JENNIE
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When I'm not cleaning houses, browsing thrift stores, peering through the lens of my camera, or working to build my following on social media, I search online for … something. Anything to get me out of this rut. It's not that cleaning houses doesn't pay well; it's just not my dream. Every day I lose a little more focus of that dream.
Tossing my phone into my gently used Hammitt handbag, I release a long, exasperated breath and climb out of my temporary housing on wheels. When I knock on the glass door, Lisa appears within seconds. After last week's awkward breakfast, her welcoming smile is exactly what I need this morning. It took forever to clean their house that day. Lisa may have hired me as their maid, but I think Chaeng would rather I be her Tuesday friend. And if I could get paid to be her friend in good conscience, it would be a great job.
"Good morning," Lisa says. "I'm leaving in a few minutes. I wasn't supposed to work today, but things changed. I'll be back late this evening, and Rosé's sister will be here by three." She talks without taking a breath while I step inside and remove my shoes. "I'm not asking you to watch her. She doesn't think she needs anyone, but if you wouldn't mind checking on her a few times—"
"Lisa." I cut off her rambling, feeling every ounce of anxiety radiating from her body. "I've got this." Surprising myself with a high level of fake confidence, I add a big, reassuring smile to sell it. In reality, I'm not sure I have anything. Hanging out with Chaeng while Lisa is here, or at least within twenty miles running errands, is a more trivial responsibility than what Lisa's asking me now. Even if she's trying to downplay it, I know she's panicking.
"You sure?" Her face scrunches as her teeth plant firmly into her lower lip.
"This is my only house to clean on Tuesdays. So if it takes me longer or if you'd like me to stay until her sister gets here, it's no problem."
"Would you stay?" she replies so quickly my head spins.
"Yes." I chuckle. "I'll stay."
"You're the best." She shrugs a shoulder. "Okay, Rosé's the best. But you're close. If it wouldn't be completely unprofessional, and if I had more time, I'd hug you or braid your hair." Lisa winks, and it makes me giggle and shake my head.
She pivots and heads toward the bedroom. "Don't worry. I'll pay you more."
As I sort through the cleaning supplies Lisa has on the kitchen island, she peeks her head around the corner. "Gotta go. You're awesome. If someone hasn't told you that today, then now you know."
"Hey, you don't need to pay me to be with Chaeng. It's my pleasure because I like her … a lot." I follow her toward the back door.
Lisa turns just before reaching for the handle. After a few seconds of silence, I wonder if she's lost her ability to speak. Finally, she gives me a sad smile and nods. "I like her too … a lot."
My eyes instantly burn with emotion. She's breaking my heart. Lisa is a lost puppy, even though her owner is still alive.
"Um …" She clears her throat and shakes her head. "She's in the jungle reading a book. Again, thank you for … everything. Really. You're …"
I give her a slight grin. "The second best. Got it. Have a safe flight."
The tension along her face softens, and her grimace turns into a genuine smile. "Thanks. All emergency numbers are on my desk."
I nod.
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After I clean the bedrooms and bathrooms, I check in on Chaeng.
"Hey!" She catches me peeking my head around the corner.
"Hi. Do you … need anything?" I inspect the jungle as I mosey toward her recliner.
"I need you to stop cleaning things that aren't even dirty." She nods at a striped ottoman. "Have a seat. It's where Lisa sits to rub my feet, but you don't need to do that. I just want you to tell me everything." She sounds a little stronger today, and that's probably why Lisa was in a better mood.
Playful.
Full of gratitude.
And overflowing with compliments.
Lisa thinks I'm the one doing her a favor. She's so wrong. Neither she nor Chaeng know how much they feed my soul with something. Friendship? Compassion? Just something that feels like nothing I've ever had before now.
"Everything, huh?" I laugh while taking a seat.
"Everything. Start at birth and work your way up to cleaning my house." Chaeng adjusts the scarf around her head before folding her bony hands on her lap. Her skin has a slightly mottled appearance.
"Are you sure I can't read you a book instead? There are so many good stories out there, but mine isn't one of them."
With a slow headshake, she clears her throat. "I don't want a fairy tale. I want something real." She points to herself. "I'm all about real at this point in my life."
On an easy nod, I take a deep breath. Where to begin? I give her the CliffsNotes.
My mom and her addictions. Her favorite pastime involved sleeping with men—mean men.
No clue who my dad is or was.
No siblings.
Chaeng gives me her complete attention, and I can't remember the last time someone cared this much to listen to me. I find myself glancing away to compose myself. Is this what it feels like to have someone really care?
"I pretty much raised myself. No time for sports or anything like that. I had to find odd jobs to make enough money to eat when my mom blew through her paycheck buying drugs and alcohol. And her paychecks weren't reliable anyway because she never kept a job for longer than a few months."
Chaeng frowns, but I continue. "When I graduated, my mom tried to convince me to go to the University of Georgia—close to home. I laughed in her face, stole her car because I felt like she owed me something, and drove to Atlanta. Let's see …" I twist my lips and stare out the window for a few seconds. "College. Student loan debt. An epilepsy diagnosis. A job at Walmart. It's such an amazing story, huh?" I release a nervous laugh because I've needed to say these things. Something just beneath the surface of my pride needed to really hear those words. I've spent so much time wondering how the hell I got here. Feeling lost.
"One of the other employees at Walmart told me she cleaned houses on the side. So I used my first few paychecks to buy cleaning supplies with my discount. And I started going door to door, looking for jobs. Never landed one that way. I met an older woman while walking out to my car after work. Margie Mumford." I grin. "She dropped her wallet a few feet behind her, but she didn't notice. I picked it up and returned it to her. Then fate stepped in and opened a door for me. She mentioned being distracted because she had a party coming up, and her maid went into labor. That was my first job, and her referral to friends led to me having enough houses to clean that I could quit my Walmart job. And here I am."
Chaeng nods slowly. Does she pity me? God, I hope not. I'm good; I don't need her pity. It would ruin the excitement I get when I know it's Tuesday, and I get to hang out with my two favorite people.
"Well …" She blows out a long breath. "That was awfully generic. I'm giving that story three stars. Maybe three and a half."
"What?" I laugh. "Story? You didn't want a story. You asked for a recount of my life."
"And I still know very little about you. How did your mother's vices impact you? Who are you because of her choices? Why art? Why photography? Have you ever been in love? Do you have dreams? When you're not cleaning houses or dating hot fitness trainers, what do you do? What kind of music speaks to your soul? What food makes you moan with pleasure? When was the last time a single moment gave you butterflies or sent chills along your spine? If you answer those questions, then I'll know you."
"I need to clean your house." I offer another nervous laugh, a little off-kilter from her emotional probing. How does one answer the question What makes you … you?
"No. You don't need to clean anything."
Pulling my feet onto the ottoman and crossing them, I close my eyes for a few seconds. I've never taken the time to think about myself beyond the circumstances that have led me to this point. "Saul. He was one of my mom's boyfriends. I think the only good one." Opening one eye, I frown. "He didn't last long. He was too good for her. He was an artist who bought me paints and clay, pencils and sketch paper. Saul let me use his camera. One Saturday afternoon, we drove to the beach when my mom was a little hungover. She stayed in the car most of the time. Saul and I played in the sand. We built castles with moats and pretended I was the princess and he was the knight trying to save me. And he did. Saul unearthed my love for art—creating and capturing the essence of humanity in its many forms. He showed me beauty through creation, and he was my first love … not in a weird or inappropriate way, just … he gave me a glimpse of what love looked like. And I haven't seen it since him. I haven't felt butterflies, but just hearing my mom's voice gives me chills along my spine. Because of her, I am driven not to be her. Oh … and I like RB music. The sexier, the better."
Chaeng grins.
I continue. "I dream of a family, which is funny because I don't know what that looks like. But I see mothers and daughters shopping or eating at a quaint café at one o'clock in the afternoon on a Thursday, and I imagine what it would be like if that were my life.
"And I don't think about food often because I haven't had many chances to enjoy it beyond the simplicity of calories to fuel my body. When I'm not cleaning houses, I'm snapping photos or shopping for great designer finds at thrift stores."
"Girl … you're speaking my language," Chaeng says in a huge grin.
Her words encourage me to continue. "I love reading biographies because it's fun to be someone else for a few pages. Crazy, huh?"
"Mmm …" Chaeng hums. "Not crazy. I know exactly what you mean. Right now, I'm you."
"Oh no. Choose someone better than me." I chuckle.
"No. I want to be you. A dreamer with a tiny tether to reality. An appreciation for life … never taking any of it for granted. And oh … the possibilities. You can be anything. Do anything. Go anywhere. You have those butterflies to feel for the first time. Jen! You. Have. Butterflies. To. Feel! God! I wish I could go back and feel them again. It's not that I still don't feel them with Lisa, but they're never as strong as the first time. You have a million firsts left in your life. I have a handful of lasts. Don't waste a single minute being anything but courageous."
Courageous …
Am I courageous for living out of my car?
Am I courageous for having no clue what it's like to have a healthy, honest relationship with a man?
I think she's mistaking courage for hidden fear.
"Say it." Chaeng claps her hands several times.
"Say what?"
"I am courageous!" Chaeng raises her hands above her head, fingers stiff, grin to her ears.
"I am courageous," I say.
"No! What was that? Try it again, like you mean it. Better yet, actually mean it."
"I am courageous!" I add some power to my words.
"Again. Don't forget the arms."
I giggle. "I AM COURAGEOUS!" I jump up, land on my feet, and shoot my arms toward the ceiling.
"Attagirl! That is your soul, girlfriend. Do you hear me? That is your soul. The hair, your body, the epilepsy … that's your genetic vehicle for this life. Use it for pleasure, and use it to do good. But never let it define you."
I plop down onto the ottoman, and before I know it, I'm wiping a few stray tears.
"Oh, hey …" She slowly leans forward and reaches for my leg.
I shake my head and smile past the emotion. "Sorry. I just … I think I've needed a therapist or a …"
"A friend?"
I nod and sniffle.
"Well, you have one right here. Okay?" She finds my hand and squeezes it.
I blow out a breath and smile, eyeing her frail body while feeling her inner strength. "You're not letting the cancer define you?"
She shakes her head. "I have too much living to do. It might not be in this lifetime, but that's okay. I'll grab a cancer-free vehicle and take it for a new journey in my next life. I don't believe we ever end; we simply move on."
I don't know what to believe. But if thinking like Chaeng means life is full of pleasure and adventure without fearing death, she just converted me to a new religion.
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