I’m just… tired. That’s the only word I have left. Not like, sleepy tired, but bone-deep, soul-tired, the kind where you wake up and you’re already behind even though nothing has happened yet. It’s 2 AM, my phone is on 15%, and I’m just staring at the glow thinking about tomorrow’s shift at Big Box Bargains, then picking up Ma from day care (if she even went today, sometimes she just refuses, makes a scene), then getting dinner on the table, then trying to pay the electric bill before they shut us off, again. And my kid, she’s a good kid, but she needs stuff, you know? Shoes, school supplies, just… to live. It never stops. It just never stops. My siblings, oh man. My brother, he lives, like, three states away. He calls maybe once a month, asks how Ma’s doing. “Give her my love, sis!” he says, like I’m his personal secretary. And my sister, she’s closer, in the city, but it might as well be on the moon. Says her job is so demanding. (So is mine, Brenda, selling discount electronics to people who think they deserve a personal assistant because they’re buying a toaster.) They both show up once a year, usually around Christmas. Like a grand royal visit. They bring a fruit basket, maybe a sad poinsettia. They sit with Ma for an hour, listen to her ramble, and then they’re off again, back to their “lives.” Last year, it was Christmas Eve. Ma was having a really bad day, kept thinking it was 1985 and yelling at the cat. I’d been up since five, worked a double because someone called out, got home, and still had to cook dinner for everyone. My sister walks in, sees the mess (because yeah, I’d been WORKING), and says, “Oh, still haven’t managed to get organized, huh?” Just like that. In front of everyone. My brother just chuckled. I just looked at her, standing there in her fancy coat, and thought, for a split second, I could just scream. Really let loose. But what’s the point? It wouldn’t change anything. It never does. The crazy thing is, it doesn’t even hurt anymore. That’s what’s really stuck in my head. It’s not like I’m sad or angry when they leave. It’s more like… relief. One less thing. One less performance I have to put on, pretending we’re this happy family that cares about each other. Because it’s all on me, always has been. Ma, my kid, the bills, the retail zombie smile I have to wear all day. I catch myself sometimes, looking at Ma, and just thinking… how many more years? How many more years until I can finally, finally just sit down for five minutes without someone needing something? Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d just… left. Before Ma got sick, before my kid was born, before I got stuck in this town. Just packed a bag and gone. But that’s a stupid thought, isn’t it? I mean, who would have done all this? Probably no one. (Definitely no one.) So here I am, 2 AM, staring at a dying phone, wondering if I have enough gas to get to work tomorrow and if Ma will remember my name in the morning. *Sigh*. Another day, another dollar, right? Que sera, sera. Or something like that.