Avery woke up with the kind of strong resolve that only comes when there are no other possibilities left. It was the kind of determination needed—not empowering or bold—just necessary. As she sat up, the cold of the room fastened to the wetness of her clothes; her limbs felt weighted as she shoved the blanket away. She was still worn and crumpled from the rain the evening before and hadn't even become aware she had fallen asleep in them. They smelled faintly of worn-out earth and tiredness.
She rested on the floor next to her mattress and touched her bag. Though certainly lighter than her optimism, it felt lighter than it ought to have; she did not allow herself time to ponder. Her anxieties would begin creeping in again if she paused even for a split. She rose then, tugging on a dry shirt and fastening her hair back. Her reflection in the glass was not fashionable or self-assured. Resilient it was, still. That would have to be enough, too.
As she exited, the morning sun barely beginning its rise buzzed feebly in the city air. Avery grabbed her purse and went toward the bus stop, her mind repeating the same silent mantra: Just keep moving.
Her route led her from business to business, office to office. Every location she stood with her hands folded, shoulders tense but respectful, and posed the same wishful question:
"Are you employing?"
"Do you have any available?"
"Is any part-time or seasonal work open?"
Most individuals were shaking their heads before she could hardly finish.
Some were kind, with empathetic grins and mild excuses such, "Sorry, we need someone with more experience," or "We're completely staffed for now."
Others disregarded kindness. One look—her simple clothes, her weary eyes, the hesitancy in her speech—they dismissed her silently. Some even turned around before she was through talking.
Every "no" had a sting that grew upon the previous. Her chest got little tighter every time she was rejected. She kept going, nevertheless. Because she had to. Since Lucy was already doing far too much. Her condition worsened daily.
Her feet felt swollen within her shoes by late afternoon, and her legs ached from walking. Talking had dried her throat; her eyes burned with the threat of tears she wouldn't let fall in public. The globe appeared to be too huge, too active, too callous.
Just on the verge of giving up for the day and starting again tomorrow, she came across a modest cleaning company situated between a barber shop and a hardware store. Its sign was fading, the front window smudged, but a handwritten message stuck to the door stated:
NEED OF PART-TIME HELP
Avery stopped cold.
Hope sparkled once again, feeble yet tenacious.
She pushed open the door. The tiny reception area smelled of floor polish and disinfectant. Behind the table sat an elderly lady going over a pile of papers. She looked up, eyes narrowing somewhat as Avery believed she would hear another "no" at any moment.
Avery said, her voice faint but steady, "I am looking for work. I saw the sign."
The woman examined Avery intently for a while; Avery forced herself not to shrink under the examination. Then, unexpectedly, the woman nodded.
"Before you ever did any cleanup work?"
"A little," Avery said honestly. "But I learn fast."
One more quiet minute went. Then the lady dragged a form across the desk.
"We'll give you a try," she said. "Part-time. Pay isn't great, but the hours are flexible. Uniform is in the back. You'll start tomorrow morning."
Avery blinked. "You're... hiring me?"
"Work's work. You're here. That should be sufficient," the woman said.
It wasn't the way things would go. Avery's dream had come to pass. It wasn't a career she had envisioned for herself when she still thought her life would develop as she had intended. Still, it was a chance she desperately needed.
Therefore she gave her agreement.
The weight in her chest had subsided only somewhat when she arrived. Although relief wasn't happiness, it was near enough for now. At least she would not overly load Lucy. She was doing at least something.
Avery made straight for the kitchen as soon as she entered. Before Lucy got back, she wanted supper ready to show her thanks in whatever little ways she could. Allowing the rhythm of cooking to calm her, she sliced veggies, simmered sauce, and stirred rice. Warmth she didn't know she required permeated her tiny flat from the scent.
Tired from her own hectic day, Lucy's face illuminated upon the view of the meal when she at last entered.
"You cooked?" she inquired astonished.
Avery nodded, adding, "I wanted to. And… I had a job."
Lucy blinked, then let out a delighted smile. Talking over little things—the busyness of the day, the erratic weather, a neighbor's loud rooster—they ate together. Though calming, the discussion was not serious or emotional. Avery felt just somewhat lighter when evening descended and they went to their combined apartment.
Early Avery showed up at the cleaning company the following morning, her overly big garment folded neatly over her arm. She entered with trembling stomach. Before giving her equipment and clearly, brief instructions for the day's chores, the supervisor, a tall, severe guy with a clipped voice, hardly introduced himself.
Avery concentrated attentively, memorizing every minute detail. She could not risk making a mistake.
The task started at once. She cleaned desks till her fingers withered, cleaned floors till her arms screamed, and disposed of far worse-smelling bins than expected. Quiet and concentrated, she went from one office to another, ignoring the heat in her back and the moisture clinging her hair to her forehead.
Not exactly glitzy. It wasn't straightforward.
Still, she kept on since this job was important.
She took her first step toward living on her own once more.
Hours went by. Avery neglected to even look at the time. She simply worked, thankful for anything—anything—which gave her a feeling of control.
But her motions slowed down eventually. Her hands shook. She started to see indistinctly. That was when she came to the conclusion: She hadn't consumed anything since she had supper with Lucy the evening before. That morning, she had been too nervous, too preoccupied with creating a positive impression.
Hunger crashed over her like a tidal wave—fierce, debilitating, almost bewildering.
She leaned the mop against the wall carefully then exited. The cold air caressed her cheeks and provided a fleeting moment of comfort. She traveled along the road till she found a little food stall selling porridge and fried pastries. She purchased the least expensive dish on the menu with her limited funds.
It wasn't very many. It would not satisfy her for very long. But the first taste grounded her.
She let herself breathe for the first time all day and chewed sluggishly on a bench. Her body was fatigued from everything she had been carrying these last few weeks, not only from work. From all angles, decisions, secrets, worries, and obligations weighted her down.
Still, she did not break.
She stood, straightened her attire, and dried her hands on a napkin after she had finished eating. She then returned to the building, her gait sluggish but resolute.
She wasn't quitting.
Not today.
Not ever.
Avery was taking little steps one after another until she found her path ahead once more, even if the world just presented minor chances.