I approached the register and asked the young cashier, who looked miserable, if I could talk to the owners.
With her eyebrows raised, she ushered me into a back office.
The owner, Fernando, welcomed me in.“What can I do for you?”Fernando was a Hispanic man who came to our country to give his family a better life, and he did.He was kind and loved to talk to people.Every time I entered the store and he saw me, he would greet me and tell me about all the latest deals.
“Hi.My name is Penelope Hartley.I live down the street.I am reliable, hardworking, and friendly.If you give me a chance, I would be a fantastic worker,” I said, reaching out my hand for a shake.Introducing myself as Penelope and not Penny felt wrong, but it was my full name.
“Woah!That was a great pitch.Aren’t you a little young to be working?”he asked as he firmly took my hand.
“Please, Sir, I really need a job,” I said, crossing my fingers.
Fernando clapped his hands together.“Let’s see what I can do.Stay here.”I was numb in the grungy, hollow office, with only one desk and some cardboard boxes.Standing in the empty room reminded me of how desperate I looked.
Fernando’s wife returned from the stockroom with a red employee shirt bundled up in her grasp.His wife had tanned skin, naturally pink lips, wide eyes, and light brown hair pulled up into a ponytail that flipped back and forth as she worked.She was a hard worker.I saw her lots of times on the floor stocking products or talking to customers.
“My husband alerted me that a determined young girl needs a job, and I have this small employee uniform that is not getting used.Do you think it will fit?”
“Yes, does this mean I got the job?Thank you so much.I won’t let you down,” I said, giddy about the job opportunity.I hoped they didn’t just hire me out of pity, but a job was a job, no matter how I got it.
My first week, I showed up to work on time, came in when other people called in sick, and put on a fake and friendly smile when each customer walked through the door.My childhood was over.I couldn’t pretend to only care about books, Elvis, or gossiping with Betsy anymore.I saw how brutal life could be, and I needed something stable.
Every night after work, I tried to write a letter to Darren.I couldn’t bring myself to actually write and finish the letter.Crumpled pieces of paper were balled up in the trash bin next to my desk.What would I tell him?We still can’t be together.I was a cashier who didn’t feel emotions.He deserved the best, and I couldn’t give him much.I was broken.Gabriel was right all along.
I got into a consistent routine: get up at six in the morning, make breakfast, do the dishes, make sure Momma was still taking care of herself, feed Fawn, let Fawn out, get dressed, go to work, count money, smile at a customer, scan grocery items, break down boxes, come home, shower, eat dinner, let Fawn out again, check on Momma, get in bed with her, and do it all over again.
Life was repetitive until I got into the truck to head to work on the Fourth of July and heard the unbelievable through James’s truck’s speakers.
Chapter Twenty-Four
You’re on the Radio
Song: Fame—David Bowie
July 4th, 1975
The Fourth of July was a day to celebrate our country, our freedoms, and our liberty.I might be free, but I was trapped in a cycle of grief.
