No Cream

Photo by Tanaphong Toochinda on Unsplash

Jay was seriously considering selling pictures of her feet. She’d just driven 60 miles one-way for $20, because the nearest consignment shop was 60 miles away and that’s how badly she needed $20. 

“These we couldn’t sell,” the consignment shop clerk told her, her hands resting on Jay's tote as she spoke. They’re lovely, Jay thought, her eyes on the clerk’s manicured nails, her spotless palms, the dainty rings hugging delicate fingers. 

The $20 meant Jay could stay hydrated, eat two meals each day, and enjoy home-brewed coffee every morning for the rest of the week. No cream, she thought wistfully; but she would make it to payday without caffeine withdrawal, an overdraft fee, or a missed payment. Small victories, Jay thought. She forced a tight smile and a “thank you” on her way out, resenting the cheerful ding of the consignment shop’s door.  

Jay had started her journey with a full tank of gas, and even after the drive home she knew she’d have enough fuel to get to and from work until payday. And if the low fuel light comes on the day before payday, that’s alright, Jay thought. She knew from experience that “Low Fuel” actually meant she could easily make it another 30 miles. Jay’s whole life was math, and it had always been this way. 

“We only have $200 in the bank.” Jay’s mom said; her face lined with fear, soaked in sunlight. Jay sat in the yard beside her young mother, tugging blades of grass and wishing her little fingers might unearth gold.

It was Jay’s first money memory, and it came back to her now as she buckled up for the drive home. I would be elated to only have $200 in my bank account, Jay thought.

“Things will get better,” she said out loud. “They have to.”