In the beginning of adulthood

Once upon a time, I was a young girl just trying to get by. My dream was to get out from under my parents' thumb and get my own place, because getting my own place meant freedom. When I was 17, I moved away for the first time. I barely scraped enough money to pay the first month's rent and security. I handed over my hard earned money working three retail jobs. I was too young to work an office gig, and people didn't want to hire someone green despite my having been trained for office work in high school. I had taken typing, steno and something called "Office Procedures" that included skills like filing and answering phones. You would have thought that I was in some kind of 1950's world but it was actually several decades later than that.

I had my resume at the ready, and decided after six months that working three jobs was draining me -- I wasn't getting any sleep and also was not eating properly. I was tired and anxious. I had to get an office job. I remember walking into one particular employment agency, who advised I wouldn't get more than a dollar more than what I was making in retail, in which I turned around, asked for my resume back, and told her that while I appreciated her honesty, I had valid solid skills and wanted to talk to someone who took me as seriously as I was taking this job hunt. "You have zero experience working in an office, you're not going to get what you're looking for, so you have to work with what I got," she said, shrugging her shoulders when I told her I had rent to pay and this would not cover the amount of money the three retail jobs I currently worked at to pay the rent. "I understand that, but I have solid skills, you tested me, and I did great. You do understand that the salary is not conducive in order for me to survive. I want to deal with a professional and you're not it," I told her, "Let's not waste each other's time. I will find a job that will pay my worth, with or without your help." And with that I went out the door with my resume, her jaw dropping. Other agents peered out from their desks, smiling, some in awe, silently clapping.

I did manage to find a job that paid better, but by then my financial situation was dire. I barely had enough to catch up with piling bills and was falling behind on my rent. I didn't know what to do. I met up with an old acquaintance from technical school who tried to take me under his wing so to speak. He admitted he liked me from school but I was involved with someone else so he never said anything. He helped me to move, as I could no longer deal with the stress of living on my own and the landlord was there to watch and I handed over the keys, signing over my rights to the apartment.

After moving my stuff into a huge one bedroom, I was introduced to his father who was also living there and had a bedroom there of his own. Exhausted, I lay down on the mattress and just passed out. I awoke, it was night. I heard him and his father talking down the hall in the kitchen, the soft murmuring put me back to sleep.

For the next several weeks, I slowly unpacked. "This is going to be great," he would say, "We'll split the rent three ways." "That will be better," I nodded. We would go do laundry together and he would fill me in on his latest romantic escapade. As time went on, he expressed an interest in me. During the July 4th weekend, we were all out of the house, enjoying the day. By the time I got home, I found that the place had burned down due to some kids playing with firecrackers nearby. Everything I owned was gone, up in smoke. I suddenly remembered I had a kitten staying with me who I believed got killed in the fire. I was 18. I was in shock.

My roommate took me to his mother's house where I begged for him not to leave me alone. I cried myself to sleep, literally, clutching him and not letting him go, falling asleep fully dressed. When I awoke, I thought, maybe this isn't happening. But we were still in his mother's house. I thanked her for letting me stay the night and went to my boyfriend's house. "I could get us emergency housing with the Red Cross," I remember my roommate pleading, "We would just have to share the bathroom, but we could have a room for us." It didn't sound very pleasant and actually sounded a little dangerous. When I got a phone call, all I heard was a slight small meow. "Is that...is that..?" I remember saying. I was too afraid to ask. "My dad found your cat, one of the firemen found her in the next apartment, she had escaped through that hole under the sink we had." "I don't believe it," I said, feeling sad all over again.

He brought the kitten over. She had a burn mark on her upper lip under her nose, as if she had gone to curiously sniff at a flame and paid for it. But it was her. "Oh my God it's a miracle!" we both cried and I thanked him over and over for finding her. "How's your dad?" I asked. "He's alright." He then admitted I was better off at the boyfriend's as the housing situation was pretty sketchy. "It's one of those single occupancy places, and it's no place for a female, I'm glad you're not living there," he said. "I wish I could help you," I said sadly, but I had no resources of my own. He understood. "Are you happy?" was all he asked, regarding the boyfriend. "I'm happy he's able to help me, it's best this way." was all I could think of saying. I figured it was a temporary solution. Little did I know.

I celebrated my 19th birthday singing to myself late at night in front of the kitchen window overlooking the parking lot in my boyfriend's parents' apartment. I had come to their house with no clothes, literally only had the clothing on my back. I was allowed to go back to the apartment to search for anything to salvage, but fire and water damage and the firemen just tromping through to put out the fire pretty much destroyed anything of value. I had no identification, nothing to reference myself by. We lived on the top floor of the building and when I looked up there was no ceiling or roof, only sky. I think I found my telephone and with that I walked home with the telephone in a plastic bag. At this point I had an office job but I wasn't concentrating. I had lost so much and was walking around in a fog. I finally quit my job.

I could not go back to my family about this as they had splintered up the summer before and the wounds were still fresh. My mother simply did not want me back in the house as she felt she had too many kids there she had to contend with and I didn't want to be where I wasn't wanted.

No, going 'home' wasn't an option. My boyfriend knew that, so he felt he had no choice but to house me at his parents. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to leave until almost three years later, as it took me another nine months to find another job and save for a new place.