror? If you remember, we were both about the same weight and height when we arrived here on campus three years ago. So, would you please come to look in the mirror?”

Sara hemmed and hawed for a moment, and then she said, “Alright, but this better not take too long. I have a great deal of work to do. And then she walked over to the mirror and stood next to Miriam, and looked into the mirror. They both looked in the mirror and then at each other. And Miriam said, “Well, how do you think you look?”

“Well, if I were, to be honest, I’d have to say that I do look somewhat thinner. But that’s not surprising; I have been working night and day. And so do most of the students here that wish to excel in their studies. Their futures depend upon it. “

“Do you notice your clothes are hanging off of you? How about how thing your face is compared to mine? Your clothes are falling off of you. You don’t eat much, you rarely sleep. How do you expect to excel at anything when you’re starving yourself and not sleeping at all? And you work night and day. You never take a break, ever.”

“Yes, I can see I lost some weight, and we are all tired. But, we are working towards our futures, and that takes time and lots and lots of effort, sometimes going without sleep.”
“Yes, but how far are you going to get if you are starving yourself and not sleeping? Shouldn’t your health and well-being be the number one priority?”

“Yes, but sometimes I just don’t have enough time to think about eating and sleeping.”
“How about if you make a compromise? How about if every morning you come down to the cafeteria with me and eat a light breakfast, and then at dinner time, we go down and eat dinner together? Maybe once in a great while, we can splurge and go out for pizza or something. What do you say?”
“Breakfast and dinner too, oh come on, that’s too much. And then Sara began to laugh. “OK, OK, breakfast and dinner, and once in a great while, go out for pizza. But that’s it.”

“Awesome, let’s celebrate by going out for that pizza right now. What do you say?”

“ I say, I’m slammed but OK, but then I have to come right back here and get busy working on my research paper, deal?”

“Yes, deal, so throw on some shoes, grab your purse, and let’s get that pizza with all the toppings. What do you say, Sara?”

“OK, let’s hit the road and get a pizza. I can almost taste it right now.”

“Me, too. Let’s hit the road.”

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

God, I’m so fricking tired of this shit. Every morning I get up early, wake the damn kids up and feed them their fricking Cocoa Puffs. This is the thanks I get. That piece of shit won’t start again. I just had the battery replaced. So, what the hell is wrong with that bucket of bolts now? I’ll have to wake up Gerry and see if he can get it started. I have to take those brats to school. I have to go to traffic court for that trumped-up DUI ticket.

 “Gerry, wake up. The hoopty car won’t start again. Get up.”

“What, what the hell do you want now? I just got to sleep a couple of hours ago. God, can’t you keep those kids quiet and turn down that damn TV.”

“Don’t you go to sleep again, you lazy good for nothing? You’re just another example of how I try to help people, and they end up taking advantage of me.”

“Alright, alright, let me put some pants on and take a piss. Can you give me five minutes?”

“Five minutes, that’s it. You get your sorry ass out on the curb and help me. You have been living here for a year and a half, and you never lift a hand to help me. And I let that brat of yours live here too. When you leave, she’s going with you. Keep that in mind.”

God, it’s so cold out here. What am I going to do if he can’t fix it? I’m tapped out. I used up all the child support this month already. That old bag of a mother won’t lend me another dime. I spend the SSI money on heating oil. My exes won’t fork over any more money. My credit cards are maxed out. Crap.

“Well, it’s about time you got your sorry ass out here. What took you so long?”

“I’m here now; let me try it. You probably just flooded it.”

“Well, can you fix it or not?”

“Not. I don’t know. Maybe the alternators dead, or it needs a new ignition system. You’ll have to take it up to Pep Boys and get it checked out. I’m going back to bed.”

“The hell you are. If I don’t get this piece of crap running, we’re all screwed. Do you have any money you didn’t tell me about?”

“Oh yeah, my hidden assets. You take my disability check the second I get it. Where would I get any money?’

“You think I don’t know that you’re selling meth out of my trailer out back. Come on, hand it over right now, or get the hell out of here. And take that skanky daughter of yours with you. I’m sick of her waking me up all night with her constant hacking. She always seems to have money for her smokes. Where’s she getting that money on her back?”

“Hey, don’t you talk about my daughter like that? Here I’ve got fifty bucks, that’s it.

“That’s not enough. I have to find some more money fast. I’m just going to take a credit card out in Harry’s name. I did the same thing with the older two. I don’t have any choice.”

“What the hell are you talking about? A credit card in Harry’s name; he’s only seven years old. And you did that to the other two too? Man, you really are one crappy mother. You’re always calling them names and knocking them around. Now you’re screwing up their credit too. What are you going to do next? Make Sissy prostitute herself?”

“She probably already does. But she won’t give me any money. Right now, I’m going to call my mother. See if she can come and pick up the kids and take them to school and then drop me off at court. I have to take care of that bogus DUI.

After traffic court, Meghan stands outside the police station trying to decide what to do next when her cell phone rings.

“Meghan, it’s your Aunt Tilly.”

“I know who it is, Aunt Tilly. What do you want? I’m having a hell of a bad day, and it’s not even lunchtime.”

“Meghan, it’s your Uncle Morty; he’s really bad. If you want to see him again, you better get your ass over here now. He isn’t going to last much longer.”

All I ever do is give, give, and give.  All I ever get back is crap. Nobody appreciates anything I do. How I keep food on the table and clothes on their backs. They never lift a hand to help me. Now I have to go visit my Uncle. What’s next? Do I have to serve food at the homeless shelter? Next thing I know, I’ll be living in the shelter along with those two brats of mine.

“Hi, Aunt Tilly. I got here as fast as I could. I had to go to court today. My car broke down again, and I had to take the bus to get here. It’s cold as hell out here. Can I come in? Can you give me a cup of coffee? I could eat too. I haven’t eaten anything today. I’ll go see Uncle Morty while you’re doing that.”

 Oh, Jeez, look at him. He looks like he is about to breathe his last breath. God, it freaking stinks in here. I hate old people. They stink. I ought to get a medal for this.

“Hi, Uncle Joe, it’s me, Meghan, I came to see how you’re doing. Aunt Tilly called this morning and said you weren’t feeling too well. Uncle Joe raises his limp hand and signals for Meghan to come closer. She leans in, and his breath almost knocks her over.

“Jeez, Uncle Morty, would it kill you to rinse out with some Listerine once in a while? So, what do you want to tell me?”

She hears him whisper, “Here. You were always my favorite.”

He hands her a paper. She looks down, and it’s a check. At that moment, she sees his hand drop-down, and he releases a long sour breath. She looks at him and lifts one of his baggy eyelids. He’s dead. She screams at the top of her lungs. Her aunt comes running in.

“For the love of god, what are you whaling about? You scared the hell out of me.”

Meghan points at Uncle Joe. Aunt Tilly says,” Well, if that don’t beat all. The first time I’m out of this dam room for more than five minutes, and he croaks. He was always such an inconsiderate bastard. What’s that in your hand?”

Meghan looks down at her hand and says, “I forgot. He handed this to me and told me I was his favorite. “It’s a check for…oh my god, it’s for one hundred thousand dollars. Is this for real?”

“Yeah, it’s real. He said he was going to leave you something. But I thought he was going to leave you his baseball card collection. He said that you and he used to collect those when you were a kid. And he took you to all the Phillies games. I guess you were his favorite. He didn’t leave your mother anything.”

“Holy crap, this is the answer to my prayers. Thanks, Aunt Tilly. I gotta be going. Let me know if I can do anything to help with the funeral. I have to get home to pick up the kids from school. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, you’re leaving now? Aren’t you going to at least wait until the mortician comes to pick up your uncle?”

“Naw, I can’t now, Aunt Tilly. I’ll call you later.” Meghan takes the 402 express bus home and gets off in front of the bank. She wants to cash the check before her aunt decides to stop payment on it or something. She walks up to the bank teller and hands the check over. “I want to cash this check. Can you put it all in one-hundred-dollar bills?”

The bank teller takes a look at the check and gives Meghan a look over too. “Can you wait a minute, please? I have to talk to the manager. I don’t know if we have enough cash on hand at this branch. We may have to contact the main branch to get this amount.”

About twenty minutes later, the manager calls Meghan over to her office. Here you go, Ms. Mullen; sorry for the wait. We had to get the cash from the main bank. I put the money in an envelope for you. I don’t recommend you walk around with this much cash. Perhaps you would like to open up a savings account and place some of this money here for safekeeping.”

“What? No, no, I’ll be taking it to… to my accountant tomorrow morning. Don’t worry about it. Thanks.”

 Oh, my freaking god, I’m rich, rich. Finally, I got what I deserved all these years. The first thing I’m going to do is get rid of that freaking piece of shit car and get those freeloaders out of my house. Then I’m going to take a vacation by myself. Maybe I’ll get lucky and meet a rich guy on a cruise or something, somebody with class.

One month later, Meghan returns from a gambling cruise on the Mississippi.  Her pockets are empty, and no rich guy in tow. Her mother meets her at the door.

“Well, it’s about dam time that you showed up, Meghan. These brats of yours are driving me half crazy. I had to let Gerry and his daughter move back in. I couldn’t cover your bills by myself. You neglected to leave me any money while you took your vacation. Your car still isn’t working. I hope you saved some of that money to get a new car or at least get that junker fixed. The least you could have done was stay for your Uncles funeral. Aunt Tilly was really pissed when you didn’t show up.”

“Goddam, it all to hell. Can’t I ever catch a break?

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Sorry, I forgot to attach the link. Here it is https://susanaculver.com  for my blog, Write On.

Susan A. Culver

Dear Write-On Followers: I am taking a Spring Break for the next two weeks. I will be spending my time working in my garden. I will be posting four of my best stories, and you are free to read any of my other 285 stories that I have written in the past five-plus years. Here is the link to Write ON blog:https://susanaculver.com

Susan A. Culver

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.