CHAPTER 5
Petal
The phone I found has over half its battery left, which is a wild bit of luck I’m grateful for as I browse the factory default apps installed.
It appears as though it’s been reset to original settings by whoever owned it before they got rid of it.
Which tells me the owner isn’t going to come looking for it.
I can’t imagine the level of affluence that allowed someone to just wipe a phone as valuable as this current model smartphone then throw it away.
Can’t imagine it, but I’m also unwilling to be anything less than grateful they did.
This phone will change things for me in incredible ways.
I can feel it. I finish creating an account using the system’s Wi-Fi connectivity to the Dino-Mite leasing office.
Discovering the facility has an open Wi-Fi access point was another happy surprise this morning.
I make a new email account I can use to fill out apartment applications and begin browsing the local rental pages.
I think I’m still a couple weeks from having enough money saved for a deposit, but yesterday went a huge way to convincing me I can make it.
Doesn’t hurt that my stomach’s full for the first time in months.
Does sorta hurt that my bladder is, too, though.
I eye the empty coffee ground tin stashed in the corner and consider if I’m desperate enough to use it.
I put it there in case anything ever happened that had me holing up in here for longer than I expected, but I haven’t really allowed myself to think about using it.
Yes, pride falls in the face of necessity, but if I can just hold it for another half hour or so, I can find a bush along the road while I’m walking to the diner for the first shift of what I hope is another two-shift day.
I cross my legs at the ankles and clench my thighs to hold back the pressure of pee.
The inability to simply use the restroom whenever I need to is another reminder of how far my life is from normal, but that’s okay.
I’ll get through this, and I’ll be stronger for it.
For the rest of my life, I’ll know I don’t have to lie down and take it because a man tells me to.
Just when the wiggling, seated potty dance starts to feel as if I won’t hold back the pee much longer, the newly set alarm on my phone dings.
It’s finally time to sneak out of here and head to Pete’s Pastries for my shift.
Thank all the stars in the sky, because seriously, I’m starting to feel as if my eyes are floating in my head I’ve got so much liquid bottled up inside me.
I roll to my knees and pull myself up the wall as quickly as I can.
Muscles and joints that shouldn’t ache this much inside a twenty-year-old body protest every move, and my feet throb so badly I’m scared to look down and see what my still tightly laced shoes might hide.
I reach for my uniform and shrug it on over the tank and boy shorts I wore to sleep in, then swap the shorts for my last pair of clean panties.
It’s a reminder that now that I’ve found this hidey spot to turn into a temporary home base, I really need to hit up the thrift store for some more clothes.
I force myself to stand up straight and walk without a limp to the doorway of the garage and bite back the groan my sore muscles wrench from me when I bend low to unlock the door.
I slip from one darkness into another, the muted glow of nearby streetlights nowhere near enough to illuminate the aisles between buildings.
The padlock snaps into place, and I heave on my backpack, more than ready to hustle from shadow to shadow until I’m past the fence.
Then I’ll finally have the chance to crouch behind the nearest bush and unload my bladder.
“Ow, ow, owie!” I chant softly with every step once I’m past the fence line.
I don’t have to be so carefully quiet now, and my pain can’t be contained.
I’m giving myself the next hour while I walk to work to be as whiney as I need to be about how much my feet ache.
Then I’ll lock up the pain and grit my teeth, so I can do my job.
I find a bush just beyond the management building and hurry to squat behind it, leaning against the wall to steady myself as I widen my legs as far as they’ll go to keep pee from splashing onto my shoes.
It’s bad enough they’re obviously cheap knockoffs that already look beat up and worn in from all the walking I’ve been doing.
If they stink like pee there’s no way George will let me wear them to work.
Today will be day five in a row of working at Pete’s.
George says I’m banned from working more than that many days straight without a break, no matter how busy the place gets.
For a Grumpy Gus, he’s really protective of his employees.
I’m thankful fate led me to his diner when I was most desperate for work.
Once I make it through today, I’ll sleep as long as I possibly can tomorrow then check out nearby thrift stores for more clothes and maybe, some shoes that fit.
If tips keep coming in the way they have these last few days, I can definitely afford to get some necessary things.
I finish emptying my bladder and use a wet wipe to clean off.
It’s early enough I should still have time to use more of the flushable wipes I splurged on at the dollar store to give myself a sink bath at work before the first tables come in for breakfast. I tuck the package of wipes back into my backpack and neatly fold the used one to throw in the dumpster beside the office.
Flushable or not, I’m not the sort to litter by just throwing it on the ground.
Plus, it’s got pee on it. Gross. Definitely, one of the yuckiest parts of being unhoused is the struggle to get and stay clean.
The moment I step out of the bushes, it feels as if there are eyes on me.
I check the camera, but it’s still pointing in the opposite direction.
I look around as best I can, but I don’t see anyone loitering nearby.
Motionless, I wait for any sound that would give away the position of someone spying on me.
Minutes pass, and there’s nothing. No sound, no movement.
Maybe, it’s paranoia of being found out and forced to give up my temporary home that’s making me anxious.
Still, I find myself looking in windows as I walk by and taking every chance I can to nonchalantly check out my surroundings as I hurry to Pete’s.
The sensation doesn’t go away. Perhaps, it’s my imagination, but all through my shift it feels as if I’m being watched like an ant under a magnifying glass.