Pink Shoes

Hi, Brandon told me I could write something today. I'm Francesca, by the way. Frannie, I guess.

I missed the bus today. I know it was supposed to be a great day and all because Barack Obama officially became our 44th president. But you know what? The inauguration didn't help my seven year old find her pink shoes that she just had to wear to school. Pink shoes that were, inexplicably, in her backpack. And I heard his speech was great. I'm sure it was. I don't really have an opinion on it because while he was speaking, I was literally racing to get Bri, my seven year old, to school on time. She was three minutes late.

Me? I was 45 minutes late. Because I missed the bus. Because of pink shoes in a green backpack. I have to take the bus because my car broke down and I can't afford to have it fixed right now. The radiator is leaking. So is the brake fluid. Actually, they leaked. There's nothing left, so I guess they're done leaking. I can afford to fix one of the two. One out of two doesn't get me to work, though.

I can't explain the fear going through my body as the bus crawled through traffic 45 minutes after the bus I should have been on did the same. I can't lose my job. I have a seven year old and a 12 year old. His name is Lucas. My husband, Ernie, works the graveyard shift at a bottle cap company in the City of Industry. We see each other a few hours a night. I do fabric patching and restoration. You have an old shirt with some holes? I can patch it up, good as new. Not really, but it'll be wearable. We have a nice little four bedroom home here in Atwater, but it's all Ernie and I can do to make our mortgage. I can't be late for work. I can't get fired. And there I was sitting on the bus, inching along in traffic during morning rush hour, 45 minutes late. My palms were sweating...my whole body was sweating, honestly. I was afraid I'd sweat through my clothes before I got there. I didn't bring a change of clothes, of course, so now I was going to show up almost an hour late, wet with sweat and stinking to high heaven.

When I got to work, I vomited apologies all over the office. My boss is a rather stern old, black woman. The no-nonsense type. Brett is her name. I always thought it was an odd name for a woman. She didn't fire me, thank God. But she pulled me into her office and sat me down. I told her what happened and you know what she told me? "She has other shoes? Make her wear the other shoes. Once she gets to school, she'll have forgotten all about the shoes." But Bri wouldn't have forgotten. It would have ruined her whole day. And it would have ruined mine to send her to school without her pink shoes. She wanted her pink shoes and I wanted her to have them. They were a birthday present a few months ago. Brett gave me a "warning." I don't know what it means, she wouldn't say, but it's not good, obviously. I just wanted to die. It was all I could do to keep from crying.

So when one o'clock rolled around, I split for lunch so fast my hair straightened. I went to the sandwich shop across the street - Shanky's - because they have the best tuna fish sandwich in the city and I needed something good today. I waited in line for 15 minutes before I got to the counter and ordered. I started pumping myself up, thinking, "After this tuna fish sandwich, it's a new day. The day starts here. Fresh beginning." But when I reached into my pocketbook for my wallet, it wasn't there. I dug around for a few seconds, futilely, but I knew I forgot it. And I knew where. It was on the dining room table. I pulled it out last night when Lucas asked for money to go to McDonald's.

So there I was, penniless at the counter, my bad day getting worse. I told the man taking my order that I forgot my wallet, apologized, and asked him to cancel. I could feel the tears building in my cheekbones. The thought of the embarrassment that crying at Shanky's would cause only made the impulse to cry stronger, so I braced for the emotional breakdown.

And then the man behind the counter said, "Don't worry about it." Just like that. "Don't worry about it. This one's on the house." He said, "Obama's the president now. Things are going to get better. Si se puede."

And then I did start crying, actually. But it wasn't embarrassing, because I wasn't sad. At the moment it felt like the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. And it was the best tuna fish sandwich I had ever had.

The rest of the day, I kept saying to myself, "Si se puede. Yes we can." Maybe things will get better. I missed the speech, but I bet I got the message.