CHAPTER FIVE VETERANS’ AFFAIRS
CHAPTER
FIVE
Veterans’ Affairs
Roscoe woke up to the sound of women’s voices. For a few precious seconds he thought he was back in Pontypool. Then he smelled the bacon frying and saw that he lay on Benny’s narrow bed with the curtain drawn to Cora’s side of the room.
He deflated. It took him a moment to shake off the disappointment and swing his feet to the floor. Pulling on some clothes, he made his way to the kitchen.
‘Good morning.’ Momma North beamed. She fussed like a mother hen, setting a plate of grits in front of him and a glass of juice squeezed fresh from Loretta’s oranges.
With Benny still not returned, even though the army confirmed he’d been discharged months ago, Momma North channeled her anxiety into doting on Roscoe, which only made him feel smothered.
For his part, Roscoe alternated between being furious that Benny had gone straight off on an adventure without saying a word to anyone, and being terrified that he’d gotten attacked on his way home and his body lay in a ditch somewhere being pecked at by turkey vultures.
And Lee had been a let-down. After a few months of Benny not showing up, he’d stopped coming around, as if without Jasper and Benny in the equation, their friendship wasn’t worth the effort.
While Momma North hovered, Cora stood back from him and leaned against the counter furthest away from where he sat. Guilt pawed at him as he wondered if she could somehow tell he’d woken up thinking about another woman.
‘I’d better get going,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an interview to get to.’
Shame settled over him like a blanket as his failures stacked up. First as a husband, then as a provider. With Cora having lost her job last month, he really needed to pull his load now. He ducked his head, rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Don’t you worry,’ Momma North said, guessing his thoughts. ‘You’ll find something soon enough.’
Considering all the noise the government had made about the help available through the GI bill, Roscoe had expected to find work right away, but after six months of going to the Veterans’ Affairs office, there’d been nothing for him.
When Momma North left for work, he made his way, once again, to the VA’s office, where he filled out more forms and waited three and a half hours to see someone.
‘Righty-ho,’ the VA administrator said when Roscoe was finally seen to. ‘You have a question about your unemployment check.’
The GI checks made Roscoe feel like even more of a failure, taking a handout from the government, but there was no question they needed the money.
‘Yeah, I didn’t get the check this month.’
‘Yes,’ the man said, looking through Roscoe’s paperwork. ‘That’s correct.’
‘Why didn’t I get it?’
‘That will be because of the janitor job you turned down last month.’
After months of insisting there were no suitable jobs available for him, last month they had offered him a janitorial position. It was night work, and it paid less than the unemployment check.
‘I have aeronautics training,’ he had told them. ‘I flew barrage balloons. Don’t you have something more appropriate? Maybe something at the airport?’
They insisted they didn’t, so Roscoe decided to turn the job down and keep looking.
‘Righty-ho, well, if you turn down a job, the unemployment money stops,’ the VA man informed him, sheep-faced. ‘It’s the rules of the system.’
The wispy threads of outrage that had been building formed into thick cords that twisted through his muscles. His skin prickled and he clenched his teeth against the outburst that threatened at the back of his tongue.
‘Look, I know it feels unfair, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’
Roscoe took a moment to breathe away the anger, let his muscles relax, his throat unclench. ‘I’ll take the janitor job,’ he said.
‘I’m afraid that’s been taken now.’
His frustration spiked. ‘So, no job and no unemployment?’
‘Well,’ the VA worker rifled through some files, ‘I do have something else. It’s in agriculture.’ He handed Roscoe the job description.
‘Picking oranges?’
‘An honest day’s work.’
Roscoe checked the particulars. It paid less than the janitor job. ‘Isn’t there supposed to be a minimum wage? How can they pay so little?’
‘Ah, well, most jobs are subject to minimum-wage protection, but a few are not. Agriculture for one. Domestic work for another. But a job’s a job, right?’ The VA man trilled a disingenuous laugh that tapered away to a sigh. The sound reminded Roscoe of a defective balloon.
He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, steadying the flare of his temper. When he could trust his tone and temperament, he said, ‘I’ll take the job,’ and as he spoke the words, he felt himself shrivel, growing small, just the way America demanded he should.