Relentless Hope (Resilient Hearts)

by Cassidy, Ashley

  I have learned some very hard lessons in the days since I left Kevin’s apartment. I learned that no amount of determination or willingness to work hard is enough to find a twenty-year old girl with no work experience, a job in a matter of days.

  I also learned that no one wants to rent an apartment or even a room to a young girl with no credit or rent history and no money, even if the girl lowers her expectations and doubles her efforts.

  After I convinced Mia and Kevin to drop me off at a cheap motel in a shady area of the city, which was the only place in a ten miles radius I could afford to stay in, I immediately got to work.

  I worked extensively on my resume the first day and then started applying for any jobs I could possibly qualify for. But after five days, I am yet to hear from any of them. I understand most all of these places take a few weeks to even look at a resume, let alone get back to the applicant, but I don’t have the luxury to wait that long. So instead of waiting around for companies to contact me, I started walking around the motel, inquiring about work at every single restaurant, fast-food place and retail store I came across. Most of them said they are not hiring at the moment and a couple of places that did hire required experience. I even inquired at the local gas station, but every single place I have tried turned me down.

  Things are looking even worse in my hunt for an apartment. From the first hours I got to the hotel, I began searching online for a room or an apartment. In the beginning, I was somewhat selective in what I expressed interest in, but after a day or two of receiving only negative answers or no responses at all, I started to inquire about anything and everything affordable. Still, nothing came through. Everyone asks for credit and rent history, on top of a deposit, and I have none of those things.

  Realizing that my money is quickly running out and I’m yet to find a place with a roof over my head, I even contacted a few women’s’ shelters for domestic violence victims. They told me that I needed evidence of my abuse and asked me if I had filed a police report, and if not, if I was willing to identify my abuser and file for a restraining order. Since my answer to all of those questions was negative, they couldn’t help me.

  This morning in a desperate attempt to reach more places, I ventured outside of the few blocks I have been walking around in the past few days. After walking for a few more blocks than usual, I noticed the area getting sketchier. I started to feel spooked by the atmosphere, and decided to make my way back to the motel.

  That’s when I noticed a creepy looking middle-aged guy walking a few feet behind me. At first, I told myself that he is simply going his own way. But after he followed me for a couple of more blocks, I was not so sure anymore. I started to pick up my speed and turned a corner to see if he would follow, and was terrified when he did. Except for my phone and a twenty dollar bill, I didn’t have anything valuable on me, but I knew I could still be subjected to assault, kidnapping, or rape.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up, as panic started to set in the pit of my stomach. I started to walk faster and faster, breaking into a run after another couple of blocks. When he started to run after me, I picked up my speed, starting to run for my life, but he quickly caught up to me.

  Just when I felt he is about to grab me from behind, a police car came around the corner from across the street. Seeing the cops, the guy quickly took off in the other direction. As I turned around to see if he left, I didn’t see a big pothole in front of me on the pavement and fell flat on my face.

  The impact was so severe that I felt disoriented at first, but I forced myself to get up. That’s when I felt the sticky droplets running down my face and my neck. I ran my hands over my face and touched a big gash on my forehead right under my hairline. I felt dizzy, my stomach getting queasy, but I was still too terrified of the guy following me to give in to weakness.

  I looked around and didn’t see the police car anymore, and even though the guy was nowhere in sight, I knew he could come back at any moment. I couldn’t risk standing around. Instead of dwelling on the pain in my knees and the blood on my face, I pressed my fingers tight against my forehead and started running back to the motel.

  By the time I finally made my way back to the room, blood was running down my neck, soaking the neckline of my t-shirt. Seeing the cut in the mirror terrified me. It was about half an inch long and blood continued gushing out. It probably needed a few stitches, but not having access to health insurance, money or anyone to take me to the doctors, I resolved to take care of it myself.

  I grabbed some tissue paper from the counter and put pressure on the cut with my fingers. It took about twenty minutes for the blood flow to stop and by then I was exhausted and completely worn out.

  As I lie in bed and let the tears flow now, I wonder for the millionth time, how my life could get to this in a matter of weeks. How is it possible to lose everything you hold dear, everything you have worked so hard for so quickly? Why? Why me? I keep thinking. What did I do wrong to deserve to be punished like this? And more importantly, what the hell I am going to do now?

  I have barely enough money to last me another two nights at the motel and after that, I am homeless. The thought of becoming homeless is so terrifying to me that as soon as it crosses my mind, I feel sick to my stomach. That can’t happen to me, I keep thinking. I’m too scared of being on the streets.

  I go over all my options again in my head and try to come up with a solution. Then just when I am about to give in to despair, suddenly a light bulb goes off in my head, as I remember the old man by the ocean. He gave me his card and said I could call him.

  I grab my purse off the floor and start frantically looking for his card. When I finally find it, relief washes over me. Even though, I have no idea who he is, my gut tells me he can help. I pull out my laptop and Google his name, David Pierson.

  Article after article comes up of the successful billionaire CEO and founder of Pierson Investments, an investment firm founded in San Francisco with offices spanning the globe now. One of the articles at the top mentions he recently retired from all his roles at the company due to undisclosed health problems.

  I click on Google Images to find out more information and gasp. The guy in the pictures looks nothing like the fragile old man I saw the other day at the park. The man in the pictures looks much younger and much more confident. He holds himself as a man of authority, a successful businessman, nothing like the sweet old man who told me he almost killed himself years ago.

  I go back and read a couple of articles to learn about what Pierson Investments does and how David started it. After I have learned enough about him to verify what he told me is true, I pick up my phone and dial his number before I have a chance to chicken out. Asking for help from a complete stranger is not easy for me, and the fact that I just learned this guy is the founder and former CEO of a major investment firm does not help my nerves.

  I hold the phone close to my ear with a trembling hand and wait. The phone rings and rings, but no one picks up. Finally, a voicemail greeting comes on. I leave him a brief message and hope for the best.

  By the time I hang up, I am even more exhausted than before, but at least now, I have a small ray of hope. If the kindhearted old man I saw last week who gave me his card and offered to help me is a billionaire former CEO, he should be able to find me a job. I close my eyes and finally let sleep take over, and for the first time in five days, I sleep without nightmares.

  The surge of hope I felt in my heart by calling David quickly faded away as seconds turned into minutes and minutes to hours. It’s been over a day since I called him, and I haven’t heard anything back.

  As I look at my phone for the hundredth time, desperation fills me. Panic takes hold. And anxiety settles at the pit of my stomach. I look at the time and I am filled with dread, recognizing I am quickly running out of time, and running out of all options.

  I am beyond desperate. I have about seventy dollars left to my name, barely enough to pay for one more night at the motel and
some food. Starting tomorrow, I will have no roof over my head. No money. No job. No friends to turn to and no family. And I feel abandoned. As if no one, not even God cares about me anymore.

  The thought that I may become homeless in less than twenty-four hours scares me so much, it makes my stomach roil violently, forcing me to run to the bathroom to dry heave. After nothing comes out of my empty stomach, I make my way back to the bed on unsteady legs and collapse on the bed. I close my eyes and try to think of any other options I might have, anything I haven’t tried, and for some reason my mind keeps going back to David.

  No matter how much I try to think of other options, my train of thought returns to his old endearing face. I remember all of a sudden, that he mentioned something about going for walks at the park every afternoon, when I was saying goodbye.

  A thought crosses my mind. It is crazy and very risky, but it may be my one and only chance. It is possible that David doesn’t check his voicemail, or that he doesn’t remember me, but if he sees me again in person, surely he would remember me. If I actually see him, I would also have a chance to explain my circumstances to him in person and maybe, just maybe, he will be compelled to help me if we are face to face. But the only way for me to get to that side of town is to take a cab. There are no bus stops around here and even if there was one, I wouldn’t dare venture far off of the motel after what happened yesterday to get to it. I also can’t ask Mia for a ride, since Shane is still on her case, and I don’t want to get her in trouble. But the cost of taking a cab there would probably take way most of my remaining money. If I do that and fail to secure help, I will be homeless tonight.

  I contemplate my options again. Even though the risk of going there is enormous, my heart tells me David is my last chance, so I decide to go with it.

  The ride to Palos Verdes is quiet. I try not to think about my circumstances, instead focusing on the cars I see on the freeway. When the taxi pulls up to the park, a sense of relief washes over me. I give the cap driver the last of my money and get out of the car, praying hard that I won’t regret this decision. I slowly make my way to the same spot I was in last week and again, the beauty and the serenity of the area overwhelm me.

  I look around to see if I can spot anybody. When I don’t see anyone, I start walking up the pathway along the edge of the cliffs that border the ocean. I slowly walk to the end of the pathway and then make my way back up, but I see no sign of David. I continue walking around the park in hopes of coming across David somewhere. Once I circle the pathway twice, I start walking up and down the neighboring streets.

  The mansions that line up these streets blow my mind. I have never before paid too much attention to the extremes of wealth and poverty surrounding our lives. I didn’t have a reason to. My family was not super rich. We were middle class, but I never lacked any basic necessities. Now that I find myself with no money and no roof over my head, the reality that a few people are living so luxuriously in these enormous mansions while I may have to brave the cold and dangers of the streets tonight is heartbreaking.

  I am not looking for a handout. I’m willing to work hard. And at this point in my life, I don’t even expect much. I just want to be able to feel safe and have my basic necessities met. Yet I can’t seem to get a break. Life just seems so unfair.

  I wonder what would happen if I were to knock on one of these people’s doors and ask for a job. What would they do? Laugh in my face? Call the police? Have their security guards escort me out? Of course, I am not actually going to knock on a stranger’s door. I have too much pride and dignity to ever do that, but that doesn’t keep me from wondering whether or not I would find any compassion in these people.

  I make my way back to the park and continue walking, mentally going over my options if I don’t find David, and the reality that I have none starts to set in. I could technically call my mom or Mia and ask them for a ride or some money to hold me over for a couple of more days. But from the limited conversations I have had with both of them, I know my brothers are still watching their every move. I also know they are monitoring my phone records since my account is still under the family plan I had with my parents and they have access to all of my account activity online. So a phone call to either one of them would most probably lead my brothers to me, not to mention putting my mom or Mia at risk. There is no way in the world I would want to do that.

  The only place with a roof I could potentially sleep at tonight is a homeless shelter, but the mere thought of that makes my stomach roil in fear. I did some internet searching about homeless shelters the other day and what I read about them was terrifying. From being infested with bed bugs and lice, to the amount of drugs and the number of drugs lords lurking around, to incidents of rape and sexual assault, the stories are more horrific than I care to recount. I can’t bring myself to go to a homeless shelter, and I have no other options. Finding David was my last hope. My last option.

  As I continue looking around for David for about two more hours, all traces of hope gradually leave, and in their place, emptiness slowly takes hold. The recognition that I am now homeless makes me feel numb. It’s as if my mind cannot bear to face the reality, and my body refuses to accept it. The only thought playing in my mind over and over again is that I WILL NOT…CANNOT let myself sleep on the streets tonight. With this mantra taking hold in my mind, I notice my legs pointing me in a certain direction and carrying me there, while my mind is blank.

  Before I know what I am doing, I find myself in front of the bench I was sitting at last week and my legs are carrying me over the railing towards the edge of the cliff. I stand there at the precipice looking out towards the ocean and imagine myself flying away, away from all the pain, the despair, the disappointments and the hopelessness.

  Getting away from it all has never appealed so much. At a certain level deep in my consciousness, I realize that this is wrong, but I am too exhausted, and my mind is too convoluted to care. I close my eyes and envision jumping, falling down, and then hitting the rocky cliffs at the bottom. This time, instead of feeling terrified, the visualization makes me feel relieved. It feels like an end to all my misery, a final stop to all the uncertainty, anxiety and despair consuming my life.

  As I feel myself getting more and more pulled towards the direction of the ocean, I hear the sound of screeching tires and a sudden braking of a car in the distant, but I pay very little attention to it. I am in a zone. One in which reality is quickly giving way to delusion. I hear heavy footsteps followed by someone yelling about something, but I am still too much in my own head to care. Finally, when I feel someone coming up behind me and grabbing my hand, I jerk around.

  “Miss, what are doing? Why are you on the other side of the fence?” the guy asks in between shallow breaths. Why does he look like he has been sprinting?

  “This is dangerous. Please let me help you climb over to this side.”

  I turn around completely to see who he is and when I do a feeling of déjà vu hits me. It was only a week ago that I was standing in this exact position under similar circumstances. I can’t help to think there is a connection between these events, and when I turn my head to the side to get a better look at the guy, my jaw drops.

  A black Bentley is parked across the curb with the passenger door hanging open and David is slowly making his way towards me. I take another look at the guy talking to me to try to figure out the connection. He’s a large towering man, tall with broad shoulders and a strong physical built. He looks like a bodyguard, someone in his thirties. I look down and notice that he is still holding my hand. I try to pull my hand away, but he only tightens his hold.

  “Please, Miss. Please climb over to this side of the railing and I promise to let go of your hand.” Since it doesn’t look like he is going to give up easily, I decide to listen to him. Once I am safely on the other side, he lets go of my hand. By then David catches up to us. He looks closely at me and I can tell he instantly recognizes me.

  “I thought that it was you
. I can’t see too well from a distance, and I was really hoping that it wasn’t you, but I had a feeling it was you.” He pauses to take a breath before asking, “Why are you here again? Has it even been a week since we had that conversation?”

  I look up and move my eyes between the younger guy and David. I do want to answer David, but I really don’t feel comfortable talking about my situation in front of another stranger. David seems to sense my hesitation. He turns toward the other guy. “Nick. Thanks for your help. I think I got it from here. Can you please wait in the car? I’ll let you know when I need you.” Nick nods his head and quickly walks toward the car and away from us.

  After he’s sure Nick is out of earshot, David turns to me, “So tell me why you are here again. Why did we find you on the edge of the cliffs again so soon?”

  I hesitate for a moment, thinking about what to tell him, and decide being honest and open right now is the best course of action. I tell him the whole story, starting with how my mom told me I had to leave our house immediately. I tell him about what happened at Mia’s apartment, and how I’ve been desperately attempting ever since to find a job and a place to stay at with no luck.

  I also tell him that I called him and when I didn’t hear back, I spent the last of my money to come here to try to find him as a last resort. When I mention that I called him, his wrinkly face turns pale, as he quickly asks, “Which phone number did I give you?”

  “You gave me your business card. I called the number on the card,” I respond.

  He looks sincerely remorseful as he turns his head to look over the water. “That was the wrong number to give you. That’s my business cell phone number. I only check that occasionally these days. My brain isn’t functioning well anymore… I’m sorry. I’m so glad you decided to come here and we drove by when we did. If something had happened to you, I would have been responsible.”

  I gasp at his words, shocked that he would think such a thing. “How would you have been responsible? My family is the one that put me in this position. If anyone would be responsible, it would be them and all the friends who abandoned me. You have no responsibility towards me... I mean, don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate that you’ve offered to help, but to think that you’re responsible for me is too big of a stretch.”