Stein House

It was a cloudy, rainy day, the kind of day that my brother, James, loved. A day I wouldn't mind myself, if I were in a pleasant mood. Which I was, least until I thought about the news I had for my brother. It would be a shock for him as it had been for me.

I had missed James; it had been a few months since I had seen him. The news I had was heavy and under its weight I felt I couldn't stand. But if I had James to lean on, I was sure his strength could help me through it.

Today, he was coming to pick me up. There were no plans for what to do. But for now, I was just happy to see him; it was enough.

The bus dropped me off, and it starting raining lightly. So I walked under the awning of a shop. I brushed my short hair away from my face and straightened my necklace. Though I had left my hair down as a sign that I was free from work today, I wondered if leaving it down was a good idea, or if its loose strands would just bother me.

Leaning back against the cold brick, I rubbed my chilled hands together. He was late. The ground was wet, but here under the edge of the roof, it was at least dry. I didn't mind until my fingers started getting numb.

I was watching the cars zip by. Then an older man limped over across the street, his cane making little noise on the wet ground, in his other hand an open umbrella. I thought he was maybe in his early sixties. Most of the older men I had worked with in my profession were on either the heavier side or the too skinny side. But not this man. There was not one ounce of fat on his face, despite his wrinkles. His eyes felt cold somehow.

"You lost gal?" he inquired.

"Oh no, I'm waiting for my brother," I answered with an involuntary smile.

, I wouldn't have spoken to . I would have flown into the shop, whether my brother could have seen me in there or not. My life had been refreshingly boring until this older man entered it.

Without thought, I smiled at him. It was kind of him to worry. The older man smiled back. But something about it made me feel wrong in my stomach as if I were sick. But that was silly. I forced myself to keep my face still. This was real life, not some mystery novel. He was saying something now, but I hadn't been listening.

Something about how important family was and how sad it was that people didn't seem to value that anymore. How bitterly his words struck a chord in me. How well did I know the truth of his words.

I agreed and found that he was asking me about my occupation. Surprised, I replied that until a few weeks ago I had been a CNA at a nursing home, here talk came easy. It's easy to talk about work and its frustrations. I told him about how all the call lights would go off while I was still occupied with a resident. But I wasn't the Flash, I couldn't care for everyone all at once. I was just burn out. I didn't say that last part; I didn't want to whine. Instead, I told him about how I had switched workplaces and started at a home care agency.

"Now I'm responsible for only one person, it's great," I said.

He asked about what my duties were and I told him I acted as her , dressed her, cooked her meals, did her dishes, cleaned, and did her laundry. He seemed very interested now.

"And how much do you charge for that kind of service?" he asked.

I replied that the agency paid nearly ten dollars an hour. Honestly, the nursing home had paid me more, but escape was worth it.

"You see, I live with my ---well he's my cousin really, but we grew up together. He's getting older now, you know, says some of the darndest things. I could use someone to help take care of him, what is the name of your agency?"