The Raggedy Ass Can of Mine Gah Cause Me to Lose My Job

Single mom of two just trying to stay on her feet

I don’t know how much longer I can keep this job, for real. That raggedy ass can I drive barely made it out the parking lot this morning. Engine was coughing like it caught COVID, and I still had to get the girls to daycare and clock in by 6:00 a.m.

I told my boss it was traffic, but the truth is I had to pour cold water in the radiator again ‘cause it won’t hold coolant. My cousin swore he’d fix it two months ago but he ghostin’ like a man that owe child support. This job barely pay me enough to breathe, but it’s all I got.

I’m 27 with two little ones — four and two — and no backup. No man. No family I can trust after what they put me through. Used to live with my aunt, but that was just verbal jail. Every day she’d call me fast, lazy, stupid. My kids could hear her too. That’s why I left with nothing but a suitcase and a Target diaper bag.

Now I’m here, in this one-bedroom box with a stove that clicks but won’t light, praying the power stays on another week. Every day I put on my smile and greet customers like my stomach ain’t eating itself from stress.

I want more. I need more. But this car keep playing me like it’s my ex. Every time I think I’m good, it coughs and dies like it’s testing my faith. I swear, one more missed shift and I’m out of work again. But what am I supposed to do? Push it to work? Walk with two babies on my hip at 4:00 a.m.?

Nah. I’m gon’ figure it out. I always do.

My babies still smiling. I got that. And this world might be heavy, but my heart? My heart ain’t gave out yet. Tomorrow, I get up again even if I gotta ride on fumes and hope.