Chapter three

CHAPTER THREE

THE WEIGHT OF RESPONSIBILITIES

I woke up early, my mind racing with thoughts of the day ahead. After a quick shower, I walked past Mum, who was giving David a bath.

"Good morning, Mum! Good morning, David!" I chirped, wrapping my towel around me tightly.

I frantically searched for something to wear—a presentable outfit was essential for my job search. My high school diploma felt like a flimsy shield against the competitive job market.

My best chance, I reasoned, lay at a supermarket or a diner, where most of my friends had found jobs right after graduation.

Except for Ria—she had been absent from my life since the accident, and its aftermath had left me emotionally distant, consumed by the pressing need to support my family.

I finally settled on a blue long-sleeved shirt and a black skirt, inspecting my reflection in the mirror.

"You look corporate-ready," I told myself, adjusting my collar and slinging my tote bag over my shoulder.

I took a deep breath, looked directly at my reflection, and repeated, "I’ve got this," until I felt a flicker of confidence. With one last look at the mirror, I ventured back to Mum and David.

"I've got to go," I said, waving goodbye. "Good luck!" Mum called after me, her voice filled with encouragement.

Dressed and determined, I stepped outside, but a wave of uncertainty washed over me. “Where to now?” I wondered, hesitating for a moment on the sidewalk.

I walked aimlessly, scanning the shops for a "help wanted" sign. An opening pastries store caught my eye, and I approached the woman unlocking the door.

"Do you need any help, ma'am? I’m looking for a job," I asked, flashing a hopeful smile. She shook her head.

"Sorry, I’m already overstaffed." Disappointment sank in, but I pressed on, telling myself that finding a job wouldn’t be as difficult as it seemed.

After wandering a few blocks, I felt the fatigue creeping in and decided to rest under a nearby tree. I was ready to call it a day when, out of the blue, I spotted a familiar face—Sarah, a classmate from school.

"Hey, Diana! What are you doing here?" she asked, concern etched across her features. I shared my job-hunting struggles with her, and she broke into a mischievous smile.

"Why not come work with me at the diner?" she suggested, offering her hand to pull me up. A spark of hope ignited within me.

"Really? I’d love to work at a diner!" I exclaimed, feeling revitalized as we walked hand in hand toward her workplace.

When we arrived, the diner buzzed with activity—customers were chatting, waiters rushed about, and the atmosphere was charged with energy.

I glanced at my watch and noticed the time—it wasn’t even the afternoon shift yet.

Sarah reassured me, "Don’t worry about it; we’re just in time." A plan started to form in my mind: I could take on morning, afternoon, and night shifts to bring in extra money.

We approached the manager’s office, where a gruff voice invited us in. Mr. Penny, a rugged man in his fifties, greeted us with a laugh.

"Of course we need help; this place is always packed!" he chuckled, rifling through his desk for a job application. I shot a glance at Sarah, whose encouraging nod eased my nerves, and I signed the paper without really reading it.

I wondered what I’d just agreed to but trusted Sarah’s judgment.

"You’ll earn four dollars an hour," Mr. Penny instructed after stamping the paper. I felt a twist of disappointment.

“Four dollars an hour isn’t enough to help my family,” I thought. Gathering my courage, I interjected, “Can you increase it to ten dollars an hour?” His laughter boomed through the small room, and I could see Sarah wince.

He finally stopped, his expression turning serious. "I don't even make that much—if you don't want the job, then get out."

Fortunately, Sarah swiftly stepped in. "She wants the job, sir." Mr. Penny then instructed her to fetch my uniform and get to work. Once in the kitchen, Sarah handed me a uniform and provided a quick orientation.

The work was straightforward—taking orders, delivering food, and ensuring that customers had a pleasant dining experience.

It wasn’t difficult, but it was far from easy; I was constantly on my feet, serving tables, and my legs ached from the relentless motion.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, Sarah approached me with a smile. "For your first time, you're doing great! Just two more hours left." I nodded, determined to power through.

With each passing minute, I glanced at the clock, willing it to move faster. When the night shift staff began arriving, I felt a wave of relief; my shift was almost over.

Once our shift ended at eight o’clock, a huge sigh escaped me. The thought of finally resting felt heavenly. I looked for Sarah in the kitchen—she was ready to leave, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"Let’s grab a bite before heading home," she suggested, and I eagerly agreed, feeling the pangs of hunger.

"You're allowed to take leftovers home, too," she added, her eyes twinkling with excitement. I couldn't help but smile; this job was already a blessing.

No more scrambling to find ingredients for dinner—I could provide for my family, even if just in small doses.

As we walked home, illuminated by the warm glow of streetlights, Sarah suggested we stop for Chinese food.

"We can’t afford that," I protested half-heartedly, but she insisted, "It's on me." Reluctantly, I accepted her generosity, my thoughts racing about how someone like her could afford such luxuries.

Seated outside the restaurant, I hesitated to ask how she managed to afford our meal.

Just then, Sarah asked me, "I thought you were heading to college soon. Why the job search?" The embarrassment hit me like a wave, but I knew I had to explain.

So, I took a deep breath and shared the story of the accident and how the responsibility of caring for my family fell solely on my shoulders. I noticed her compassion swell as she listened.

Curiosity took hold, and I turned the question back at her. "What about you? Why aren’t you planning on going to college?" Sarah disclosed her own struggles—a father who abandoned the family and a mother who had passed away.

Now, she was responsible for caring for her little brother. I was shocked at the weight she carried.

"But how can you afford Chinese food if you're struggling?" I pressed in disbelief. With a playful grin, she responded, "Don’t worry about it," dodging my question with humor.

I let it go, focusing instead on the food, deciding not to pry further into her personal affairs.