Life gets harder as I get older and I’m getting tired of it. My family’s dream is exhausting and, a long time ago it used to be mine too; but after running myself ragged, after being too exhausted to do anything other than work and sleep, their dream is no longer mine. My parents own a general store called O’Connor’s. It’s named after our family and, when they were young, the shop did really well; but now, people buy what they need online, and the business my parents poured blood, sweat, and tears into, is failing. I don’t see us making it another year.
Medical bills are behind. The rent is two months past due and the only reason our landlord is not evicting us is because he has known my parents for thirty years. If it weren’t for that, we’d be sleeping in this store. Something has to change. Even right now, the electricity in my parents’ apartment is off, and I need to scrounge another fifty dollars to get it turned on.
My eyes begin to burn with frustrated tears, and I stop moving boxes to try and catch my breath. Pressing my palms against my eyes I take a deep breath, but my emotions are too strong. I’m too damn tired. I’m so sick of caring, but I have to, and I feel like I’m the only one who gives a shit about this business, too.
My parents don’t come here. My brother is always off doing who knows what and I’m left here, trying my damn best to make ends meet. I’m not sure how much longer I can do this before I break, before I quit, but what kind of person would that make me if I quit on my family? I can’t do that to them even though they have done it to me. They left me with this store and now I’m stuck unless I want my family to be homeless.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. It won’t be like this forever. You’re fine. This is temporary.” It’s something I always end up saying to myself, hoping one day I’ll believe it. It isn’t that easy though. I’ve been saying it for years and the situation only ever gets worse.
A box falls to the ground, flour bags spilling all over the floor, and it’s the last straw. I scream, kicking the box and the flour bags. White dust flies everywhere. I yell with every ounce of air I have in my lungs until I run out of breath. I sob, sliding down the front desk until I hit the floor. Flour somehow got on my hands, but I don’t care. I hide my face in my palms while I cry.
I no longer have the energy to do this. I no longer have the will to be the only one keeping my family afloat.
When do my hopes matter? When do my dreams and wants matter? No one has ever cared. It’s always been about me taking care of them. I’ve dedicated everything. I’ve drained my savings account to keep food on the table and electricity running in the home.
I have nothing to my name now because they had nothing to theirs. All those jobs worked when I was younger, every dime pinched and saved in hopes to buy my own house one day, gone.
I know I’m bitter. I know that. I know I’m selfish and I’m being a bad daughter and sister, but when do I stop being all that for them, and where does that leave my family? I can’t stop, right? I can’t stop being what they need me to be. It isn’t fair to them.
But it isn’t fair to me either.
The back of my head hits the counter and the sharp, but quick pain, has me opening my eyes. I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, flour clumping together on my skin from added moisture. Something has to give.
Or break.
And it’s me. I’m the one breaking.
I look around at the mess I made and new tears begin to form. Why should I bother cleaning it up? It’s not like any customers will come into the store.
“Come on, Rosie. Get your shit together. You won’t let this beat you.” I give myself a nice pep talk, the same one I give more often than not, because lately it seems like everything is hard, everything in this world takes every ounce of fucking energy I have. I know I’m not the only one. It’s like this for a lot of people right now.
I take another look around the shop; flour is still everywhere. I don’t know what I expected. Perhaps, it would magically disappear? I groan, hang my head, and rub my temples as a headache pulses. The slight outburst of anger wasn’t worth it because the flour isn’t going to clean itself up.
“You’re done with your pity party,” I tell myself, pushing to my feet. “You’re an idiot, Rosie.” I rub the back of my neck and open the supplies closet, gathering the broom and dustpan.
I go to walk away, but my belt loop gets caught on the door handle, which for some reason sends my temper to explosive mode again. I drop the broom and slip the belt loop out from the handle, then slam the closet door. I bang on it so hard, my hands begin to hurt.
It’s going to be one of those days where if I drop the keys on the ground, I’m going to think it’s the biggest inconvenience and grumble profanities under my breath while I pick them up.
I hate days like that, where everything is a big deal when really it isn’t.
Bending over, I pick up the broom and start sweeping up the problem I caused. I wipe my forehead when I begin to sweat. The air conditioning stopped working a few days ago but we can’t afford to fix it, so it’s been miserable.
I throw my wild curly hair in a messy bun to at least get it off my sweaty neck and stand in front of the box fan for a few minutes. It’s blowing dry, hot air but it’s better than nothing, right?
The doorbell chimes and I hold my breath, hoping it’s a customer but it’s just my younger brother, Caplan.
“I fucked up. Sis, oh god, I fucked up.” He slams the door, locks it, and laces his fingers behind his neck.
I drop the broom when I see the bruises on his face. “Oh my god, Caplan. What happened?” I hurry to the front door and flip the sign to close. “Who did this to you?” I grip his chin, turning his head left and right. He has a black eye and a split lip. One hand is holding his side as if he has been kicked. “Who did this to you?” I repeat, my tone getting darker.
I might bitch about my family, and I might be sick and tired of our situation, which I’m allowed to be because I’m human, but no one fucks with my family. No one.
“No, Sis, you don’t get it. I fucked up.” He hits his chest and his eyes become glassy with tears. “We can’t be here. We can’t be seen here.” He rushes to the widows and closes the blinds, then peeks out from them. “I don’t know why I did it. No, I do know why. I’m sorry, okay? Rosie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You have to believe me. I just wanted to help.”
I grab his biceps and give him a little shake, the sweat on his skin making my fingers slip. “Caplan, I need you to take a breath and tell me what happened. Breathe. What did you do?”
His blue eyes meet mine and sweat drips from his hairline, down his forehead, and he wipes it away. “I only wanted to help. I only wanted to make things better for us. I know how bad things are. I know we are struggling. You work your ass off here and for what? It isn’t fucking right, Rosie. You deserve more. You kill yourself for this store and Mom and Dad don’t seem to care, but I do. I care. I wanted to take care of you, and I can’t do that when I’m making minimum wage.”
I bring him in for a hug and he grips me tight as if he isn’t ever going to see me again. “Caplan, it’s okay.” It feels good to know he sees how hard I work for them, but I don’t ever want him to get in trouble. “Listen to me, I don’t care how bad things get, you aren’t to put yourself in harm’s way for me, for this store, or for our parents.”
“What about you? You have put your life on hold for too long for us. You need to get out there and see the world.”
“Stop changing the subject and tell me what you did, Caplan.”
He runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head. “Fuck, Rosie. It’s bad. It’s real bad.”
“I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what happened.”
“Don’t hate me,” he whispers, taking a seat on one of the benches we have had for sale for ages.
I sit next to him and take his hand. “Caplan, I could never hate you. I’m worried about you. You are bleeding, you look like you got your ass handed to you, and you won’t tell me what happened.”
“I stole something,” he admits, his leg shaking with anxiety.
I let go of his hand and rub my palms down my jeans. “That’s okay. We will give it back. We will explain you meant well, but we will give whatever you took back.”
“I can’t give it back. If I do, I’m dead.”
I stand, crossing my arms as I stare at him. “What is it?”
He digs into his jean pocket that’s stretched out with something round and pulls out a huge black gem. I’m not sure what kind, but it’s pretty. I’ve never seen anything like it before, but it has to be worth a ton.
“Oh my god, Caplan. You robbed a jewelry store?” I pluck the stone from his hand and notice it has a good weight to it. “You will take this back right now. We will not make our way in life because you stole this. It isn’t right, Caplan.”
“Haven’t we paid enough? Haven’t we suffered enough? They don’t need this. They have plenty of money.”
“Who?”
“Bianchi.”
The stone almost slips from my fingers when I hear the name. I lean against a shelf, my anxiety heightening. “You didn’t. Please, tell me, please,” my voice breaks with fear. “Please, tell me you didn’t steal from one of the most powerful men in the city. Please tell me you didn’t steal from the fucking mafia!” I scream at him, shoving him in the chest. “Tell me you didn’t paint a target on our backs because you weren’t thinking.” I poke his forehead with my finger, giving it enough pressure that I know it’s uncomfortable. “Tell me.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. One of the guys that works for Bianchi confronted me. He wanted me to push some drugs and I said no. He roughed me up a little and I fought him back. This fell from his pocket. I don’t know what it is or why he had it, but it has to be expensive. Men like that don’t carry cheap shit, Rosie.”
“It’s a stone of some sort,” I sigh. “It’s probably worth more than our lives combined which is why you’re going to return it. You’ll say sorry and you’ll even offer to run whatever drugs they wanted you to.”
“If I do that, I’m as good as dead. Rosie, I don’t want to run drugs.”
“What other choice do you have?” I yell at him, shoving the gem in his face. “This is life or death. You return it, you’re dead. You keep it, you’re dead. You only have the option to compromise at this point. If you want to live, it’s the only option I can think of.”
“No, no, no, listen, Rosie.” He grabs the gem and holds it to the light, staring at me with this newfound hope that I haven’t seen since he was a boy, staring up at the moon thinking it was really made of cheese.
That was a horrible truth to break to him.
“We can sell it before they find out. I can deny it. I can say it wasn’t me. Imagine the life we can have, Rosie. We can finally have money. We can catch up on bills. Mom and Dad will be taken care of.”
I groan, lifting my hands in frustration at him. “Deny it? Deny the fact that you have been beaten up and you were the last person seen with the guy who had this gem? Yeah, that will go over really well. Especially if we suddenly are living a life of luxury, Caplan. It isn’t smart.” My brother means well. He always acts before he thinks and I’m always the one left cleaning up the mess. “It’s fine. I’ll fix this, Caplan. It will be okay.”
“No, it won’t be okay!” He shouts at me, and I rear back, shocked.
He never yells at me.
“We are one day away from being kicked out of the apartment. Mom and Dad have given up. The store is drowning in debt—”
“—We aren’t drowning— “
He cuts me off, giving me a look full of disdain. “You can cut the shit, Rose. I know how hard you work. I know how much you kill yourself day in and day out. I know. I hate seeing it. I hate seeing Mom and Dad sitting on their asses and expecting you to do all the work. I see it, Rosie. I see how tired you are, and I didn’t know what to do. I just…I took action.”
I embrace him in a tight hug, holding him close. One hand is on the back of his head and the other is in the middle of his back. He’s taller than me, so it’s awkward, but it’s how I’ve always hugged him since he was little.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, giving him a good squeeze before letting him go. “I know you meant well and while I appreciate your effort, this wasn’t the way to go about it.” I take the gem from his hand again and shove it into my pocket. “I’m going to find the guy that did that to your face.” I grip his chin and turn him into the light, scowling when I notice that his cheek is swelling. “No one touches you. How dare they. You’re nineteen years old. Anyone who puts their hand on a teenager is sick. They need to pick on someone their own size.”
He smirks, wincing when the cut on his lip opens again from the movement. “Like you?”
I point a finger at him. “I might be small, but my attitude is well above six—maybe even seven-feet tall.”
“Definitely,” he agrees. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I knew I fucked up when I took it. I had a split thought of thinking ‘this could change everything’ and I ran with it. Literally. Ran.” He frowns. “We probably won’t be safe here. I bet they know it was me.”
“You aren’t safe here. I’m fine,” I reassure him. “They might not know anything. We shouldn’t overthink, but like I said, I’ll take care of it. Okay?”
He nods, then he squints his eyes to the floor when he notices the flour. “What did the flour do to you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I wave his question away when he laughs, but it’s the guy that hurt my brother who is about to have the same issue these bags of flour had.
We might be broke, but damn it, we are good people, and no one takes advantage of that.
