Fearless

I swallowed my fear back into my throat before knocking. For some reason, there was something about asking Nonny for favors that always made me nervous, even though there was no reason to be.

My nonny was a selfless woman who had raised Rachel and me with a firm yet loving hand. She was the one who encouraged me to believe that I could do anything I set my mind to, that I was worth so much more than my parents ever amounted to.

A minute later, she opened the door. Her blue eyes that matched Rachel’s sparkled until they darkened with recognition upon seeing me. Her dark brown hair was flecked with gray at the roots, and the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes seemed more pronounced than the last time I’d seen her.

“Jazmine,” she greeted stiffly.

“Hi, Nonny,” I replied, trying to smile. “I’m sorry to drop in like this.”

“It’s perfectly okay. The door’s always open for you girls.” She stepped out of the way to let me in.

The inside of her house smelled like garlic, peppers, and onions. She was obviously preparing something to put in the Crock Pot for dinner, something that was quite a common occurrence with her.

I followed her into the kitchen, my suspicions being confirmed by the presence of the Pot in the middle of the counter, a bunch of vegetables and chicken piled on the inside.

As she worked on pouring chicken broth into the concoction, she asked very calmly, “How much do you need?”

I let out a sigh. “Rachel lost her job.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” Nonny said sternly. That was one of her pet-peeves, people dodging a question. “How much money do you need?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I don’t know how long she’s going to be out of the job.”

Nonny sighed, wiping her hands on the dishtowel in her hands. “I’m going write you a check for five hundred now, and if you need more, just come back.”

I felt as if an anvil had been lifted off my chest. “Thank you so much.”

Nonny ignored me, walking around me to take her checkbook out of the huge black leather purse perched on the kitchen table.

A few scribbles and a ripping sound later, she handed me the check, made out for five hundred dollars, a beautiful scene of Central Park in the background.

“Use it wisely,” she advised before turning back to her food.

“Thanks so much, Nonny. I really appreciate it.”

She nodded at me shortly, and I knew I was dismissed. “Bye,” I said so softly that I wasn’t sure she heard me before slipping out the door.

My stomach churned as I walked, my body wracked with guilt. I knew that I was a horrible person, taking advantage of my grandmother like that, but I really didn’t know another way out.

Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so guilty if I visited for times other than begging for money, but where was the time to do such a thing?

Stuffing my hands in my pockets and ignoring the scared stare a woman gave me as I passed her, I made my way back to the subway, feeling just a little more hopeful that I had just an hour ago.

* * *

“Nonny gave you the money, right?” were the first words out of Rachel’s mouth when I walked into the apartment. She was resting on the couch, one hand draped over her forehead, still in her old work uniform, which consisted of a brightly-colored polo shirt and black slacks.

I nodded and threw the rectangular piece of paper down on the table. “She looked really hurt, though.”

Rachel sighed and looked away from me. I knew she felt just as guilty as I did, but she was better at suppressing her emotion than I was. I wasn’t sure which way was better.

Instead of approaching the subject any further, she glanced up at me, her eyes glazed over with exhaustion. “I’m going to start looking for a new job tomorrow morning,” she insisted.

“Okay,” I agreed, but I knew she was lying. When Rachel lost her job, it took until I threatened to steal her identity and dress up as her to go on job interviews for her to start searching for real. But I played my part for now, knowing that it was how this act was supposed to begin.

“I will,” she repeated as I walked into my bedroom.

“I know.” I shut my bedroom door behind me and sank behind it, curling up into a little ball, digging my elbows into my knees, burying my face in my hands. I took deep breaths, which was the only thing that kept me from crying.

Crying, for me, was not an option. I had to be the strong one. It had been that way since Rachel and I were kids. She got picked on and lost her cool, bursting into tears, and I had to be the one to maintain the tough exterior as I stood up for her. It was just how we were.

Most of the time, I forgot Rachel was only my cousin. Although we really didn’t look alike (even before I started dyeing my hair), we were so close in age and situation that we couldn’t help but bond like sisters.

When I finally calmed myself down to a semi-normal state, feeling once again empowered, I got to my feet and dusted off the butt of my pants, making sure that I hadn’t gotten any lint on my dark blue skinny jeans.

I wiped under my eyes just in case any tears had escaped, careful not to smudge my makeup, checking myself in the mirror to make sure that I didn’t look like I just walked out of a horror movie.

“Ramen noodles for dinner?” I suggested as I walked through the living room to the kitchen.

I vaguely heard Rachel sigh behind me, but it wasn’t an irritated sound so much as an expression of want for what we didn’t have. I completely understood her.

“Sure,” she responded in a small voice. “Sounds great.”

I gritted my teeth as I prepared the food, wishing so hard for something good to happen to us for the first time in our lives.