Free Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations by Jessica Vivian

oldest child's sideways glances and
floppy, scarecrow lankiness and Care Bear cheeks. It's in her
one-liners, her giant worried eyes and the gentleness she tries to
hide.
    With them I feel peace and warmth and calm in the
wee hours when I let them stay up late just because I am not ready to
tell them goodnight.
    I need them, so I know I'm still alive.
    The Watcher
    Bridget is the
eyes in the sky.

My apartment complex is like every other
low rate apartment complex. We are all too close together. We hear
everything.
But while most of us kept our heads down and hurried
to and from our vehicles, Bridget sat calm, cool and idly on her
second-story balcony, rocking in her chair, smoking a cigarette and
seeing everything.
She is there when I leave to take the kids to
school and she is often there when I get home with them at
night.
When I hear ruckus in the parking lot, she is still on the
balcony, no longer sitting but erected and peering like a meerkat.
The next day she'd have a full report and as soon as we left for
school, she'd holler down the details and assure us that everything
had been handled or warn us if they had not.
She looks like Cyndi
Lauper and has the same nasal New York accent. And she was always
watching.
She was like a ghetto Gatsby. Everyone knew of her and
she threw the most amazing parties that spilled out of her apartment,
onto the balcony, the parking lot, the nearby lake and sometimes
wandering to the pool beyond the operating hours.
“I've
lived here fuh-evuh, whaddathey gonna do?” she'd answer when
asked about breaking pool policy on hours of operation.
And sure
enough, the apartment manager would usually join the revelry. Bridget
is just the boss.
She invited Jack over to play with her son
once.
While he was there my ex's mom came by to “spend some
time with her grandbabies.”
This is usually where she sits
in my apartment on her phone, telling people how much she loves her
grandbabies only to leave 20 minutes later.
“Where's Jack?”
she asked.
“He's playing with a friend.”
Bridget
hollered from the balcony, minutes later, asking if Jack could stay
for dinner.
I hollered yes.
I noticed my ex's mom was
disappointed.
I didn't change my mind because my introverted son
is rarely interested in interacting with other kids. This was a small
miracle.
Later, when Bridget brought Jack back home she said to
me “I nevuh see them come help you. Nevuh. They take you all
for granted. Jack was having fun and I'm glad he stayed with me
f'dinnuh...you know, to show her.”
Suddenly, I
realized Bridget was an ally.
And it wasn't long before I needed
her again. This morning, I went to take my morning piss. When I got
up and turned around to flush, right on the back of the toilet was
one of my no-I-don't-think-so's: a lizard. I froze in panic. I can do
a lot of very brave things like, oh, say leave my poisonous marriage
with no money, food, furniture, education or job.
But pick up a
lizard?
No.
Just no.
So frozen, I holler to Jack to
please go to Bridget's apartment and ask her husband to come help me
catch this lizard. I knew crazy/hot Spencer was probably asleep and
would come with a gun and the other single mom always looked like she
didn't want anyone to talk to her.
Shortly after, Bridget's
husband, Mark, came by. He called from the kitchen, asking where a
cup was so he could catch and release.
He came and did just that.
I thanked him. He “any timed” and I took the kids to
school.
A few hours later there was a knock at the door. It was
Bridget.
She got very near me and spoke in a low
voice.
“Listen, I really hope you don't take this the wrong
way.”
That's never a good start. I
nodded for her to continue.
“Mark came back from helpin'
you this morning and he was a little upset. He said he looked in yuh
pantry and that you guys don't have any food.”
I wasn't
sure where she was going with this. Oddly, we had more food than we
usually do and I told her so. But I hadn't seen our situation from
the