Three days later.

I walk into our apartment and drop my heavy backpack on the ground for good. It’s the middle of the afternoon. My roommate and best friend, Maggie Mae, should be home unless she is at an audition, and I am looking forward to seeing her.

“You’re home! You’re home!” she runs up to me and wraps her arms around my neck.

Maggie Mae has always been there for me. She has been with me throughout my mom’s sickness and death, and she has been there for me afterward – when I wasn’t the nicest person to be around.

“So? How was it? I’m ordering pizza, and you’re going to tell me everything!” Maggie Mae screams from the kitchen even though our walls are paper-thin.

Maggie Mae and I have a wonderful afternoon at home. I tell her about the trees, the earth, the trails, and the lake. I tell her that it was the most beautiful place that I’ve ever been and that it really helped me put myself and my place in the world in perspective.

She listens and nods along. Maggie Mae is not an outdoorsy girl, but she’s a really good friend, and that means that she supports me in doing things that are good for me.

Of course, I save the best for last.

Tristan.

“I’m so happy you had a good time,” she says, tossing her long blonde hair from one shoulder to the next. Her hair is always shiny and beautiful, and if she weren't such a nice and kind girl, I would hate her for it.

“And, in the end…” I take a deep breath. I have to tell her about Tristan. She loves men, and she loves hearing stories about men. And she would really appreciate this one.

“And in the end, I met someone.”

“You met someone!?” Her eyes open wide, and she leans in closer to me.

She smells of figs and apricots, the argon oil sugar scrub that we had picked out together, the one civilized thing that I missed while I was away.

“Don’t get too excited, I’m not seeing him again,” I warn her. “But it was really an amazing night.”

Maggie Mae’s eyes light up, and she yelps and hugs me tight. “Tell me everything!”

Later that night, Maggie Mae goes to her job at Brucci’s, one of the most expensive and fabulous restaurants in LA. It’s located in the hip area of Melrose Avenue, and you have to have a big name or big pockets to get a table there. The rest of us mere mortals have to wait for months for a reservation.

Maggie Mae is a waitress there, and it was the hardest audition that she had ever had. She faced a panel of five judges who asked her a million different questions about her life, thoughts, opinions covering a variety of topics, including politics and religion. It was a casting director who had put her name through to Brucci’s Human Capitol staff, and the same casting director had prepped her for the interviews.

“You have to be knowledgeable about what was going on in the world, but tactful. You had to have an opinion, but not a particularly offensive one. Honestly, it was like the most advanced and difficult improv class that I had ever participated in,” she had told me.

But now, it was all worth it. She had passed the 90-day period where she could be fired without cause and became a full-time employee. Being a full-time employee at Brucci’s meant a lot. It meant a salary of more money than a nurse at a hospital with five years of experience. Plus tips.

“I can’t ever quit this job, Annabelle,” she had told me. “Even if I ever quit acting and going to auditions, this is still the best job that I could ever get.”

I am really happy for her. After years of struggling and barely making ends meet, she is now making as much money being a waitress as someone with twice her education and experience.

And it’s this money, and her generosity, that pretty much help me to continue to exist.

Unfortunately, my financial situation is completely different. I have little to no money to speak of and no prospects of any money on the horizon. I graduated from the University of Southern California with a 3.7-grade-point-average, but I couldn’t find a job after graduation. I didn’t have any internships, and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with my life. I like writing, but I don’t know of anyone who actually makes a living writing except journalists. And current events aren’t my thing.

I owe over a hundred thousand dollars in loans, and the first payments had to be made six months after graduation. After months of searching for full-time positions at a variety of companies, I finally landed a full-time, temporary freelance position. This position basically involved me going around to different companies and filling in when people took vacations or maternity leave.

As a full-time temp, all my job titles were different even though I did the same thing. Personal assistant, administrative assistant, assistant to the executive assistant. Basically, I answered the phone and replied to emails.

Maggie Mae didn’t know why I’d bothered. “Just come and get a bartending or waitressing gig just like me,” she had said on numerous occasions. “The tips pay way more than you make at that dumb white collar job.”

At first, I had resisted. I thought I was better than serving people food and drinks. But after nine months of working for minimum wage at a job that required a suit to work, I gave up. It was then that I also got fired from the temp agency. Not fired but let go. Apparently there were way too many college grads seeking work and companies preferred people with more experience.

By that time, I was ready for a waitressing job. Maggie Mae was already working at Brucci’s, and there was no way in hell that I was going to pass their grueling entry interviews.

This all happened about a month ago, and if it weren’t for Maggie Mae, I wouldn’t have a roof over my head. She’s patient with me for not being able to pay rent, and she’s patient when I say I can’t find work.

In fact, it was her idea that I go camping at all. She’s not into it, but I love it, and she worked hard to convince me that I could go on that trip even though I had approximately $200 in my bank account and no job.

“You need to clear your head, Annabelle,” she had insisted. “After everything you’ve been through with your mom, this will be really good for you.”

She was right. The trip had cleared my head. What it didn’t do was improve my financial situation. I am two months behind on rent, and I’m borrowing more money to pay for food and utilities. My credit cards are maxed out, and I’m months late on making my student loan payments.

The week after I get back passes slowly. I worry about money and search job sites for possible options. I work on my resume and update my cover letter. I send them out to every single place available, but it will be weeks before I hear back - if I even hear back.

Basically, I worry. I worry about what I will do when (not if) Maggie Mae gets sick of me.

What will I do if Maggie Mae ever decides to move out of this dingy building with window air conditioners and cockroaches? She can afford a lot more. Yes, I kill all the cockroaches for her while she jumps on the couch and screams in a high pitched little-girl voice, but she can also afford to move out of this dump altogether. I can’t.

What if she gets tired of walking past homeless people and drug addicts every day and decides to move to a better part of town?

What if she meets someone and decides to move in with him?

What will I do then? I can’t even pay my own share of the rent, all $800, let alone afford a studio apartment of my own, which usually runs into the $1200s.

If not for Maggie Mae, I would be out on the street. Homeless. Surfing friends’ couches, if I were lucky. Fighting for a spot in a shelter, if I were unlucky.

I desperately need a job.