Four Months Ago...
"I just think adding art therapy to our after school program would be a great addition to our school! We could open it up to the community, see if there are any takers. I'm sure it'll be a hit!"
Mrs. Boers looks at me bored. From where she sits behind her desk, she seems like a giant. And I am a child being called to the principal's office, only two feet tall.
After a beat, she leans back in her chair and lets out a deep breath, "We already offer an after school program, Ms. Peters. One that offers tutoring and homework. One hundred and twenty-three students attend. Do you really think you have enough of a draw with your, what was it? Art. Therapy? To justify hiring you on?"
"Absolutely!" It's a lie, I have no idea if this part of LA is trendy enough to go for an art therapy program. But I'm desperate for money. Eloise hasn't had a steady income since I moved here four months ago and I'm running out of my savings trying to cover her half of the rent. This art therapy idea is the only thing I've got.
And, luckily, Mrs. Boers seems to be buying into it.
"What exactly would you do as an art therapist?" She inquires.
"Well, I'd have workshops where students could learn how to channel their feelings with simple art techniques. We'd work on using art as a tool to cope with emotions we don't quite understand. Art can be used to boost focus, understanding, and even empathy. It's not just something for students with special needs, but also everyday kids who need someone to be there for them."
"How much would you charge for your services?"
I feel my heart flutter with hope at the question. "Just $10 a kid a day. It's a steal, really. Especially since we're already charging parents $45 a child a day for our afterschool program."
"Will that be enough for you? Let's say you have 10 kids sign up for the program. That's $100 a day for 3 hours of your time. You'd only pocket half of that, as the rest would go to the school and supplies. That's less than $15 an hour. You could make that working at McDonald's."
"With all due respect, Mrs. Boer, I don't want to work at McDonald's. I want to work here. I think the students could really use us. Don't you? And, who knows. Maybe we'll attract more people. People in the community who need us. The school needs the money just as much as I do."
"You're not wrong about that." She sighs. "Alright, Peters. We'll try it out. When's the soonest you'll be able to start?"
...
"Great! So the bitch went for it, then? You have another job." Eloise nibbles on a candy bar as she follows me across the apartment.
"She's not a bitch," I correct, "she's my boss and it's not a high paying position, so you still need to get a job that pays you enough to pay rent."
"Ugh! Don't say stuff like that. You're not my mom, you're my cousin. You're supposed to be supporting my dreams. Not tearing them down."
I roll my eyes and pull my computer off the coffee table before taking up a spot on the couch. Ellie sits across from me. "I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you don't get that much from your brands on Instagram. And working two nights a week at that club isn't cutting it."
"Hey! The bar gives me free drinks and food every night and the brands give me free samples!"
"That's not enough to live in LA, babe." I sing. "You've got to do more."
"I am doing more!" She whines. "I'm your emotional cheerleader. I'm the one who convinced you to pursue this art therapy gig, remember? See? I'm paying my dues."
"It's still not enough." My fingers dance across the keyboard, searching Amazon for all the supplies needed to open my workshop. I told Mrs. Boers I'd be ready by Monday, but I'm not sure if a week is enough to get the word out. I have to make fliers to send home in folders and post all over the website and social media. It's a lot of work with so little money in return. I really don't want to have to swallow my pride and move back home. Nate doesn't deserve to get the last laugh. I have to make this work. Somehow.
"I survived in this city just fine for years before you showed up," she feels the need to remind me, "we'll be just fine. I promise. The universe has a way of working everything out."
"And, remind me, how exactly did you survive?" Everything's added to the cart, so now I just need to check out.
"With my wit and charm."
I glance up from behind the screen. Eloise is smirk even though we both know she'd steal the cash out of her one night stand's wallets and use it to pay rent. That, and she'd use her one-night-stands rooms to crash between housing.
'Wit and charm' is no way to live. We both know this is a more stable situation for her. And in the four months I'd been here, she's grown her fanbase significantly. From 7.5k to nearly 12k. I'd attribute that to living in a safer way, but who knows?
Eloise sits across from me looking all glum and stubborn, nibbling at the remainder of her ball like a cute little hamster. Or worse, a child.
I swallow hard. "Ellie, I love you," I start, "and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I need you to get a day job. Even if it's just part-time at a coffee shop. You need something stable to pay the bills. Even if it's just water and electric. I can't do this by myself anymore."
Guilt pinches her face. I watch her fight it back down as she stares intently at her candy. After a beat, she scarfs it all down and lets out a gut-wrenching scream. "Ugh! You really are my mom." She groans. "But fine, I get it. I'm being a burden or whatever, I'll get a stupid job to help pay the stupid bills. Fuck!"
"Thank you abundantly." I smile happily. She glares and storms off into her room. Meatloaf lifts his head and nudges my hand with his nose. I pat his head and stare at her closed door. "You don't think I'm too mothering?" I ask. His chocolate eyes stare into my soul. I exhale slowly and nod. "Okay, it's just-" I fight back the tears in my eyes. My body tremors with sorrow. "That's the reason Nate gave me for, um-"
"Fuck! Where's my I.D.?" Ellie's shrieking voice stops me from finishing.
I shake my head and bat at my eyes. "Sorry, I need my debit card to check out. Hop up, Loaf. I've gotta get my wallet."
The little chonk rolls out of my lap reluctantly. I chuckle and head for my purse in the kitchen.
I know it's stupid to keep thinking about Nate. It's so dumb to let myself cry over a guy who never really loved me. But I can't help it. My heart's still hung up. And I hate myself for that. I hate myself for wondering if I have value or not, because like it or not I wasn't enough for him. I wasn't worth loving faithfully. And that hurts in ways I can never truly describe.
Eventually, I'll be free of him. But not now.
Now, all I can do is move forward.
And part of moving forward is getting everything in order for Monday. Which, again, I need to start making announcements and pray by some miracle, at least ten kids will sign up so I can get a little more security.
Eloise is raging in her room. I can hear her tossing shoes and bags around like they're nothing. She's probably out of alcohol and needs her ID to pick up some more. If I weren't so busy, I'd help her look. But I also know attempting any kind of conversation with her while she's gone nuclear is stupid.
So stay in my room and set up a curriculum with Meatloaf resting on my lap. A little after midnight, I take the dog out for a walk, pick Eloise up some beer at the gas station, and turn in.
The next few days fly by with parents reaching out for more information about my sessions. Mrs. Boers dotes on me making me feel more than a little uncomfortable. I start seeing Eloise less and less. And, before I know it, it's Monday.
Faces I've never seen before show up after school. Strangers from the community emerge to take my classes and in a blink of the eye, my first week as the school's art therapist is over. And then, something amazing and unexpected happens. A child from the after school program decides he likes me enough to want to go to school here.
After only a week of art therapy, he's decided to integrate himself into public school. And I'm thrilled and confused and nervous all at once.
Somehow, I've made a difference in Christopher Diaz's life. And because of it, he wants to continue learning with me.
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