Free Raising Hope by Katie Willard

from me a little and lowered her voice, her tone almost gentle for a change. “Listen,” she said, “you damn well have to do something with your life, and it looks like I’m your only option. Get dressed and come on. You’re starting today. We have three houses to do.”
    Now, I knew this could go one of two ways. I could say, “Are you fucking crazy, you lunatic bitch?” or I could say, “Okay. You’re right. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with my life, and cleaning seems as good a job as any.” I compromised by rolling my eyes to the ceiling and saying, “Just so you know, I’m only doing this until a
real
job comes through.”
    “Save your threats and promises, and go on and get dressed.”
    “Jesus Christ,” I muttered, striding to my bedroom. I looked through the piles of clothes on the floor until I found my favorite denim shorts and Black Sabbath T-shirt. Ma hated my concert T-shirts; she always scowled and said, “Why do you have to wear those shirts with creepy-looking weirdos on them?” Just because I was helping her at work didn’t mean I had to dress to please her, though. She could just look at me in my concert T-shirt all day. I hoped it drove her crazy and she ended up in the loony bin.
    I came back into the kitchen and stared at Ma without saying anything, following her as she headed for the door. As she plopped herself into the driver’s seat of her car, she sighed as loudly as she could, acting all put-upon even after I’d agreed to go to work with her.
    “What now, Ma?” I asked, throwing up my hands. “What are you huffing about, acting like a martyr?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, starting the car.
    “Huuuuuhhhhhh!” I imitated her sigh and glared at her. “That’s what I’m talking about! What the hell did I do now to set you off?”
    Ma just put her lips together tight, like she was afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d never stop screaming about how I disappointed her every day of my life.
    Neither of us spoke a word until we were pulling up a long, hilly driveway practically the length of a road. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. I couldn’t believe she would do this to me.
    “What?” asked Ma, all innocent, like she didn’t know. She turned off the ignition and slid the keys into her brown suede shoulder bag. As she heaved herself out of the car, I thought about sitting there and pouting, but I knew it wouldn’t get me anywhere. So I got out of the car and followed her up the stone walk lined with flowers of every goddamn pastel color ever invented.
    It was so typical of Ma to drag me to clean the Hoffmans’ house on my very first day working for her. I hated Sara Lynn Hoffman. I hated her prissy little mouth that never smiled at me, her cool blue eyes that looked right through me, and her blond hair that shone so prettily in the sunlight. I dragged my sneakers as I walked, making a scuffing sound. I was trapped, but I wouldn’t act like I was happy about it.
    “You mind your manners,” Ma said, and I could tell she was just bursting with happiness over me having to clean the Hoffmans’ house. “I don’t care how jealous you are of Sara Lynn. This is a job, and you’ll do it well.”
    “Ma, I’d rather get rabies shots than be cleaning Sara Lynn Hoffman’s house.”
    I stood there with Ma at the Hoffmans’ dark green front door, looking at the freshly painted gray steps and the big black urns with pink and purple flowers pouring out of them. A perfect house for a perfect family, I thought bitterly, and I twisted off a flower hanging out of an urn and twirled it between my finger and thumb.
    “Don’t pick Mrs. Hoffman’s flowers!” Ma was hissing like a cat in heat. “Sweet Jesus, I can’t take you anywhere.”
    I gave her a mean look and stuffed the flower in my shorts pocket. I scratched my cheek where it felt like a bug was crawling and tapped my foot on the porch floor.
    “And stop