Return Of The Exiled

1- What a fucking Birthday

Benita

"I swear Benita, you are the only person I know who would be happy that they could work legally," my best friend Cam shakes his head as I show him my date of birth on my identification card, proudly.

Today is my birthday. "I am eighteen. Which means that my salary has to go up by five whole dollars." It also means that I no longer needed to pay that witch next door five hundred dollars every month to say she was my legal guardian.

He eyes me, rolling his eyes as his long fingers circle his glass of Diet Coke. "You've been talking of it non-stop an entire month Ben, we know."

Cam is still seventeen and stands an entire foot taller than me at his six-foot, three-inches, height. Cam still has years ahead of him to fill out his body which is more on the lanky rather than buff side. His hair is dead ass straight and kept a bit lengthy, streaked with blond pieces that compliment his natural black hair. His almond-shaped eyes are his best feature- gray in such a shade that I have never seen on anyone else. Long, narrow nose and wide lips but teeth lined with bracers.

At the moment Cam is dressed in a red folded-sleeved shirt and black cargo pants which suits his choice of footwear- black casual boots. His wrists are decorated with about eight black, to brown bands, in different shades and styles. Moonstones, beads, knots, and plain leather straps. One earlobe is pierced twice where he wears two black studs while the other is free of it.

My bestie does not need to work. Not that he is rich, but his parents have enough. Cam works because he needs spending money- like for today. He's paying for our meal. He knows the reason why I need the money, so he mostly pays when we hang out for our drinks. We cut costs by eating at his parents' house.

Cam is what a friend is defined as. Chosen family, you know. Not those freaks you see people bragging about #bestie just because they do drugs together, drink together, or just hang out with. Cam's the real deal. I could swear if I needed a kidney, he would surgery up; and I, the same for him. We've been best friends since as far back as I can remember.

Since today is my birthday, it's his treat. Samantha, his girlfriend, is joining us soon, and while we do get along. She gives off a needy vibe. #drama #attentionwhore #needy

I can tell she is just putting up with me because of Cameron. She is a piece of work and not likable at all. She is fussy and has Cam doing things he dislikes- like mall shopping.

And making stops at her house to drop off coffee or iced tea for her and her friends when they hang out. Like me, Cam dislikes social media. I think he hates it because of me but that's the kind of friend he is.

Truthfully, I dislike it because it is a drama. And my life has no space for drama. I wish it did, but I am not that fortunate.

When Cam just said 'we' earlier, he meant our other two friends. Tom and Brady- nope, that is their actual name, I kid you not. Brothers.

Cheering, we click our plastic cups together and grin while we finish our chicken and fries.

"Tomorrow, I will march into Sloan's office and demand he makes the change." Sloan is our manager at the cafe we work at. He can be a real piece of work when he wants to be and honestly, I do not like the individual much. After graduation, I will hit the next town and become a waitress in a bar or something. Maybe train to barkeep- I heard they get larger salaries, and I really could use the cash.

Samantha shows up and the Titans Raven wannabe shakes my hand and wishes me all the best today. If Cam wants me to go on along with this for years in the future, he and I will be seeing less of each other. I am only putting up with her because I know they will eventually break up.

No, I am not jealous or bitter, it's just straight facts, man.

Her 'hardcore' outlook on life is such an obvious facade that she gives me a headache sometimes. I don't know how everyone falls for it. I mean she dresses well but I mean, come on; are the chained belts really necessary to everything she wears?

Does she need a Marvin beanie hat for daily wear?

How hard was it to actually hug me and say, "Hey Benita, happy birthday?" Not difficult at all. And why the need to deepen her voice? Does she want to sound masculine? Cause she succeeded. 

Minutes later, Cam kisses my forehead, and we part ways.

Heading straight to the hospital, I wave at the receptionist who has gotten to know me so well by now, that she just buzzes me straight up to my father's room.

Inside the private bathroom, I stare at my reflection. My make up free face. My unwaxed eyebrows, my bob-cut hair that has not seen the saloon in almost two years- not since money started to run low. My appearance is a bit weary. The black checkered long-sleeved shirt I am wearing now is one of Brady's. Sometimes when we hang out and I comment that I liked his shirt, he takes it off and gives it to me. The first time he did it, I was a bit ashamed but being broke and near-starving will have you asking, what is shame?

My friends never ridicule me.

My jeans- I have four pairs, have seen better days, and my undergarments are hanging on by threads. Literally, I had to sew my bra strap last night. Shampoo? What is that? I pray every day that my father will open his eyes and save me from this.

Washing my hands thoroughly, then my face, I head to my bedside and take one of his hands in mine. My eyes brim with tears. "Hold on Daddy, I'll get the money." 

I'm on a monthly plan with the hospital to pay for my father's care but now I am behind on payments. My savings are gone, and the house is mortgaged. The bank is also after me for payment. I've already rented out two rooms- what more could I do?

Public hospitals would just let him die with some sorry excuse of there being no space available to send him home. Or they would be 'short-staffed' when he is left unattended, leading to his eventual death...

First mom vanished then years later, an accident took both my grandparents' lives and my father in a coma. Since the accident four years ago, my life has been in shambles. For four years, I had to pay Ruth, my neighbor, to keep quiet about my situation, to the social services that I live alone.

If I went to an orphanage how would my mother know where I am, I used to think. If I were to be adopted, I would be moved to live somewhere else, and I could not risk that. Now, I am eighteen and she has never shown up once.

Kissing the back of my father's hand, I tell him about my day and my great plan to pay for his care.

"But it's temporary," I make sure he understood that part about my bartending plans. "Only until you wake up." My hot tears flow. "Please wake up Daddy, I don't want to be around those types of sleazy men."

But he does not wake up.

Not even when I told him that I would wear the tiniest of shorts and the smallest of tops ever made. My father always scolded me whenever I wore shorts or when my navel showed so I figured hearing that would have jolted him awake but nothing.

He just lies there with the machine breathing for him, and me with my heart broken.

Blindly, I stare at Miss Green, the receptionist, while another nurse pulls me aside to remind me about my late payments. But she adds to it with a sympathetic hand on my shoulder which is meant to warm the cold words exiting her mouth.

This is the part where people like Samanth would post a selfie with the caption; So sad. Daddy's on the road to recovery still. #sendlove #recovery #sad

Outside, I glare at the men in black who seem to always be around when I visit the hospital. I see them nowhere else, just here. They ignored me and turned to continue on with the conversation they were having as if I was not worth the second it would have taken them to sneer back at me.

Sitting on one of the hard benches, I try to ease my mind from the heavy thoughts that the nurse just gave me. My father is on life support and the administration team at the hospital wants to meet with me to discuss possible donations.

Glass-eyed, I grip the letter that would give me some detailed information to look into organ donations.