Free Farewell Navigator by Leni Zumas

suckered.
    Oh, but I had.
    At three A.M. I climbed back down to my room. Chuckie was snoring in the light of both lamps. I went to sleep in my clothes.
    Tonight, said the head counselor, we say good-bye to a resident who has successfully completed our program—let’s hear it for Ginna W.!
    We clapped, and some nice things were said by the othercounselors. A shiny medallion was pressed into Ginna’s palm with cheerful instructions to stay the course . She blushed and muttered.
    When the happy moment was over, and Ginna had thudded back down next to me by the bubbler, the head counselor stopped smiling. We are also bidding adieu, he said, to some people who have not been successful at obeying the rules of this community. I am sorry to announce that Arnold P. and Timothy T. are being discharged for noncompliance with employment expectations.
    A hum of interest rippled the crowd. Those who had been sleeping during Ginna’s ceremony lifted their heads. Bad news was the most reliable source of entertainment at the house. I searched for Arnold’s face, found it, saw no change upon it. His mouth sat in its usual sneer. He had pride; I would have some too. Tears were pinching my eyeballs but I didn’t need to let them fall.
    The head counselor was not finished. As many of you already know, Julian and Graciela did not come home last night and have, of course, been discharged in absentia. Not a stellar weekend for our community. I hope the rest of you will take some time to reflect on the consequences your peers are facing, so that such consequences need not be visited on your heads in future.
    Our community dispersed to smoke and play cards. Arnold and I were taken into the office to sign papers. This is bullshit, remarked Arnold calmly.
    I said nothing, because the tears were too close.
    Julian laughing as he cashed the check.
    Graciela neighing at his side.
    The hatchback being steered across dried cow pies by a farmer’s hammy knuckles. My mother rotating in her box. My father—
    Has been notified, the tech told me. Mentioned something about the last straw. Said you could damn well sleep in your car for the time being.
    Least you have one, spat Arnold. It’s back to the streets for me, motherfuck.
    Spare us, said the tech.
    The next morning Ginna’s suitcases were waiting by the fish tank. I put my duffel bag next to them and sat down on the carpet. Arnold and his luggage had already been whisked away by a woman in a pink truck.
    Johnnycake, returning from breakfast, told me to get up off the floor. Muster some dignity, he said. You got a lotta more years to live, boy. Start making use.
    I will, I said from the floor.
    Then stand up . Greet the day. Where you headed from here?
    I don’t know.
    Shut up with the forlorn, he said. You be fine. Get a job while you still have your health.
    I’m ready! yelled Ginna from down the hall. Start the engines! She came up smoothing an enormous plaid shirt down over her thighs. Good-bye, Johnnycake. They hugged. He looked at me, debating, then chose an enthusiastic handshake.
    Ginna, I said as we dragged our bags toward the parking lot, there is no more engine.
    What?
    Let’s take the bus.
    The bus stop is seven blocks away . Where the fuck’s your car?
    Got towed, I said. (Guilt.) Stolen, actually. (More guilt.) No, I sold it.
    She just looked at me for a little while, then put her suitcases down, went back into the house, and came out again two minutes later. I called a cab, which you can pay for with some of your cash bounty.
    The cash is not exactly bountiful, I said.
    Oh, God—what’d you do—offer to subsidize Julian and Graciela’s honeymoon at Ye Olde Shooting Gallerie Bed & Breakfast?
    Possibly so, I admitted.
    Ginna’s new home was on the second floor above Fantasy Video. It was clean, except for the bathtub, and her morning commute was now five seconds long. Month to month, she reminded herself out loud to stave off the sadness of living in a tiny wood-paneled room