Deserved

5.

Good things didn't happen to people like me.

The recession had hit Lincoln Cove, hard. Jobs were suddenly harder to come by, folk scrambling for the few positions that floated around these parts. Overqualified people were forced into menial labor, losing brain cells just to raise enough for their daily bread.

It was a demoralizing time.

But Cerys Dunaway was a savvy woman. She'd had her ducks in a row, ready to sell her successful business on, just before everything went to hell. I remember it like yesterday, her sitting me down and assuring me that my job was safe. I'd been shocked, embarrassed and overwhelmed even, as those who'd worked for her for years were clearing out their desks. They removed photographs of loved ones, ready to pack into cardboard boxes, mournful expressions on their faces. That day, I presumed an angel was looking down on me. I, alongside four other workers was to stay with the company in the transitional period, as per the contract with the new owner.

I'd worked in close proximity with Cerys over the term of my employment and therefore, in spite of my relatively short span with 'Star', I would prove an invaluable resource once the company went through its renaissance period. That's what she told me, anyway. Her eyes however, told me another story.

I saw pity there.

It was a look I knew well. A look I despised, even if on this occasion it saved me my job. I didn't know whether it was my clothing, my hair, or my personality, but throughout my life I had grown accustomed to being regarded with the same sad expression, and it was tiresome and humiliating all at once, but I knew from the offset that I'd begged for this job. That I'd laid my heart out there, practically on my hands and knees asking for a chance.

Pleading for it.

It was a lot easier to keep going, to push on and do whatever I needed to do to make this work, than look back down the road we'd travelled. If appealing to the good nature of those around me helped us, then so be it.

So I stayed on board that sinking ship, hopeful that the new manager would look at me as a bright, enthusiastic addition to their team, someone who would strive for success. And maybe some day I'd be the kind of woman I saw strutting down Main Street. They held their heads high, perfectly blow dried hair, immaculate make up, and crease free two pieces. I'd watch those women like some wide eyed open mouthed celebrity follower, marvelling at the ease with which they moved through coffee shops and delis, almost gliding from errand to errand.

That kind of woman had a grip on her finances. She took whatever shit life through at her and laughed in its face. Cyrus deserved a mother like that. Not a crushed, heart broken, crumbling shell of a woman, always desperate to make ends meet. Always desperate to look well put together when in actual fact I could wear a couture gown and still look like I'd ripped it from a hanger, in a thrift store, for a dollar.

Vivienne Charlston had made it clear she didn't like me from the second she set eyes on me. Some people have this effortless, unspoken way of making others feel about an inch tall. She was that kind of person. Her assistant Lisa was the nail in the coffin, so to speak. I'd been banking on resuming my current position, with the promised benefits I'd be afforded after a year of service to the company. My heart dropped as the two of them sat down with me, detailing my new role. One that wouldn't cover those coveted benefits for myself and Cyrus. Worse still, I would be paid just enough to cover bills and rent, leaving us scraping pennies together at the foot of every month.

Amusement glittered in their eyes, I could see it, as I realized from now on I'd just be some dogs body. I didn't have a degree to fall back on, or any experience to wave in their faces, to highlight me as an employee to revere and admire.