For Dare
Beauty tip: Putting cold cucumbers on your
eyes can reduce puffiness and relieve stress.
That's what Grandma says, anyway, whenever something really bad happens. I've always thought that was a pretty good way to look at life. But lately I'm not so sure, because I don't think things can really get any worse.
It's Friday afternoon-a time when most normal seventh-grade girls would be at a friend's house or maybe the mall or even the movies.
But where am I?
The pharmacy.
And what am I doing?
Opening mail.
When I'm at the pharmacy after school, it's my job to open the mail. I do it first thing so that I have the rest of the time free. But it's not like there's so much for me to do the rest of the time. It's not like if I don't open the mail first thing, I won't have time to do it later. I just don't like to have things hanging over my head.
I bet most kids my age would find opening the mail to be the most boring thing in the world. And sometimes it is. But it's also kind of comforting. I like coming to the pharmacy straight from school and having my snack in the back office.
It's nice to know you always have a place to go.
Besides, I don't usually read the mail; I just open it and put it in a neat pile. But today big, bold, black letters catch my eye: THREE DELINQUENT MORTGAGE PAYMENTS. My throat starts to feel like it's getting tighter and tighter, almost like it's closing up. And my heart starts beating fast and furious, when it was beating calmly just a second ago.
THREE DELINQUENT MORTGAGE PAYMENTS. What does that mean? That we haven't paid the mortgage for three months? Or that the payments weren't enough?
The next sentence: YOU ARE IN DANGER OF FORECLOSURE.
We get a lot of mail at the pharmacy because we get all of the business mail, obviously, and all of our regular mail too. The pharmacy is like our second home. Lately I'm beginning to think we spend more time there than at our real house.
"Jane!" Grandma calls. I see her coming into the office, and I try to put the letter under the stack of regular mail, but I'm not quick enough. Grandma hasn't even said hi to me yet and already she's upset. "Jane Scarlett Desberg!"
Even though my mom's forty, my grandma still uses her whole name when she's angry at her.
"Ma, what?" My mom comes into the office, her cleaning apron only half on. She was in the middle of dusting and reorganizing her favorite section of the store-the magazine area. Old Mill Pharmacy doesn't just carry the usual magazines like People and Glamour and Time. We have those, but we also carry magazines that are hard to find on the average drugstore news rack, like the Nation and the Progressive.
My mom's a huge reader. She'll read anything she can get her hands on, and especially stuff about people making a difference or taking a stand on complicated issues. She doesn't just accept situations as they are-she's always questioning things, so she likes to read magazines and newspapers that reflect that state of mind.
She's one of those people who truly believe one person can change the world.
"'Three delinquent mortgage payments'-that's what!" Grandma shoves the letter in front of my mom's nose. "'In danger of foreclosure'! Can you please explain?"
My mom rolls her eyes and fastens her apron around her waist, admiring herself in the office's full-length mirror. "Oh, Ma. They always say that. We'll pay. Don't worry. I've been putting off our last few payments to save up for the Small Businesses, Big World conference I told you about. We need to do more than just fill prescriptions. Our business can make a difference in the world. We just need to find out what we can do."
Grandma's face falls. The tension in the room seems to be expanding like a balloon that's about to pop. This is my time to walk away. "I'm going to straighten up the toy section!" I say, more cheerfully than I'd normally say it.
But instead of straightening, I close the door and wait outside the office so that I can eavesdrop. I need to find out what foreclosure means.
I make fake walking sounds so that Mom and Grandma think I'm far enough away that I won't be able to hear them, and then I scooch down toward the floor and gently press my ear against the wooden door.
"Jane, time to come out of your save-the-world daze, sweetheart," Grandma says. "We don't have enough money to save the world. We need to save this pharmacy. You have two children to support. And frankly, I'm sick of having to tell you this."
"Ma, relax," Mom says, acting like she has everything under control. There's a long silence, and I'm wondering if the conversation's over and if I really should go and clean the toy section.
"We're sitting down tonight with all of the bills," Grandma says, sounding calmer now. "And I'm letting Tory and Charise go. I have to. I don't have a choice."
Tory and Charise have been working at the pharmacy for as long as I can remember. Tory does all of the loading and unloading of boxes and stocking of the shelves. And Charise makes sure the pharmacy's spick-and-span and helps out behind the counter. She always tells me stories about the old days, when people would have to wait in line for sodas and snacks and stuff. I even remember when Grandpa was alive and so many of the kids in our neighborhood would hang out at the store, having snacks at the counter after school. Sometimes Grandpa would even help them with their homework.
It's not like that anymore. Not at all.
Nowadays, people will occasionally come in for a soda, but they're usually high school kids who are going to the movies next door and don't want to pay movie-theater prices. No one ever orders items from the grill; Grandma barely even turns it on anymore. Things have changed a lot, and not in a good way. I wish there was a way to go back to the way they used to be.
I especially feel bad for Tory and Charise. I know they need the money. And I know Grandma would never let them go if she didn't have to.
That's how I know things are bad.
