As soon as I enter the kitchen, I receive a warm welcome from a black tuxedo cat. Around her dark fur are white paws and a white furry chest.
“Kinoki.” I acknowledged. “I thought we made a deal to keep our distance while I remained pregnant."
She raised her tail, signaling that I have her attention, but didn’t care about what I have to say. She just wants to eat. The crinkling bag of cat food alerted Kinoki, and she sat next to her bowl, watching me scoop out a cup of kibbles.
If Dr. Graham knew I live with a feline, he would find another way to torture me. I didn’t plan on keeping a cat during my pregnancy, in fact, cats are my least favorite animals. I often found them annoying in the suburbs. There’s nothing more disturbing the street fights of wailing, and yowling cats.
My encounter with Kinoki was not only a random event in my life, it was around the time I worked for Ms. Clarisse. Kinoki was a stray, prancing around the parking lot, and scavenging the trash compactor. The little ball of fur would dash into any bush if she caught a sight of humans. Every morning she was sighted walking on the empty lots alone, motherless, and worse—unsupervised. The manager was offended by Kinoki, who took a five star residential home as her territory. The animal control agency tried to capture her, but Kinoki was too small and too agile for them.
The staff found her presence in the parking lot as cute and adorable creature. I found her presence a nuisance because she had something I didn’t. The strong will to survive on her own. Back then I couldn’t do that, so I envied her.
The day Kinoki decided to become domesticated, was not out of my efforts to win her trust. I was in the parking lot, dragging my feet from the long hours of the graveyard shift. There, I caught Kinoki frisking around my truck, I assumed she was going to scurry off as usual, but she didn’t run from me. When she noticed me, I sluggishly urged her to hurry up and leave. At the time, Kinoki didn’t like two-legged creatures, so I reminded her by stomping my foot on the asphalt, but she didn’t flinch. She was only a kitten back then, her baby fur made her look like she had white socks and a bib around her black coat.
Her buttery eyes gazed at mine, searching for something in the deep premises of my soul. Her confidence amused me, to the point where I dropped my guard. My heart soften, surrendering to her cute courage. Kinoki must have noticed my defeat, that instant, she cried to me. The closer she got, the lower my knees bent. As if I was bewitched, I found myself lifting her from the ground, wondering how I got the wildest cat to cradle in my arm. But I wasn’t out of her spell yet, not until I heard her purr. That’s when I decided that Kinoki will no longer have to live in the Gilia’s parking lot. I know nothing of cats, so I thought Kinoki was making a dumb mistake. Then again, she was on her own, just like me. That’s what made us connect, that’s how we knew we needed each other.
Kinoki is no longer a furry kitten, but a lady who has joined a solitary life with me. Thankfully, having Kinoki around the cabin saved me a trip to the asylum. I was used to the sound of my home in California, the sound of engines driving by, clanking metal, sirens from the police, voices of strangers, and barking Chihuahuas. The wilderness made me appreciate the city, but going back, is out of the question. To return to a civilization, and live in a modeled house, will only remind me of the times I spent as prisoner at my own home. It would only bring up memories of my fights with my husband. Memories when he often locked me in our bedroom, where I had to endure an empty stomach for a maximum of two days.
I need to stop thinking about those awful times.
There’s no reason to bring up these bitter events, it’s not worth reminiscing on that life. I rather live this far, and drive for hours to see another human. Dr. Graham, and this town will never understand. I’m who I am today, because of them.
I spent my next morning on the porch. The sun seeped through the trees, the orange leaves dance in the air, and the fresh pine scent filled the cabin. I often sip hot cocoa and try to hum with the migrating birds. My little child often moves around my belly during these joyous mornings. Almost as if my cheerfulness is a rarity, and it’s true.
Whenever the sun sets and the trees grow dark, my mood dampens into the miserable woman I am. At dark, the birds are no longer singing, the deer that roam in the front yard have abandoned me. To me, the nights are concentrated with one ingredient, desolation.
Anyone would think twice about living so far away—especially alone. Dr. Graham is right, living like this is dangerous. I'm not stupid—I know if anything were to happen to me, no one would know about it for months, maybe years. Sometimes, I’m frightened by that idea, but I have no choice. When I think of the hurt I faced as a child, the humiliation and betrayal I endured as a woman, there isn’t any room to decide if I made the right decision. I choose to live far from anyone that could hurt my baby and me. In solitude I will remain—even if most of the times, I have to feel like crap. If the sun sets, if Kinoki decides to leave for the night, I’ll cope with it. It’s better than the life I had.
Back home, I used to live in what people nicknamed the landfill, the poorest suburbs in the city that are owned by slumlords. Every city in America has a ‘landfill’, they were nothing but duplicated homes—congested with people with two dilemmas, pay your bills or eat.
I have felt a sense of pride for owning this cabin, then I let reality sink in. In legal paper, this cabin is mine, but it really isn’t my own. A woman who worked her way through school or hard work can say it’s rightfully theirs. I cannot. Ms. Clarisse made me keep her cabin, she gave it away like it was nothing to her. I’m not even related to her. The only rightful title I own is my old truck, the clothes on my back, and the food I eat.
Ms. Clarisse, I don’t deserve it—why did you give it to me? Was I…that important to you?
I forced a gulp of hot cocoa, my body absorbed each milligram of sugar, and my memories with Ms. Clarisse returned. I will never forget my first encounter with her. This is how it all began…
Chapter Four
Gilia
“…a cranky old lady who can get you fired with the snap of her finger.”
For 50 years, Gilia has become the # 1 retirement home for exclusive members of society. Only one with an abundance of wealth can afford large suite rooms, personal caretakers, nurses on call, trips to exotic lands, and exquisite meals. The privilege for living here, grants an opportunity to stay busy, and maintaining a social life among their wealthy neighbors.
I represented Gilia for two years, my job title was that of a lowly server with no experience to move up the latter. The pay is decent, but the labor is slave driving.
Servers, assist the head chef and cooks by setting up the dining rooms and cleaning after every meal. We work among the employees in the laundry room, where we do the washing, ironing, and transporting of bedsheets. We are also the gofers for the nurses, we run errands, bring in the wheelchairs, and stock their basic supplies. Servers are the lowest of all positions, we even follow instructions from the sanitary department—the custodians.
Without the many servers in Gilia, trouble would arise, but the staff still think of us as replaceable help. No matter the hard work, nobody will complain about the aching body after of a full shift. If only the story would end there, but even servers can’t stand one another. Every shift is filled with backstabbing workers, they argue, gossip, and harass one another. I try to hide behind enemy lines by making no complaints, and pleasing everyone I work with. Servers should have its own department, in fact, a reality show will suffice.
To the public, Gilia is known for being a luxuriously happy place, but anyone who’s worked at any elderly home will say otherwise. We have all felt the cold shoulder of the government’s handle on the dependent, even society will tuck the old from the sight of the young, and the working class. I have always felt that their inability to be physically independent, made them victims to prejudice. Although a majority of our residents live a healthy lifestyle, the rest are restless, grumpy, and worn. Few are
on the edge of Alzheimer’s, others are depressed, and some are terminally ill.
I find it somewhat, discriminating, that Servers aren’t allowed to regularly speak to the residents. This honor is given to personal caregivers called attendants. This is a position every server, cook, and janitor aims to achieve. Attendants don’t just get higher wages, but they have access to restricted facility rooms. In order to provide the best attendants, the company pampers them with a free meal card, gym membership, and a high bonus for Christmas. Becoming an Attendant is an ideal dream for everyone in Gilia, however, this claim isn’t exactly true.
One resident stands out like a weed, and she has a name.
In the lunch room, attendants will gossip to us commoners about the recent news of a particular resident. Every school has a bully, every corporation has a thief, and every elderly home has a difficult resident. Gilia has the worst resident of all, she lives on suite 97, and her name is Clarisse Elliot Mable. On my first day in Gilia, I was told to always refer Clarisse Elliot Mable as Ms. Clarisse, and if I ever mispronounce her name, I’ll either be reprimanded or leave without a job.
After my first year in Gilia, I only listened to the awful stories pertaining to a cranky old lady who can get you fired with the snap of her finger. Each Attendant a permanent role to assist one resident, but no one can last long with Ms. Clarisse and keep their job. Room 97 has even been nicknamed the witches’ gingerbread house. The current record-holder who lasted the shortest with Ms. Clarisse is Maya. On her first day, she didn’t last five minutes and she left the suite crying. The next day, she was fired for refusing to work for Ms. Clarisse. I have yet to meet a co-worker who hasn’t regarded her as the worst resident in Gilia. Many attendants who lost their jobs tried suing Gilia and Ms. Clarisse, but no one has won a case against them. All of it may have a lot to do with Ms. Clarisse’s status and influence. Out of all the big pocket residents, she is above the restricted privileges. If she wanted to go out for a vacation she can make it happen, with or without the manager’s approval.
I always thought she would spend her time running around Gilia, bossing, and harassing the staff, but she never leaves her room. All of her meals are taken at her suite. The staff aren’t the only ones who despise her, even the residents keep their distance. Everyone in Gilia is completely repelled by her sour personality.
I made it a mission to avoid Ms. Clarisse, until one day, we crossed paths. A chauffeur was gently escorting her out of the lobby. Together, they walked towards the sliding doors, chatting and laughing. I remember Ms. Clarisse’s posture was chest high, with her nose proudly in the air. It’s hard to visualize a pale, pink-cheeked old lady with short curly hair be as scary as they say. Then again, looks can be deceiving, attendants have been attacked, the nurses are scratched—even plates of food have been thrown at them!
Everyone grew accustom to see attendants in charge of her care, quit or refuse to care for her. Gilia upholds the reputation to assist the seniors of the upper class with five commercialized stars, anyone who can’t work up to their expectations, isn’t needed. For that reason, I appreciated my overnight shift, I rarely made contact with seniors—especially Ms. Clarisse.
At home, I received enough mistreatment from my husband. Therefore, my duty at work has been focused on avoiding her and her poisonous words. Then, a turn of events failed my plan. The night we met, changed my life. From that moment, I was forced to be her personal attendant “forever” or so she said.
In the middle of my graveyard shift, I went on my way to the laundry room, rolling a cart of clean bed sheets. When the elevator doors opened to the fourth floor, five attendants gathered in the hallway, grumbling among each other. When I approached them, I lowered my head to them. Attendants have a demanding job, and they’re known for scrutinizing anyone they think holds an easy position.
Four attendants are arguing and snickering among each other, their behavior is very uncommon. When I passed them, a wild scream detonated from a nearby suite. The attendants didn’t flinch, no one lifted an ear. They’re all too absorbed in their conversation, to respond.
“A resident is crying out.” I announced. “Excuse me?”
The bunch looked at me like I’m stupid for thinking they were deaf. They said I’m better off to ignore it, but the resident’s voice is still weeping in agony. The polished door to the suite is almost vibrating from the haunting cry. To see the attendants make no response to a resident who may be in danger, is a break in company policy. This is negligence.
I left my cart and quickly pressed the emergency passcode to unlock the suite. I’m clearly breaking in, but every staff reserves the right to enter any unit they is putting to risk the life of a resident. I rushed into to the room, not once reading the gold plate on the wall. We are required to know whose suite we are entering, and always address them by their name. If had I known the room number is 97, and the gold plate read Ms. Clarisse, I wouldn’t think twice to enter.
Each suite looks more expensive than the other, but this one is wins by a landslide. The space is wider, the view from the city is breathtaking, and the lavish décor should belong in a museum. I ran through the narrow hall, pass the heavy furniture in the living room, and to the source—the bedroom.
A dim night-light by the bedside, allowed me find an old lady fighting in her sleep. Her arms continuously lurched around, her lips are mumbling gibberish. She looks like a harmless child, suffering through a nightmare. I sat on the bed-side, and gently shook her shoulder. My touch caused her eyes flicker open. The tears that rolled onto her white silk pillow, have stopped.
“It’s okay.” I gently spoke to her “It was only a bad dream, you’re going to be fine—”
A cold slap, smacked the side of my cheek. The shock made me grow a bag of tears, but I kept them from streaming down my face. The disturbed maiden in distress, scowled at me, and pushed me off her bed. Her strength stunned me, I’m starting to think she’s about to beat me up.
“Do you know who I am?” she yelled. “Do you!”
As I started accept the possibility that this room might belong to Ms. Clarisse, she screamed and demanded I leave. I ran like my life depended on it. I slid across the living room and dashed through the hallway. As soon as I swept myself out of the door, the attendants promptly shut the door. I didn’t have to explain the red mold on my cheek, the attendants heard the slap from the hallway.
I asked them why nobody warned me or did anything to help her. Before I eavesdrop, they were in the process of choosing the winner, out of a drawing of straws. While I tried catch my breath, I watched them finally dig out the winner, everyone cheered. The loser sighed like he was on death row, and slowly entered the suite.
The blow of Ms. Clarisse’s bony fingers molded the side of my face. When I returned to work, I became antsy and less talkative. I’m paralyzed by the repeating flash-back of Ms. Clarisse’s powerful slap. Just recalling her blaring words, make me feel like I’m the one who caused her harm. Now I’m left with a new problem, she will complain, and my employment with Gilia will be over.
I think I’m about to beat Maya’s record, in one visit, I will be dismissed like the rest.
When I got home that morning, I was called in for work immediately. I sat in the office sleep-deprived, and too fatigued to care about losing my job.
Bradley, the manager of Gilia, watched me with an empty stare. His office is so warm, I’m tempted to roll into a ball and sleep right here—right now. Bradley shook his head and handed a piece of paper to me, he then, rubbed his temple. Somehow, the resignation paper he handed over took a lot of strain from him. I teased him over his exaggeration, it’s not like I’m about to be employee of the month. The whole world knows that Bradley is out to look for himself that is why he makes no objection whenever Ms. Clarisse, and some seniors wants us booted from our jobs.
“Read it.” he said, relaxed and somehow—tense.
I read the content, I jolted like I took a shot of espresso. I stra
ightened my back, ready to leap out of my seat. Bradley is promoting me to be a facility caregiver, a personal attendant! I lower my eyes down to the fine print that states which resident I will be caring for.
It’s Ms. Clarisse.
“Is this a form of punishment?” I asked.
“That’s awfully rude.” he said “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Who requested this?”
I rather lose my job like the rest. Why should I be assigned to care for the woman who slapped me? Bradley shrugged his shoulder, he confessed that Ms. Clarisse made the request—I immediately refuse the offer.
“This is because of last night, isn’t it?” I said, feeling the warm slap mark, return to my cheek.
“Did you do something?” asked Bradley. “Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I sealed my lips, and let Bradley continue.
“Today is my day off, and on my day off, I don’t answer any calls from work. And guess what happened? Ms. Clarisse calls my wife at 5 a.m. insisting that I allow you to work for her. Don’t even ask how she got my wife’s number, I was too afraid to ask. I don’t need to be here any longer than I should, do you want this promotion or not?”
A promotion to attendant is a dream everyone strives to achieve. But Bradley is only promoting me because Ms. Clarisse demanded it, not because I gained recognition from my hard work. It’s obvious that this old lady wants revenge for breaking into her home. My silence made Bradley hint my alternative, if I deny the offer, I will be asked to resign.
“I’m sorry Lola, but we have to give in to to her wishes. It’s nothing against you.” he explained. “Ms. Clarisse is good business to us. This woman can easily purchase her own place, and hire her own employees, but she’s not—she’s staying with us. As long as she stays in Gilia, the board will not deny any requests from her.”
The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) Page 3