“Grandpa?” I say into my phone. “It’s not like you to call this early.”

“Sorry, baby, I know you’ll be getting ready for work.”

I look at my watch and feel the tension in my gut when I see the time. I’m one of those people who’s always running late as it is. I’ve received so many warnings from my boss.

“It’s fine, Grandpa. What’s up?”

“I just got my mail.”

“Oh, no,” I say.

It’s been my experience that when you’re hardworking and struggling, like my grandpa is, nothing good ever arrives in the mail.

“I’m not going to lie.”

“Tell me.”

“Twenty grand, sweetie.”

“Twenty grand!”

“That’s just for the surgery. There’ll be prescription bills and other bills too. I feel like just giving up.”

“Don’t talk that way, grandpa. You know we’ll get through this.”

“Get through this? How am I going to rustle up twenty grand out of nowhere?”

“Can you do anything with the farm? Lease some land out? Increase production?”

“Don’t even talk to me about the farm. That’s in as bad condition as my health. I swear, if Dairy Technics gets this new product off the ground, me and every other small guy like me will be out of business. For good.”

“Oh, I had no idea.”

“Well, you know I don’t like to worry you with those details.”

“But I want you to tell me, grandpa. I want to help you.”

“You help me more than enough as it is, sweetie. The last thing a nineteen year old wants to be doing is worrying about her old gramps back on the farm.”

“I’ll always worry about you, grandpa. It’s my honor.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Cherri. You always have been.”

“Thanks to you.”

He lets out a little laugh but I can tell from the sound of it he’s scared. He really is facing bleak prospects. There’s no way on earth we can afford that surgery, and with the farm under threat, his life’s work might be wiped out before long too.

“I’ll tell you what, grandpa,” I say, with no idea how on earth I’m going to back this up. “You leave the money worries to me. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“You better not have any tricks up your sleeve, young lady. The last thing I want is you doing something that will get you into trouble.”

“No, really, grandpa. I might be able to arrange something. Something completely legal.”

“Don’t even think about it, Cherri. I don’t want you taking chances like that. I know how the world works. There are plenty of ways to make big money in this world, and in my experience, not a one of them is worth the cost.”

“I just mean I could get another job or something, grandpa.”

“You just stick to your plans, Cherri. You’re doing great in the city. You’ve got your apartment. You’ve got a job. You’ll have saved up the admission fee for that art school in no time.”

I think about that and push it from my mind. I haven’t even started to save up the eight thousand dollar admission fee. I lied about it to my grandfather so that he’d be happy about me, but I don’t see art school happening any time soon. Not with the cost of rent here in Manhattan.

“Well, have you thought about going to the bank?” I say.

“The bank’s been sending me threatening letters all month, sweetie. They’re the ones threatening the farm if I can’t turn things around.”

“I’m sorry, grandpa. We’ll just have to have faith on this one, I guess.”

My grandfather sighs and I can picture him sitting back into his easy chair by the phone. Having faith is the one thing that always calms him down. No matter how bleak things get, if I tell him it’s time for faith, it just works. He gives up his worries and literally remembers that faith is the only way through the hardships of life.

“You’re a good girl, Cherri. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“I won’t, grandpa.”

“Well, I better let you get going. You’ll be late for work.”

“I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, sweetie.”

I hang up and let out a deep breath. There’s a mirror in front of me and I catch a glance of my face. I’ve never seen myself look so scared. From nowhere, I let out a sob, and seconds later I’m full on crying. I can’t stop myself. He needs that surgery. He needs that farm. What kind of world do we live in where those things can be taken away from a man because of something so meaningless as money?

I hurry into the bathroom and wipe my eyes. I have to reapply some makeup and when I look again at my watch, I’m well and truly late.

I grab a coat and my purse and rush down to the street. For a brief second I consider grabbing a cab. Work’s not too far. Probably a ten dollar fare, including tip, but I can’t do that. It won’t make me magically on time, and what if that ten dollars ends up being the difference between us making the cost of the surgery and missing it?

I run in my heels down the street, thankful that it isn’t raining. I get to the subway station and hurry down the stairs. I have a token in my pocket and hurry through the turn-style. And then, right as I’m hurrying to catch a train that’s about to speed off, I trip and fall to the ground.

“Ugh,” I grunt as I hit the ground.

People are everywhere, rushing past me, stepping over me. Not one of them even slows down to see if I’m all right. They don’t even look at me. I pull myself up to my feet and look down at my knees. There’s a big rip in tights and my knee is bleeding.

Great! I should have spent the ten bucks on the cab. That’s what these tights cost anyway.

I get in the next train and tidy myself up as best I can.

All too often, this is what my mornings feel like. This is what my life feels like.

Like I’m permanently playing catch up. Like if I slow down for a single second, everything will fall apart. It’s exhausting.

I get to work and Jimmy, my boss, is standing in the doorway shaking his head. Behind him is the Italian restaurant I work at as a waitress. His restaurant. Inside I can see my coworkers, my customers, but I can’t get to them without passing Jimmy. Gross, sweaty, creepy, pervy Jimmy.

“What time do you call this?” he says, pointing his stubby finger at his wrist.

There’s no watch on his wrist but I get the point.

“Sorry, Jimmy, it’s been the morning from hell,” I say, still catching my breath from my run.

I stop in front of the door and wait for him to get out of the way. He raises his eyebrows questioningly, as if to ask what I’m waiting for.

I sigh and squeeze in past him. When I’m in the doorway, he purposefully presses his sweaty, lumpy body against me, squeezing me against the opposite side of the door. I feel a hand on my ass and another on my chest, fondling my breast.

I push past him, shocked that in this day and age, a woman still has to put up with this sort of treatment. Whatever happened to equality in the workplace?

“Get your filthy hand off me,” I say, pushing my way through the doorway and into the restaurant.

The restaurant is full of people, it’s permanently busy, but no one is paying us any attention.

“You’re going to meet me after work,” Jimmy says.

I roll my eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, if you want to keep this job, and judging from your ripped tights I’m guessing you’re not exactly swimming in money, you’re going to have to be a lot friendlier to me than you’ve been so far.”

“Friendlier?” I say skeptically.

“That’s right. You’re going to be real friendly, Cherri.”

“Oh, am I?” I say, holding back my anger.

I swear, it’s everything I can do not to swing my purse right into his stupid face.

“Yeah, friendly. You’re going to meet me round back after close. You’re going to get on your knees. You’re going to open your mouth, suck my cock, and swallow every last drop I give you.”

I don’t even know what I’m thinking in that moment. My mind just goes white with rage. I swing my purse and it smacks him clear across the face. He falls backwards and the entire restaurant turns to look.

I look around at them, at the diners, at my coworkers, I can already feel the tears welling up inside me.

“You fucking bitch,” Jimmy snarls. “Get the fuck out of here before I have you thrown out.”

I don’t wait to see if anyone will come to my aid. I just run. I run and never look back.