14
B
JESSICA KREBSBACH
No. 14 FREE LOADER
A delicate feeling of shame creeps up my torso.
“No,” says Candice, “There are quite a lot of men. Quite a lot. And grandparents. Most of the people Candice turns her head to look at I see here are grandparents. And me. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I feel very bad for them. Because You are raising human beings. they are my age, you know? I just Caring for your children is the most imagine myself with an infant and important job you can do.” She a two-year-old.” Candice clutches looks me in the eye for emphasis. her chest dramatically. “Yes,” I acknowledge, “But we also need to eat. We need food, money. I need to work.” Candice softens her gaze. “Yes. Yes, you do.” I feel comfortable in her care. I can tell she knows what she is doing. I look at the small stack of business cards on her desk. “Candice Shipley — Program Case Manager,” they say. Of course, I think, she’s a case manager. That explains it. I return my attention to the forms. There are several pages. “I’m going to keep interrupting you,” Candice says, “One of the best parts of my job is meeting people and hearing their stories. Some of the stories are sad and I try to forget them. But others are uplifting. I find your story to be uplifting.” Candice smiles. “I bet a lot of desperate woman come in here looking for help. Just women, no men.” I say, feeling angry.
I think about the other women who have sat at this desk. I imagine a woman looking over at her granddaughter as she plays with the toys in the adjacent room. “And also, they must have double pain,” I say, “Because of that degree of disappointment they feel towards their own children. Why are they caring for their grandkids, you know? What’s the story there? Not a good one, I suspect.” Candice looks at me. “Uh-huh,” she says. Her face is blank. I try to stay focused on the forms. There is a section that offers educational pamphlets. I check the boxes beside Stress and Your Child, Self-Esteem, Special Needs, and Communication. I look over at my daughter in the adjacent room. She is so sweet and gentle; I am filled with love for her. She is eating her cashews too fast. “Eat more slowly please,” I scold. She looks at me with a touch of shame. “It’s okay,” I say, “Just eat those more slowly. One at a time please.”
