Old Beautiful Debts

I was fired once and evicted once.

I was fired by a billboard company that took payments in cash from customers. This alone should have signaled something very strange. I made the mistake of joking about counting all the cash and that was that. Well, there might have been other things. Who can remember, it was so long ago.

I was evicted because the landlord said his son needed to move into the upper flat where I’d lived for several years, the flat two blocks from the elementary school my little girl attended, in the neighborhood with all her little friends, with the tree in the front yard which she would climb, sometimes so high she watched me smoking and drinking beer through the front picture window.

If I had to bet on it, the eviction was about my crazy boyfriend. But that’s another story. Ancient history – 40+ year old history.

So, a few days ago, I told my son and his partner about when I was evicted, and they both seemed surprised that such a thing could have happened to me. Really, your kids have no idea when you went through as a younger person – a young single mom, whatever it is you were – unless you tell them. And when does it come up? Mom’s prior evictions?

Of course, there was the eviction with a scant 30-day notice for a single mom with a little girl in school down the street and then there was the dirty deed done by the landlord of an apartment building several blocks away. In desperation, I gave him first month’s rent and a security deposit for a tiny one-bedroom apartment on a busy street. No cats, though. So, in addition to moving away from her buddies and her school, and her tree, we had to get rid of our cats, the sorrow started to layer up.

But then, miraculously, on the same day I gave the apartment landlord $500 – my last $500 – I drove past a For Rent sign on a duplex and the landlord said, sure, cats are fine. And so, I called the first landlord to get my first month’s rent and security deposit back since the sun had not yet set on the payment. But he said, no, sorry, no refunds. I still remember the big hole in my gut.

The upshot was I had to ask my parents for money. This was something I had never done. Can you loan me a thousand dollars and my father, very flinty and unindulgent, said I’ll send you a thousand dollars but it’s a gift. It’s not a good idea to loan money to family.

I remember all of this. The panic. The guilt. The shame. The asking. The gratitude. When I asked for help, my folks just responded and didn’t make me work for it, explain myself, make a case, make a promise. They just sent a damn check.

It was just that one precious time and it meant everything.