Young Writers Society

Waking up to him isn’t easy, but what else could I do?

Life has never been easy. Not for me anyway. Growing up in Tillamook Oregon isn’t exactly as fun as people might think it is. We are basically known for one thing—cheese. Which means we pretty much only have one of three jobs: dairy farmer, factory worker, or selling stuff at the gift shop in the only place we are known for, the Tillamook Cheese Factory. We used to have four types of jobs, but the lumber business hasn’t been that good since the “Tillamook Burn” in the thirties. My grandpa used to tell me about working in the lumber industry as a teenager when he was alive. They were usually boring stories about cutting down trees and they’d always turn into some rant about “them tree huggers now a days…” Every once in a while he would tell a good story though. Sometimes tree trunks would start rolling away and twenty men would have to chase after it down a hill, sometimes a tree would fall and smash a truck and they’d all have to walk the thirty miles back to town to get another one. But that was before he passed.

My father used to work as a cheese packager in the factory. He was good at his job and his managers liked him. My dad’s job was to fix the weight on the blocks of cheese once they were cut down to size. He put each one on a scale and if the block was underweight, he would do this magic trick to get it to weigh the right amount. He put a slice of cheese on it. That was my dad. The Cheese Wizard. At least that’s what we used to call him at home.

It was always odd though when our schools took us on field trips to the factory. It was almost like we were looking down on our futures. We would press our freshly ice creamed fingers onto the glass and watch as all the dairy from Katie’s and Sammy’s farms turned into thick yellow squares of cellophane wrapped cheddar cheese. It was always cheddar cheese. Not that the factory didn’t make other kinds of cheese, but we never saw them except on shelves in the grocery store.

When I was a senior at Tillamook High, the factory started laying off its workers. They announced that they would be cutting the packaging department in half and outsourcing to two other packaging plants out of state. That meant that they would only be running the packaging line through the weekends for “visitors” and the amount of production in the factory would be scaled back. My dad had a fifty-fifty chance of keeping his job and of keeping the house. The odds just weren’t really in our favor this time.

Katie’s family took us all in. My mom and I helped out where we could, which was usually around the house or, in my case, around the farm with Cody, my little brother, mucking out the stalls and feeding the cows. It all worked out well because Katie’s family got free labor in exchange for room and board and Katie and I were good friends. Her mom and dad had gone to middle school and high school with my parents so they were more like my aunt and uncle than my best friend’s parents. Katie was glad of the company; she was an only child.

Katie was every teacher’s pet that year and was the valedictorian of our graduating class. The only one. Everyone else was busy farming and working in the factory or goofing off; myself included. Halfway through our senior year Sam Dorchester asked me out. I don’t know why I said yes. I knew that his and Katie’s families were on apprehensive of each other, both being dairy farms and all, and that my living with them meant I was supposed to be loyal to them but there was just something about him that I just couldn’t say no to.

When Katie found out she was mad, but she let me keep seeing him. That is until a few weeks later when she walked in on us making out. See, we shared a room and she had just come back from a date with Colby Jackson, who was, of course, the star football player. It’s not like she meant to but she was always one upping me. I got a B on a test, she got an A+ on an AP test. That kind of thing. Well I guess she just wasn’t feeling the sisterly love at that moment because she went crazy and made Sam leave. She told me later that Colby had asked his cousin to prom instead of her, something about his mom feeling bad for her niece who, let’s face it, didn’t stand a chance with any of the guys, so Katie had no one to go with. As bad as I had felt for her I didn’t have much sympathy. Us living with and working for her family meant we didn’t have much money, even with dad getting that job as a trucker, which meant I couldn’t pay for a prom ticket, let alone a dress or anything fancy like that. So long story short, I wasn’t going.

She cried for hours that night, only stopping when I suggested that she go with Sam just so that she had someone to take her. She had looked at me like I was crazy until I explained. It took a while to convince her and to get her to stop offering to pay for my ticket, I had never liked dancing anyways, and taking money from her was just weird, but when she finally relented I was able to get some sleep.

At the end of the year I was still dating Sam and he was allowed over more often to Katie’s house. I thought things were going well. I guess I thought wrong. Mucking out the stalls and feeding the cows takes a while to do, especially when it’s hot outside and you just finished your last round of finals before graduation and happen to be stressed out about how you think you did. Well, when I had gone back into the house I found Katie in the same spot she had found me—making out with Sam. She looked at me with such guilt and regret. He wouldn’t look at me at all. That night I went to sleep listening to her excuses and lies. Hearing about everything they had done. Everything.

The day after graduation, I left. I hadn’t told my parents about Katie and Sam, there was no need, but I couldn’t stay in that house any longer. I packed my things, which amounted to just one small bag, and got on the first bus to Portland. I knew I didn’t want to just be a Tillamook worker. I hated mucking stalls, I hated the factory, I hated the visitors, and I hated the town. There was nothing for me there. I guess I had figured in Portland I could make something of myself.

My parents were sad to see me go but I had told them I was staying with a friend until I could find a job. This was only partly true. I didn’t know anybody in Portland but I had enough money for at least a few nights in a motel, maybe a week if I could stretch is, and if I had to I could always bus back, it was only two hours. Two hours I could be using to look for a job, which is what I did the entire ride to Portland. I had bought myself a copy of the Oregonian at the transit center and spent two hours looking through the classified section circling a whopping five job listings. Turns out if you want to work anywhere good, you need a fancy degree from some upstanding community college.

When I had finally arrived in Portland I had the toughest time trying to find a motel. People in Portland are a lot more distant than I am used to. I went up to maybe five different people asking about motels and all of them just kept walking like I didn’t even exist. By the end of the day I was feeling pretty invisible, except for when it came to people asking for money. There was no shortage of them. I felt bad for the first guy and gave him a five, but then I got swarmed by three other people and I just couldn’t spare the money. Not even for the guy asking for money to buy his cat some food. I felt so horrible, but I finally understood why people had been ignoring me all day.

Around dinner time I found a small fast food place thinking that I should spend as little as possible for the moment and tried one last time to find a motel after ordering my meal. The cashier took a while to respond but finally told me where one was and I wasted no time getting there. When I finally got the key to my room I flopped onto my dusty bed, exhausted from all the walking, and called my parents to tell them I hadn’t been kidnapped like they feared.

“If it gets hard,” they said, “just come home, okay?”

Home? What home?

By the morning I had crossed off three of the five listings. Two fast food restaurants and an art store. I didn’t know why I had even circled the food places, they reminded me too much of the factory. No room to breathe. No place for me. The art store I went to with high hopes but they turned me away. They said it was because I didn’t know enough about art, but I think it was more likely because I didn’t have any hipster tattoos or artfully placed piercings. I put in an application for a movie theater, thinking I could get free movie screening out of the deal, but they never called back and when I actually went into the theater, they told me the position had been filled. So I took the train into Hillsboro a few weeks later to go to the only interview I got called in for. It was a clothing store. I just hoped they didn’t turn me away for not wearing nice enough clothes.

A month later I had gotten my first ever paycheck. The past two months were the longest I had ever been from home and I had started to regret it around the third week when I had run out of money. But now? I felt like I was on top of the world! I had my whole life ahead of me and it had only taken me twenty-three more days than I had expected to get a job, which is a pretty good turn around, at least, that’s what I am told. So I decided to celebrate. I took myself shopping. I had just over two hundred dollars and I was going for it. I bought shorts, summer dresses, nice shoes, I pampered myself with anything I wanted and even splurged on a nice hat. By the end of the day I had already forgotten about my week on the streets. But then I reached into my pocket and realized I only had enough money for one night in a motel. The next night I stayed on the floor in a shelter. I needed another job. On my way to work the next day I passed a bar with a help wanted sign. I knew nothing about bartending but I needed the money for the motel so I went inside anyway. When the manager asked me how old I was, I lied. He knew I was lying, I could see it in his eyes, but he just nodded quietly for a minute and then called over another worker nearby.

“This is Tony. He’ll be teaching you the ropes. Mess up one drink,” he looked at me pointedly, his cigarette hanging between his fingers. “One drink, and you’re out.” He told me to come back the next day with a black shirt and jeans, and I did.

Weeks went by as I worked mornings with Tony and closed at the store. I was starting to feel the lack of sleep behind my eyes and Tony could tell. He asked me about my job once while it was quiet at the bar.

“They have me working from the minute I get off here to the second they close at eight. A lot of times I don’t get home till closer to two though. They make us stay and clean.”

“Where do you live?”

“Motel.”

“Motel? You mean you don’t have a place of your own?”

“Can’t afford it.”

“Well why not share a place?”

“Don’t know anyone to share a place with.”

“You don’t have any friends willing to share with you?”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“You have me.”

That’s how I ended up staying at Tony’s place with his girlfriend. It was cheaper than the motel, but his girlfriend wasn’t too fond of the idea until she learned how old I was. She felt bad for me being on my own and she agreed to let me use the spare room. Room was generous. It was really an office with a small couch in it. At least it wasn’t dusty.

It turned out that she worked close to my second job so she would sometimes swing by the bar and pick me up, when our shifts allowed, and drop me off on her way to work. I know she was a nice person and all, but I think she did it to keep tabs on me and Tony. Whenever she would stop by she would make sure to kiss him while I was looking, as if she were threatened by me and wanted me to see that he belonged to her. I understood that, but it still got under my skin.

About three month after living with them, she left. Just didn’t come home one day. Left a note that said she wasn’t coming back and that her friends would be by later to pick up her things. That was an awkward time for me and Tony. We had never been left alone together because she didn’t trust us. It turned out that we were the ones who shouldn’t have trusted her. After her friends had come to pick up her things we found a few of our own things missing as well. Tony sometimes offered to give me rides to work to make up for her, but I always said no. Things were odd enough as it was between us and I was already thinking of moving out soon. I just had to make some friends before I could.

Two weeks ago I got stuck closing again. My manager wouldn’t let me leave early even though I had to catch the last train to Portland. After breaking my back cleaning the floors and straightening out an entire section by myself as well as all the bathrooms, it was well after the last train had passed. Reluctantly I called Tony from the break room, the one I ironically didn’t get to use all day, and asked him for a ride home. He sounded funny when he answered, but I thought that maybe I had just woke him up, seeing as it was close to one in the morning.

When I got into his car everything was fine, the radio was playing good music, the car was warm, and I was sleepy. I could have easily fallen asleep and let my aching muscles rest, in fact I think I did for a second. But that second ended in a screech of tiers and the impact of crunching metal. When I came to, I was being lifted into an ambulance and Tony was nowhere to be seen. I tried to sit up but hands pushed me gently back and told me that everything was okay. That I would see my friend again.

I was lucky. I got out of the accident feeling like I just got backed over slowly with a semi-truck. Tony wasn’t so lucky. He was in the hospital for three days and then sent home with two broken ribs and a bandaged head. I was technically able to go back to work the day before he got back, so my manager scheduled me for the longest shift possible. I was given no break. I guess it was better that way, I needed something to distract me from what had happened, at least that was what my manager said. I didn’t mind too much, I was on some pretty strong pain killers I couldn’t hope to pay for when the bill came.

When Tony came home I tried to take time off of work to take care of him. He was the only family I had now and it was my fault he was driving anyways. Instead of letting me go, they scheduled me for morning shifts and I had to change my hours at the bar to work the weekends instead. I now open the store at nine and get off just after lunch. It’s the worst time to work because of all the customers. Depending on the day I can have some pretty choice words for the choice names they call me behind my back when they think I’m not listening, and to be honest, I’m not. I am tired of the customers and I am tired of not getting my breaks. I am tired of hearing my stomach rumble all day while snot nosed kids squeal at the clothes in the junior’s section and whine to their parents when they don’t get what they want. But I can’t quit. I am the only one making money right now.

I’ve moved out of the office and onto the floor of his room just so that I can be there to help him at night since I can’t in the morning. He’s on pain pills too, but at least he can kind of afford them. He is starting to get better though. He can almost sit up by himself. His manager says that when he is feeling better he can come back to work. We both know that “better” means when he can stand, he can’t afford to be gone so long from work because he pays most of the bills. Sometimes while he is on his medication he can get a little loopy. He slurs his words and his head wobbles around while he talks. He mostly talks about work and how he wants me to quit. It’s been almost two weeks since the accident happened and I actually consider doing it. I could quit. I could keep my job at the bar and quit. I could stay home more and help him get better until he can work again.

How could I leave? It’s the longest job I have ever had. They took a chance on me and without them, I would probably be back on the streets—or worse, back at Katie’s. Besides, I couldn’t leave my coworkers. I know I’m not friends with any of them, but with so many people quitting management is already stretching us thin. I wouldn’t want to put more pressure on them. They have lives too. I know I have the job at the bar, but how long before a cop walks in and thinks I’m too young? What if I mess up? I could be fired and replaced on the same day. I know the store needs me, I know I have a place there. It’s my safest option, even if I don’t always get my break.

I could do it. But I won’t.

I know I won’t.