“Have you seen this?” My aunt Helen walked around the reception desk at Yoga Ohm, the studio she owned, and handed me her phone. The screen showed me the Facebook event page she’d been focused on for the last few weeks. “Five hundred online RSVPs.” She grinned. “Five hundred. Can you believe that? This is going to be huge.”
I scrolled through the invite page. Already, several dozen commenters had posted in the discussion section. “Wow. Activists from all over the area are coming.” I peered up at her again. “Even some from Miami.”
She nodded. “A bunch of them. People from all over South Florida.”
For the last year or so, protests and marches had been happening every weekend in downtown West Palm Beach. Suddenly, community activism was in vogue, and Helen hadn’t wanted to waste a second of that. She’d spent the last two months organizing this march, which would center on equal pay and women’s rights. She called it the second most important thing she’d ever done.
My aunt snapped her fingers. “By the way, that reminds me, have you heard from Karen?”
“She’s on her way. Texted her this morning, right after she left Kissimmee.”
“Excellent. So glad she’s coming.”
“She’s lucky she got off work.”
Karen, my mom and Helen’s older sister, still lived in the house where I grew up, in a neighborhood of 1950s ranch homes in the not-as-desirable end of Kissimmee. Life for her, and me, had always included a decent amount of struggle. Even after twenty years, she had no idea when she’d be able to quit her job as a radiology tech at Osceola Regional Medical Center. Still, she tried not to dwell on it. “At least I can see the fireworks from Disney World,” mom often said whenever she admitted that the house, and her life, weren’t as great as she had hoped. “Better than nothing.”
Helen was fifteen years younger than my mom. She left central Florida right after high school, drove south, enrolled at the University of Miami, and never looked back. Now, she owned Yoga Ohm, and she’d been kind enough to give me a job after my own graduation from the U, when I hadn’t been able to find full-time work marketing work in Miami.
I owed her a lot, and we both knew it.
“So, she’ll be here around seven tonight?” I handed the phone back to Helen.
“Maybe a little after.”
“Perfect.” I glanced at the computer behind the reception desk. We had about fifteen minutes until I needed to teach our 2:00 PM yoga class, a mix of billionaire wives and stay-at-home moms with thousand-dollar investments in the latest athleisure apparel. That day’s class had ten less students than usual, though. “Listen, do you think we should be worried about enrollment? Just seems like we’ve been a little light lately.”
“I’m not worried.”
“You’re not?”
My aunt shrugged. “These things happen from time to time. The students always come back.”
“I know, but…” I took a moment to regroup my thoughts. “It just feels like I’m noticing a trend.”
The implication hung in the silence between us.
“I know you’re still upset that I cut your days back from five to four last week.” Helen sighed, and defeat shook in every word she spoke. “Like I told you then, it’s just temporary.”
“I hope so.”
My thoughts turned to the electric bill at my apartment, which I had already gone a month without paying. I couldn’t do that much longer, and I also had to make my student loan payment. Those two bills alone wouldn’t leave much breathing room for the rest of my expenses.
Maybe I should get a second job as a barista…
“I promise, sweetie. As soon as I can give you a few more hours, I will.” Helen picked up her black gym bag from the block of cubbyholes that lined the wall behind the desk. A “The Future is Female” sticker still adorned the side pocket, but the edges had begun to curl away from the fabric. I wondered what she’d do once the sticker finally fell off the bag. “You’re okay here the rest of the afternoon? I have so much stuff to do.”
“I’ve got it handled. No problem.”
“Great. Thank you so much. I can always rely on you.” She tossed her phone into the bag then leaned forward to give me a hug. “And don’t forget, I need you to be there at seven thirty tomorrow for setup.”
“I won’t forget,” I said as she pulled away.
“Perfect. You’re the best, Natalie.”
Helen disappeared through the front door and got into her black Toyota Corolla at the far end of the parking lot. Once she drove away, I turned back to the list of women signed up for our 2:00 PM class. The first ones in this class of eleven would arrive soon. I knew most of them, right down to the small details, like the fact that Jennifer only drank French sparkling water, Gretchen drove a Mercedes G-Wagen, and Yvette had four children she refused to put on anything but a low-carb, vegan diet. I also suspected more than a few things about them, too. Their thin bodies and chemical-peeled faces gave them away.
These women had it easy. So easy.
They were upper-class, white, pampered women who didn’t have to worry about anything beyond what time the nanny would arrive, and what dress they’d wear to a fundraiser. Women who would spend eons of their lives making sure that they’d stay well preserved.
Those kinds of women.
The front door jangled, and Gretchen walked through wearing skin-tight yoga pants, silver loafers, and an oversized green top. She breezed up to the reception desk and removed her gold sunglasses. Her long, brown ponytail wrapped partially around her shoulder.
“Oh, gracious, Natalie,” she said through her professionally whitened teeth. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Traffic is a nightmare already.” Her eyes widened, and she handed me a keychain with our studio membership tag attached to it. “It’s a disaster. I hate season, don’t you? So many snowbirds.”
She couldn’t have sounded snobbier if she’d tried.
“A lot of people are in town this year.” I swiped the tag through our system and tried my best to keep my expression stoic. I knew better than to engage too deeply with our clients. Best to keep our conversations on the superficial. Anything else could be bad for business. Keep the clients happy, and we’d stay happy, too. I turned to the computer screen and clicked through Gretchen’s account, checking her in for the day. She had an unlimited pass to our studio, and usually attended classes three times a week.
“And the Southern Bridge is going to be a nightmare this weekend, too. That traffic is as bad as New York City. You’ve been to the city, haven’t you?”
I flinched. “No, I haven’t.”
In twenty-five years of living, I’d only traveled outside of Florida once—a weekend trip to my uncle’s funeral in Chicago. It had been cold, rainy, and forgettable, not unlike so much else in my life.
“Well, you must go.” Gretchen dropped her large Louis Vuitton bag onto the lip of the reception desk and rooted around inside it. She produced a white business card, which she handed to me. “That’s Pierre at the Four Seasons Hotel downtown. Call him when you go, and tell him you know me. He’ll give you a great deal.”
“Thank you,” I said as I took the card. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I would never go, and could only guess how much a room at that hotel would cost.
“Meanwhile, I hope that they get that bridge construction done, and soon. I am so tired of sitting in traffic for half an hour just to get somewhere.” She sniffed. “I even told Samuel that this weekend we can stay in West Palm for dinner—even if it means eating at a fast food restaurant, for god sakes.”
I gave her a fake laugh. She’d rather die a death by a thousand cuts than be seen in a place known for things like combo meals, oversized hamburgers, and salty French fries. “Do you think a lot of the others will be late?”
“Oh, I’m sure of it.” Gretchen pulled her bag closer to her body. “I’m going to get ready for class. See you in there.”
“See you in there.”
She headed in the direction of the changing room, and once she disappeared, I sighed. I just didn’t have anything in common with the women who frequented the studio, and the last few months had proven it. Still, I needed them. We needed them. Without them, I couldn’t come close to paying my bills. I bit the inside of my bottom lip. Something good needed to happen. I needed a break. We needed a break.
Soon.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Two days later, Helen stood in the center of the Meyers Amphitheater with a large megaphone in one hand. “We gather here right now to say that we are united! We are together in this fight!”
The crowd cheered. From my vantage point, it seemed like almost a thousand people had showed up for the rally, and they covered the park lawn, leaving almost no green space. Many of them carried homemade signs, and the best of those had snappy slogans like, “A woman’s place is in the resistance” and “My daughter will know she’s more than just a pussy” and “Brains over bodies.” I held one myself; it said, “Female rights are human rights.”
“What do we want?” Helen’s scratchy voice echoed over the megaphone.
“Equality!” The crowd roared back the familiar call-and-response cheer.
“When do we want it?”
“Now!”
My mom turned to me. From behind oversized black sunglasses, she said, “I’m so proud of Helen. This is a great statement. She’s really done it.”
“She should be proud.”
“Absolutely.”
Aunt Helen wasn’t like me. She felt things. She knew things. She had conviction. And she had hope that life would get better, that the future could be brighter than the past.
I admired her for all of it.
“We can’t march to city hall, like we had originally planned, because of the traffic.” Helen still dominated the crowd. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t command attention and make a statement. From here, we’re going to travel a short distance up and down Flagler, and make our voices heard to those who would pretend we don’t exist—those who would continue their barbaric and cruel practices! Those who would keep us from our pursuit of justice and equality for all Americans!”
The crowd cheered some more as DJ Freeze, a celebrity performer from South Beach, chimed in with perfectly timed music. Soon, the marchers had set off on their route. We were all together. Focused. Fighting for our beliefs. Nothing in the world could get in our way.
Nothing.
“You did an amazing job.” I tossed a few pieces of trash into a garbage bag and hugged Helen. We’d returned to the amphitheater to clean up after the march, and her flushed cheeks magnified her bright eyes. “You should be so happy.”
She pulled away from me. “The police said they counted over 1200 people. Twelve hundred. Can you believe that? It’s one of the biggest rallies they’ve had in West Palm Beach all winter season.”
“They’ll force us to make this an annual event if you’re not careful.”
She grinned. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Thanks.” I smiled back at her. “I think we’re about cleaned up here.”
“Almost. One more bag or so.” She gestured at my mom, also cleaning trash about two dozen yards away. “Do you want to go to lunch with us after this? Your mom mentioned Rocco’s Tacos on Clematis.”
“She never met a margarita she didn’t like.” I glanced at my watch. It was 12:13 PM. Because of the rally, we had canceled all the classes at the studio that morning, and didn’t have one until five. “What the heck? We’ve got a couple of hours.”
“I’ll go tell her the plan.”
As she took a few steps away from me, I remembered that I needed to pick up an order at the local grocery. “Aunt Helen—hold on.”
She turned back to me.
“I’ve got to get something at the store. I’ll meet you there.”
“Can you get it later?”
I shook my head.
“Are you sure? We can wait for you.”
“No. Let me put this bag in the dumpster.” I pointed across the lawn. “And I’ll meet you at the restaurant. I’ll be less than five minutes behind you.”
The Publix supermarket pharmacy had my birth control prescription waiting, and twenty minutes later, I slipped it into my purse as I stepped outside the store. It wouldn’t take long to walk to Rocco’s Tacos, and I welcomed the chance to clear my head. Despite my aunt’s successful rally, I still had worries pooling in the pit of my stomach. When I’d looked at my budget that morning, I still had a five-thousand-dollar balance on a credit card with no plan to pay it off anytime soon. Two letters in the mail the day before had told me that my insurance company planned to drop out of the Florida health insurance exchange, and my landlord wanted to raise my rent when the lease came up in two months. I also only had $231.66 saved of my $450 student loan payment.
Not good.
I desperately needed a way out of this mess, and I didn’t know where to find one. I couldn’t ask my mom to help me—her job at the hospital didn’t give her much breathing room. Taking even fifty dollars from her would make me feel awful. And with things tight at the yoga studio, I couldn’t ask Helen for a raise or extra shifts, either.
There was something so irrevocably shitty about being screwed and knowing it.
As I walked to the restaurant on some of the less-traveled side streets of downtown West Palm Beach, I pulled my phone out of my cross-body bag, opened my banking app, and checked the account balance. I hoped to find more in there than I saw that morning. No luck. No miracle. No rescue.
Still a measly three hundred fifty bucks—
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”