2
Tessa
How are we going torecover from this? We can’t afford to stay in a motel with only a hundred bucks left in my pocket until next week. Working part-time while Emily’s in school doesn’t bring in a lot of money, but as a single mother, I do what I have to.
“Mama, I don’t wanna go.” She coughs into the crease of her elbow.
“I know, baby, but we should. Just to be safe,” I say, holding out my hand.
The ambulance takes us to the emergency room, and we go directly to a patient room that’s bleak and sterile, where we remain, hands interlaced, waiting to see a doctor. I’m not leaving her side, even for a second. Not after coming so close to losing her. The fear of being on that floor, fire all around us, and nothing I can do to save her is something I never want to experience again. Attempting to wipe the tears from her eyes, the soot on her face smears, leaving more black streaks across her face.
The door opens, and a nurse comes inside. “I’m Angela. Dr. Ward would like us to run some tests. If you would follow me.”
Emily grabs my hand, and we walk together into an all-white room with machines. She clutches my hand.
“Just do what the nurse asks, and we’ll be out of here in no time. And then we’ll go get ice cream. Okay?”
She nods and takes the nurse's hand as they run the test on her, and then we switch. After Angela takes us back to the patient room, we wait for the results.
“Here. Let’s get you cleaned up,” I say, grabbing a couple of paper towels and running them under water for a minute before wiping away all the black. “Much better.”
I wrap up next to Emily on the hospital bed, pondering where we will go from here.
My way of life since having her has been tough, but I constantly push through and make certain we have food to eat and a place to lay our heads. Now, with the apartment out of commission, that isn’t the case, and I’m feeling as if I let my daughter down.
There is no one for me to lean on in my time of crisis. My mother lives thousands of miles away, so our only other option is to stay at a family shelter. If we owned the house, then insurance would kick in and help us, but we only rent. I doubt our cheap landlord is going to shell out anything to house the families from the fire.
A knock sounds on the door and the doctor comes in. “It looks like you girls should be fine besides some coughing spells, which are an effect of the irritation from the smoke. Tests show no prolonged damage to the lungs, which is splendid news.”
“Are we free to go? We need to get our things in order so we have somewhere to sleep tonight.”
“Of course. Here are your discharge papers. Follow up with your family doctor next week. If the coughing persists after a week, come back and get checked out.”
As we wander out of the hospital, Emily tugs on my hand. “Mama, when can we go home?”
I don’t think it has settled in that we didn’t have a home to go to. My head sinks, and I try to keep from crying because I don’t know where we will go. I must keep it together in front of Emily. She’s only six years old, far too young to have to fret about something like this.
“Let’s run some errands before we get ice cream, baby.”
First stop is to Goodwill to get some clothes that don’t reek of smoke. Luckily, there is a twenty percent off sale on blue tags, and I ransack the place, hoping to find some good deals. The hundred dollars I have must be spent wisely, especially not knowing how long we will be without a place. Most racks have little to no sale items left, but I find some things for both of us.
As I make my way to the front, I see an old suitcase and look to see how much it is. Eight dollars. My logic is we’ll need something to lug around our items in, so I pick it up and add it to the clothes on the counter and pay.
“Can I have this, Mommy?”
She holds up a doll, missing some of its hair. I almost say no, but she will need something to play with, and my heart gives in. “Of course, baby. Put it up here.”
As we exit the store, holding our only possessions inside of a suitcase, things become clear on how the rest of this year is going to go.
“It’s ice cream time.”
Emily grabs my hand as we stride to the next block over. The little diner is just what you would predict, booths attached to windowpanes, giving a pleasant view of the town hall across the street. Old Coca-Cola memorabilia are on the walls. It has a couple of people inside, and we take the booth farthest away from the exit.
“What can I get y’all this evening?”
“Mint chocolate chip, please,” Emily responds.
Ice cream always helps make her feel better. She comes back with a double dip of her favorite and I observe as she inhales it. “Slow down. You’re going to get a brain freeze, sweetie.”