it because she said they smoked too much pot, butI bet she was paranoid.
No, Trisha
, she said intensely.
You need a plan. You can’t sit here like this in your room, with those two out there all day. You’ll go crazy.
She slapped the bottom of my feet.
You need a job.
Oh, Kristy, I groaned.
You need to pay attention
, she said, and if possible her voice got even more intense.
You need to look for all the bits of your personality that are like Ma’s and you have to work against them or else you could end up just like her. And it worries me that you don’t have a job, Trish. You’re old enough. I’ve had one for years. You can’t lay around all summer like she does.
Our mother doesn’t work. She hasn’t really ever, and her mom didn’t work either. It’s like a family tradition, not working. A few years back she’d actually freaked us all out by going down to Joe’s Club and managing to get hired, and for a minute that was really exciting. Joe’s Club sells basically everything you could ever need, and workers get a discount on the already cheap stuff. The possibility of such material riches almost made me anxious. We could get a DVD player. Cassette tapes in bulk, for hardly any money. Giant-sized bags of potato chips. Oh, the luxury of a giant new bag of chips. One you pull open with a pop, releasing the greasy-salty puff of potato chip air from inside. You can snack ’til you’re stuffed and not worry about leaving enough for the other hogs, there’s just so much. A pirate’s treasure, an endless magical bag of chips. The Joe’s Club thing opened up these wondrous possibilities, possibilities that were then slaughtered because ofMa’s back problems, how the job aggravated them. And the thing about back problems is doctors can’t even say if they’re real or not. I mean, if Ma’s lying they can’t prove it, but they also can’t give her the big Bad Back Award. It’s a weird gray area, the back. Ma brought hers back to the couch and that was the end of my Joe’s Club dreams. I did console myself with one of Ma’s new painkillers, which was sort of nice. Ma had to hike down to the welfare office, all doped up on them, and explain her failed attempt at rejoining society to her caseworker, getting back on track with the flow of paperwork and aid that came regularly through our door slot. I just lay in my bed, feeling heavy and wobbly like a pan full of Jell-O.
All in all Ma doesn’t have it so bad. I mean, if I’m right, most people work all week to scavenge two brief days of the kind of living Ma has all the time. It’s like she’s on a permanent vacation. I have to admit, this lifestyle has a queasy pull for me, sort of like the last beer or two of the night — I know it’s not so good for me, but I want it anyway. Even the kind of wanting is similar, a sort of familiar and comfortable and even physical want, like I’ve already had it and I want it back, intimate like that. Like that lying-around life or bottle of beer was mine some time ago, was ripped away, and I’m just working to get it back. I know that Kristy’s right to ride her own ass so hard, and that she’s right about me too, but the conversation still shakes me up and makes me sort of frustrated. Because it’s just not that easy for me. I can’t just crash out into the world with a smile and a flip of hair and make shit happen. I don’t know how to be like Kristy, who seems to understand the crucialway to be if you want to get things in this world.
Kristy, I Don’t Know How To get A Job. Nobody’s Going To Hire Me.
Kristy’s eyeliner-wide eyes grew larger in alarm at my words.
Well, to start, stop talking like that
, she hissed her voice like it could put out the fire my negative sentence had sparked.
You shouldn’t even think like that, Trish. But you really, really shouldn’t talk like that.
She took a breath.
Okay, say this: people are waiting to hire me.
Kristy, I groaned.
Say it!
People Are Waiting To
No, Trisha
, she said intensely.
You need a plan. You can’t sit here like this in your room, with those two out there all day. You’ll go crazy.
She slapped the bottom of my feet.
You need a job.
Oh, Kristy, I groaned.
You need to pay attention
, she said, and if possible her voice got even more intense.
You need to look for all the bits of your personality that are like Ma’s and you have to work against them or else you could end up just like her. And it worries me that you don’t have a job, Trish. You’re old enough. I’ve had one for years. You can’t lay around all summer like she does.
Our mother doesn’t work. She hasn’t really ever, and her mom didn’t work either. It’s like a family tradition, not working. A few years back she’d actually freaked us all out by going down to Joe’s Club and managing to get hired, and for a minute that was really exciting. Joe’s Club sells basically everything you could ever need, and workers get a discount on the already cheap stuff. The possibility of such material riches almost made me anxious. We could get a DVD player. Cassette tapes in bulk, for hardly any money. Giant-sized bags of potato chips. Oh, the luxury of a giant new bag of chips. One you pull open with a pop, releasing the greasy-salty puff of potato chip air from inside. You can snack ’til you’re stuffed and not worry about leaving enough for the other hogs, there’s just so much. A pirate’s treasure, an endless magical bag of chips. The Joe’s Club thing opened up these wondrous possibilities, possibilities that were then slaughtered because ofMa’s back problems, how the job aggravated them. And the thing about back problems is doctors can’t even say if they’re real or not. I mean, if Ma’s lying they can’t prove it, but they also can’t give her the big Bad Back Award. It’s a weird gray area, the back. Ma brought hers back to the couch and that was the end of my Joe’s Club dreams. I did console myself with one of Ma’s new painkillers, which was sort of nice. Ma had to hike down to the welfare office, all doped up on them, and explain her failed attempt at rejoining society to her caseworker, getting back on track with the flow of paperwork and aid that came regularly through our door slot. I just lay in my bed, feeling heavy and wobbly like a pan full of Jell-O.
All in all Ma doesn’t have it so bad. I mean, if I’m right, most people work all week to scavenge two brief days of the kind of living Ma has all the time. It’s like she’s on a permanent vacation. I have to admit, this lifestyle has a queasy pull for me, sort of like the last beer or two of the night — I know it’s not so good for me, but I want it anyway. Even the kind of wanting is similar, a sort of familiar and comfortable and even physical want, like I’ve already had it and I want it back, intimate like that. Like that lying-around life or bottle of beer was mine some time ago, was ripped away, and I’m just working to get it back. I know that Kristy’s right to ride her own ass so hard, and that she’s right about me too, but the conversation still shakes me up and makes me sort of frustrated. Because it’s just not that easy for me. I can’t just crash out into the world with a smile and a flip of hair and make shit happen. I don’t know how to be like Kristy, who seems to understand the crucialway to be if you want to get things in this world.
Kristy, I Don’t Know How To get A Job. Nobody’s Going To Hire Me.
Kristy’s eyeliner-wide eyes grew larger in alarm at my words.
Well, to start, stop talking like that
, she hissed her voice like it could put out the fire my negative sentence had sparked.
You shouldn’t even think like that, Trish. But you really, really shouldn’t talk like that.
She took a breath.
Okay, say this: people are waiting to hire me.
Kristy, I groaned.
Say it!
People Are Waiting To
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