“Ma, you still up?” I ask by way of greeting. I give a little knock to announce myself, then use the same key that used to be attached to a lanyard when I was in middle school. 11:31 PM probably wouldn’t be anybody’s idea of a good time to drop by unannounced, but I know Mom just got off work at 11. I step onto the porch and pull out my phone, looking at the time. Her car is in the driveway, and I make a mental note that I need to change the oil for her tomorrow and check under the hood as I pass by it on the way to the front door. The second people found out she needed assistance-because God forbid a widow need a little fucking help-they started treating her differently. Now she’s told me she might have to sneak in another one if she doesn’t want to go back on assistance. My mom went from working one job when my dad was alive, to picking up two when he passed. In the past three years, he’s raised the rent by a total of almost $500. And in the middle of it all, my mom’s place just serves as a way for her greedy-ass landlord to milk her for as much money as possible before inevitably kicking her out so he can sell the place. One’s going for almost $200,000-twice what it would’ve been worth just five years ago. The properties to the left and right both have For Sale signs stuck in the recently-mowed lawns.
I turn onto Chase Street, my lights catching the facade of my family home the place my mom and dad started renting after I was born. They don’t think of the fact that people are being pushed out of their homes because the price tag for living here just keeps climbing higher and higher. They don’t think of the fact that the sudden interest in this city hasn’t exactly been kind to its lifelong residents. They think of Main Street with its cobblestone paths, and the many senior living communities that have cropped up over the past forty years or so. They think of the football stadium, or the old Spanish buildings designed for naval defense. When people think of Eastshore, they think of the beaches or the college. John’s County, making sure she’s taking care of herself and getting a chance to relax.
So the night before the first real practice of the season, I’m at my mom’s place at the edge of St. From July to January, my family and I should be protected from the bullshit of life.īut that’s not reality. My pads and helmet should act as a special sort of armor that blocks out more than physical pain. Summer conditioning has already started, and for me, it should be a chance to start the season off right - get the attention of recruiters as early as possible. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Copyright © 2016 by Alison Hendricks All rights reserved.
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