Re: Pete

Pete,

Pete,

My job, perhaps. My wilted relationship with my mother. My cat, Rosie.

Did I tell you that I lost my job?

I don’t suppose I did. I’m sorry for the three-week delay, there had to be a few changes made around here, now that I haven’t a steady income.

My mother said I could move back home, but I can sense that she’s disappointed. She never says it, Pete. But I can see it in the strain of her smiles, and the tightness of her face, and the coldness when she greets me. I don’t think she realises that she’s doing it, much less how every weary stare and drawn out sigh seems to chisel at my heart, painfully carving it into something other than it is. I don’t know what that is, and I don’t particularly want to find out.

I had to give Rosie to the family next door when I moved out, you know. The woman from the pet agency said Rosie wouldn’t do too well being moved, especially since mum’s house is really close to a big road. The family had two kids and a single mother. I think it’ll make them happy, but I still miss her. Suddenly, I feel all the more alone.

So now what? I’ve nothing to my name, but my meagre savings and some office clothes that are suddenly useless to me.

Mum says I should do cleaning to get by. She’s already organized with a couple of women in the neighbourhood to have me come. I think they all feel sorry for me, that’s why they agreed.

I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but the thought of cleaning for a living and staying at home for the rest of my life makes me feel so utterly afraid, Peter, it drowns out everything else for a while. It’s a pitiful existence and I know it, but it’s like being stuck at the bottom of a pit with no way out.

So, what now?

Yours sincerely,

Jan