The click-clack of her heels on the shiny tiled floors was distinct even from the kitchens.
She served a timid smile along with my milkshake and promised that she’ll follow not long after. Her shift was about to end, anyway. As she walked to another customer asking for a drink, I could see her weary face sigh. She’s done this for ten hours each day for six days a week for five years. You can see it from the calluses on the back of her foot where the heels dug in, her quick responses to the typical complaints, the way the ugly yellow uniform clung to her thin, wiry figure and how everything requires so little concentration when they’ve been done countless times that it’s already second nature to bark an order in the kitchens or smile sweetly at an annoyed customer.
She sat tiredly in front of me half a milkshake later. Veins have cropped up on her hands that pulled up her auburn hair. It took me a while to convince her of the interview. “Why would a life like mine interest anyone?” Wouldn’t anyone like their story to be highlighted, I replied. That hardly bought her either. Her voice was a husky one, as if the cheerfulness faded little by little. She never dreamed of being a waitress. I doubt anyone did. Growing up from Ohio, she had always been a devout Christian and a loving daughter, friend, neighbor until that fateful day she found out that she was pregnant. Her kind family turned against her. The shame of the daughter’s sin could not be borne by the family. “You step out of this house Carol. I don’t have a daughter who gets knocked up like you.” Even after
several years, the pain was etched deep on her eyebrows and clear in her eyes.
Rick promised to take care of her and their child. Rick said he’ll support them. Rick said he’ll work hard and give them a decent home to live in. At least he said that before he left them for good. With only a handful of cash left, she wound her way up in the Big Apple. Determined to make something of herself and her child, she grabbed the only job that was viable to her: waitressing. She scraped a little money a day, paying the bills for their measly apartment downtown, barely supporting her son, Lawrence. She took up whatever other job she could to stay afloat. She has worked as a cashier and a waitress in various other establishments; most of them at the same time. It never seems to be enough. Several times, she even considered working as a stripper, if only her morals could let her.
Her slim figure claimed that it was in its mid-thirties until she told me she was only twenty-three. Her face was wry and tired and she seems to held up only by willpower. And perhaps that is the only thing that has held her up until now. Despite the whole world rearing its ugly head at her, she chose not to cower in fear and throw everything away. She still fought each day, working and working for her son to have a better future than she did. They still heard mass every Sunday and she taught him all the prayers she knew. Her principles were left intact even after enduring the worst possible outcomes in life. Although life took a toll on her, she’s doing her best for her son, if her life was beyond salvaging already.
Eventually, that was how it turned out: living the rest of her life for the sake of someone else. The only satisfaction in working overtime shifts at different diners is to know that it was all for the sake of her son. It was all in the hope that her son would repay her sacrifices. Hope lit her eyes up at every mention of Lawrence. She believed that no matter how difficult it would be for the two of them, she was willing to fight the battles.
