A Crippled Love

The One with the Job

A Crippled Love- The One With the Job

I sighed as I washed the mucky hospital windows. My upper arm ached as I scrubbed harder, hoping to get the gunk off faster. It finally peeled off, the grubby yellow blob now stuck to the sponge.

I climbed off the two step ladder, exhaling as I stretched my arms out.

Finally. I thought that was going to stick forever, I thought in relief. At least I can go home now.

My dark hair swept behind me as I walked down the staircase and to the front desk to sign out for the day.

"Done for the day, Peyton?" asked Daniel, the man sitting behind the main desk, giving me a grin.

I nodded and gave him a tiny, tired smile.

"Thank God. I thought I would die if I stayed in that smelly room any longer. It felt as if I was about to pass out from the stench."

He shook his head, letting out a deep chuckle.

"Man, I can't believe you still work here... seeing as how much you hate it."

I shrugged, keeping my bag in place with my right hand, while looking for my outdated ancient flip cellphone with my left.

"I need the money, I told you before. I can stand this as long as the green keeps rolling in," I said, a small smile placed on my face. He never gave up trying to find out more about my life. I finally located my cellphone, and quickly hit the speed dial for a taxi. "See you later, Daniel. Have fun all by yourself in this hospital of horror," I playfully shuddered, looking at him teasingly. Daniel chucked the pen he was chewing on at me, a scowl on his face. I made a face at him. "That was completely disgusting. Who throws saliva covered pens?"

"Stop trying to scare me and get out of here." He said, narrowing his eyes. If there was one thing that Daniel hated, it was people who tried to tease him.

"Fine, fine. My taxi should be here anyways," I said, checking my watch. "Well, at least it should be."

Daniel scratched the back of his neck. "You know, I can just give you a ride if you want. You don't have to waste money, I get out in five minutes."

I shook my head. "It's alright, I already called. Maybe another time, see you." I said, and walked out of the doors to where my taxi was waiting for me.

I quickly got into the taxi, grimacing as I took in the mud covered plastic carpets, and the ripped leather seats. I sat down anyways, the urge to go home and sleep too strong.

"Twenty sixth street, fifty second avenue." I told the driver, my gaze on the city scenery outside the unwashed windows.

The driver nodded, and he sped away from the gloomy hospital.

"Leighton, I'm home!" I shouted as I walked through the tiny doorway, into the even smaller house. Leighton was my younger sister by five years, whose name conveniently rhymed with my own. My parents thought that it was cute, but I thought it was stupid.

"Yeah, I'm the kitchen. How's chicken pot pie for dinner, Peigh? I'm making it with cheese, just how you like it." She bellowed back. My stomach grumbled loudly in response, reminding me that I had skipped lunch to work extra hours for more cash in the hospital. Unlike me, my sister was able to cook- quite amazingly, might I add. She was absolutely wonderful in the kitchen, just like my mom.

My mom. I thought about her quite often, wondering if she had made it to heaven. I sure had hoped so, she was incredible, and I had loved her so much. After the accident, our entire family fell apart. Our dad left us, my sister and I practically became broke, and I had to quit college and get a job instead. Her death practically ruined my whole life, but I didn't blame her. Like I said, it was an accident- a terrible, horrible, heart-wrenching biking accident that killed her.

Snapping back into reality, I walked into the kitchen, taking in the delicious smell of chicken and bread. "It smells delicious," I replied, "thanks, Leighton. I'm gonna go take a shower and ask the landlord for some more time, alright? Have fun cooking."

Leighton sighed. "I wish that dad were still here. He'd be able to make ends meet."

I took a deep breath. "He's not coming back, Leigh," I said, "and besides, the less of him, the more chicken pot pie for us," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"I guess. See you later..." she paused, looking hesitant.

I looked at her. "What is it?"

"Um, do you think you could run by the bulletin?" She asked, looking unsure and uncomfortable.

"Why?" I questioned.

"We need some more stuff." She said in a small voice. "The light bulb in our bedroom keeps fusing off-" Well, I suppose that's what I get for buying dollar-store bulbs, "-the washer's broken, we have no batteries for the clock, our-" I cut her off. Mentally, I groaned, wanting to keep from screaming.

"I get it." I said, sighing. "I'll run by the bulletin tomorrow, okay? I'll see if there's any other job that pays more than this one. If you don't mind, I'm going to go take my shower now. Just put my food in the fridge for tomorrow. I'm just going to go to sleep after my shower. See you tomorrow."

"Uh, that's the other thing. Our fridge is broken."

~

The second I woke up, I rushed through my bathroom duties and breakfast, wanting to go to the Bulletin early.

The Bulletin was this big board located on the side of the building. It had news, job offers, and notifications. I went there every time the word 'money' uttered through my sisters lips.

I looked at the white papers that were tacked to the wooden sandpaper bulletin board, piled on top of each other, as if each were trying to be the first one to be taken down.

I prodded the papers, reading some of the ones on top.

Local bathroom cleaner wanted.

Become a waitress at the Mousse Inn today!

Cook needed at the Cheesi Diner.

I groaned in frustration. None of these were what I wanted. I needed a job that paid normal wage, not below it! Downtown was so run-down that every job was low-paying, and it didn't help that I was only nineteen. I graduated high school, but I wasn't able to attend college. Anyways, aside from a few rich people all the way across my side of town, most of the houses were tiny or neglected.

Moments like these I wished that I had parents.

I was just about to leave, when a bright green hand written flyer underneath all the others caught my attention. I hadn't noticed that one.

I quickly pulled the tack out of the paper and took it down. My eyes quickly scanned it.

Paraplegic caretaker needed, seven days a week, twelve hours a day. $4,000 per week, professional degree not required. If interested, call 893-0293, or visit 45-023 Forrest Avenue.

This didn't seem too bad, I thought. It was on the other side of town, where all the richies stayed. What were they doing posting ads on the poor side?

They probably have their reasons, I surmised. The time bugged me a bit. Twelve hours? That seemed to be a bit long; it was half an entire day.

Desperate for a job, I grabbed the flyer and quickly made my way to the traffic-jammed street so I could flag down a cab.