I Want To Live

Chapter Thirty-one

    Warm summer weather brought tourists to the mountains in droves. Mittenwald was invaded. Hordes of people seeking respite from crowded congestion in the overpopulated west side. Many had prestigious careers. Lived in affluent homes. Mannerisms clipped and harried, used to a faster pace. 

    Katie was baffled by their behavior toward the Safeway staff, treating them as inferior individuals. She wrapped bakery goods the moment they cooled, restocking shelves to fill empty holes. What was it about shoppers who left rejected grocery items anywhere in the store instead of replacing them in their proper aisle? That would have been common courtesy in her mind. What would they think if someone trashed their fancy offices? Now she understood why some locals objected to their presence, but their livelihood depended on the tourist trade. Sometimes she wearied of greeting rude customers with a smile and a cheery “Can I help you?” Most of the outdoor oriented backpackers, rock climbers, and campers were friendly and courteous---a definite contrast. 

    Katie commented on the disparate behavior at dinner one evening. “What is it about certain people? Sometimes I don’t like them very much. I think I would rather work among animals.”

    Georgia chimed in, “Personally I feel the majority are friendly and pleasant to work with. There are a few rotten apples. If you treat others as if they’re special, they usually respond in kind. Have you ever given some thought to the fact that you might be in the wrong job?”

    “How did you get so wise, Georgia?” Katie sighed, feeding pureed chicken and peas to Adam in his highchair. “I do feel I’m in the wrong job. I was studying to be a reporter before Adam came along. I think that’s my true calling.”

    “What’s preventing you from doing that?” asked Amy.

    “I haven’t finished my degree, number one. Ran out of money, number two. Found myself as a single mom, number three.”

    “Don’t know, Katie. Sounds like you’re crying in your beer to me,” said Georgia. “Woe is me. Look at poor little me. There are many single moms out there, working their ass off to reach a goal they’ve set their sights on.”

    Amy hid her smile behind a napkin, feigning the removal of food from her lips.

    Katie scowled at Georgia’s forthrightness. “You don’t mince words do you?”

    “Everyone in the world is dealing with problems. You’re not the only one who’s been handed an ace of spades. No one’s living the “perfect life”. She speared a forkful of lasagna past her voluptuous lips. “This lasagna is delicious, Katie.”

    Katie pursed her own lips. Chagrined, she averted her eyes, looking at her lap. “It’s a recipe my grandma taught me.” Trying to hold back tears. Feeling she had been scolded like a child.

    “If completing your degree is that important to you,” said Amy, breaking the tension in the room. “You could take a few classes at a time to finish, while keeping your job at Safeway.”

    “Both of you have stated valid points. I need an attitude adjustment.” She pushed her chair back, walked over to the sink to wet a cloth to clean Adam before putting him on the floor. He had just learned to crawl and loved to move freely throughout the house.

    Georgia stood up having finished dinner, dirty plate in her hand. “Amy and I will clean up. You go play with Adam. I swear you can’t be around that child for long without feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.”

    Katie spent the evening playing with Adam, reading his favorite books, giving him a bubble bath.  Georgia was right. Being totally involved with her son brightened her mood considerably. Children are so present in the NOW, fully captivated in the moment. If you really want something, Katie, you’ve got to go for it. Stop making excuses of “what ifs”, “I can’t” and “it’s impossible.” 

    Adam was settled in his portable crib, thumb in mouth, sleepy-eyed from the warm bath. How many times had she looked upon him as an albatross dragging her down. As his breathing slowed and he slipped into a peaceful slumber, she joined all mothers around the world, My child looks like an angel.  

    She stole out of the bedroom on tiptoes, laptop in hand. The infant monitor was set to alert her if he stirred. Katie descended the stairs to join her roommates watching a movie on TV. “Adam’s sleeping. Think I’ll go into the kitchen to work on an article to submit to the Claremont Echo. 

    “Taking that first step toward your dream, honey?” said Georgia, grinning. “Good for you. Didn’t Gandhi say, “First one step, then two steps, three steps .  .  . ” 

    Katie threw her a piercing glare before going down the hallway toward the room where they prepared meals and ate. She set the computer down on the table, filled a kettle with water, placed it on the stove to boil. Taking a tin of chocolate mix out of the cupboard, she put three teaspoons in a ceramic mug, snatched three sugar cookies from the cookie jar and munched one while waiting for the kettle to whistle.

    Seated at the table. Laptop open. Blank screen before her. Fingers poised over the keyboard. “How shall I start?” She thought back to that day, walking the bike path, spying the homeless camp, memories of her Seattle stay surfacing. Georgia was spot on. She was making excuses. She was scared. The germ of an idea pushed through her subconscious bursting to grow and flourish. Her journalism professor, Mr. Gordon, used to say, “Just type anything. You can edit your words afterwards.”

    She brought the steaming mug to her lips. Took a long sip. Swallowed the sweet fortifying liquid. Breathed deeply and let it go. Here goes nothing. 

             “I passed a homeless teenaged girl on the street the other day. 

          Jeans tattered. Thin gray hoodie wrapped around her. It was chilly.

          Dirty brown hair disheveled. Leaning against a building. Knapsack 

          beside her. Knees pulled up to her chest. She looked at me with 

           jaded eyes when my shadow fell over her. “Can you spare some

          change, please?” Her palm open ready to receive my offering.

              My heart went out to her. How should I respond? Walk by? 

          Pretend she didn’t exist? Be disturbed for spoiling my complacent 

          mood? I didn’t want to offend. She obviously was shamed already,

          having to beg.

               The sight made me recall an instance in my own life

          when I was depressed to the point of neglecting to eat, to shower or 

          take pride in my appearance. I was sitting on a bench in a park, eyes

          red from crying. A well dressed woman in high heels, carrying a

          huge shopping bag mistook me for a homeless person. She stopped,

           placed a five dollar bill in my hand and said, “Here, get something to

           eat.” Then sauntered away with two high brow friends who chose

           to ignore me. Her action made me angry. I was not grateful. I resented 

           her judgment. 

                I recalled that feeling. I didn’t want to destroy her self respect. 

           Instead I dropped two dollars in her palm and asked if she needed 

           anything else without judgment,  just acceptance. She gave me a weak 

           smile and uttered a barely audible “Thank you.” I walked on, taking

           her cue to end our interaction. I resolved to donate money to those

           organizations already helping the poor and needy in our society. To 

           lose your dignity has got to be the worst fate imaginable. 

               Many of us could be in a similar situation if laid off. These are        

           precarious times. Unemployment is on the rise. Others are fleeing an

           abusive home life. Still others are suffering from wartime PTSD,

           finding it difficult to readjust to society. All of us have problems.

           If we’re breathing we’re taking this journey together. If we support

           one another we’ll all make it through.”  

 Katie was so engrossed in her writing that she didn’t sense the two women standing behind her reading the article as it evolved. 

    “That’s one hell of an epistle,” said Georgia. “You’re preaching to the choir, girl.”

    “Email it to the editor of the Claremont Echo,” said Amy. “See what reaction is generated. It’s a start, Katie.”

    Violet entered the room, having just gotten off her shift at the Alpensee. “What’s going on in here?” 

    “You’ve got to read this article Katie’s written,” said Amy, motioning Vi closer.

    “Wow. That certainly grabs you,” Vi said. “I didn’t know you were a writer, Katie.”  

    “I love you guys. You know that?” Katie signed her pen name, Cat Stevens and pressed “send” to the editor.