Chasm

My bed shakes the way mom would shake the end of the bed to wake us up for school. Then the shaking gets more intense and I realize I’m twenty-seven and I don’t have school anymore. It’s the middle of the night. I wake up in a jolt. It’s an earthquake. What are you supposed to do during an earthquake when you're barely awake? I yank the quilt off of me and head to the door, hoping to find my dad. We find ourselves in the hallway at the same time. We look at each other through bleary eyes and hang on to our door frames. The sound of glass, metal, trees and concrete breaking, is all I can hear now.

Please stop.

The ground stands still but my heart races and my knees shake. I take a step and stumble back. My dad holds my arm and reassures me to walk forward. Our family photos lay out on the ground. Our windows cracked, our ceiling fans now hanging on their side by their one stubborn bolt. And the display of glass all over the floor like confetti.

We step out of our house and see our neighbors below on the sidewalk. We live in a neighborhood of stilt houses near the Guajataca Lake. It’s funny how we are prepared for a flood, but never thought of an earthquake as a threat to our chicken-legged homes. I hear a yell from down the street and a group of people run towards it. One of the houses collapsed on top of the owner’s car. Everyone is yelling to call for help while others start to push away debris, chunks of concrete splayed out.

“Call an ambulance! She might still be alive!”

“Her car is still here, she must be stuck inside!”

My dad runs over to help and I stand back taking in the scene. That’s when I see it. The trunk of the car must have flown open after the collapse and exposed a half-zipped travel bag full $1 bills. Everyone is jumping in to help, but my eyes stay fixed on the cash. I hear the sirens. While everyone is distracted, I walk towards the bag, grab it, zip it up and sneak away to my home.

I drop the bag in my room, my pacing now matches my racing heart. Why did I take the bag? Why did I take the bag? Wait, how much is in it? I kneel down and start counting. Is my neighbor a stripper? An old lady lives there. I used to see her sit outside on her balcony with a cup of coffee, looking down on everyone. I always thought she was silently judging us. My hand starts to cramp and I hear my father coming back in the house. I lock my door. My dad stands on the other side.

“Maggie?”

“Yes dad.”

“What was that bag I saw you walk away with?”

“Bag? What bag?”

“What bag? That black bag. I don’t wanna think that you’re-- ”

“Oh that’s my Go-Bag dad. Precisely for these emergencies. Wait, you don’t have a Go-Bag?”

His silence plunges a dagger into my lungs as my lies create a chasm between us.

“Well, I just don’t want to think that… You still have your doctor’s number?”

“Yes dad.”

“Okay. Remember your exercises. Oh and that’s a good idea, a Go-Bag. Well, I’m going back to bed.”

“Okay goodnight.”

Well that conversation just broke my heart but it’s too late now. The final count comes in at $20,000… what in God’s name was this old lady saving up for? Retirement? And why was it in the trunk of her car? Too many questions that don’t matter anymore. I start to look for rubber bands to bunch these bills by 20’s and then stacks of 100. I gotta play this cool and safe. I open my drawer and throw all my underwear on the bed. I place the stacks next to each other at the bottom and cover them with my panties. I’ve been single for a long time, no one’s gonna go in there.

A few hours later, morning rays hit my eyes and wake me up. My reflection looks rough. I haven't pulled an all-nighter since college. I remember I have the money in my drawer and smile a little. I can’t believe it. Just my luck. I start to pick out clothes in my closet when my eyes go to a stack of old notebooks on the high shelf. All different colors, depending on what periods of my life I was going though. Pink for my first boyfriend. Blue for my first year of college. But one in particular calls out to me. My little black notebook. It was the journal I kept when I was court-ordered into therapy for stealing, or as my therapist calls it, my kleptomania. I kept an account of every urge, every steal and even wrote a relapse plan in case I fell off the wagon. Well I fell and it’s gone without me, leaving me in the dust behind. But at least I have twenty-thousand new friends by the name of George Washington to keep me company.

I push the thought away and grab the notebook. A wave of shame comes over me. I whip open my drawer, take a row of cash and stuff the hundred $1 bills next to my little black book in my bag. I park at the nearest coffee shop and head towards the door. I order my usual, I’m about to pay and-

“Oh sorry, we don’t accept cash anymore.”

“Oh… okay, I’ll use my card.”

Ugh, this damn tech era has basically rendered my cash useless. New plan. I’m gonna buy gift cards for different stores and dodge suspicion.

At the red light I see an old lady fall on her cane while crossing the street. I put the emergency break on and jump out to help her.

“Thank you young lady, thank you.”

“No, no problem really, but let me take you to see a doctor please.”

“Oh no that’s alright I was about to meet my daughter at work and--”

Granny was about to faint and my car was still running so I told her she could text her daughter that a good samaritan was taking her to the doctor. Maybe it’s the guilt of another helpless old lady or the desire to earn back some good karma, so I take her to the emergency room.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know how to repay you,” the woman says as we wait together in the exam room.

“I just need to know you’re gonna be okay for my own sake. It’s the least I can do.”

The doctor enters with his clipboard. “So it seems she has a hairline fracture on her knee. It’s best to keep the weight off it as much as possible for six to eight weeks.”

“Damn, okay. So where do you live grandma?” I ask, feeling impatient.

“Why, right down the street from you.”

My eyes widen and my throat runs dry. She’s the judgemental old lady that looks down on us. Her face is different on ground level. Well, what a perfect twist to my day. We get in my car and start driving home.

I break the silence, “You know your house, uh…”

“Oh yes, I was staying in my daughter’s home a few minutes away when it all happened and thank God I did or I would have been gone for good. I decided to stay in her home after I finished at the library a little too late. You never know how dangerous it is to be out and about at my age and I guess during the daytime too or I wouldn’t be riding the car with you.” She laughs.

“Yeah no, no problem. So you work in the library? What do you do there?”

“I read to a class of orphaned blind children twice a week. Sometimes twice a day. It’s magical being able to express a new world for these kids, see their shining expressions. I’d do anything for these kids. It’s hard being a blind orphan, especially for little Tommy...”

Oh great I stole from Mother freaking Theresa. I’m afraid to ask but--

“What’s wrong with Tommy?” I nervously chime.

“Oh, well he has a rare blood disease that’s killing him. It stops the oxygen from being distributed throughout his small body. There’s a blood donor match for him but not the money for the procedure to save his life. I’ve been saving for years, then I heard his tragic story. My plan is to use it to save little Tommy’s life. I was ready to drive down and make the donation the next day, but I forgot my bag once I decided to stay at my daughter’s. It’s closer to the library.”

Okay no, not happening. I can’t take this anymore. Now I need to slip this bag back in her hands. How can I give it back without going to jail?

“How much further does your daughter live?”

“Oh no child, drop me off at my home. I must get my bag.”

“No, it’s too soon for you to see your home. It’s gone…”

“My house is gone, but my home is where my heart is as they say. The loss of my house just pushes up my move in date to my daughter’s home. In life we must face problems head on and move on. When life allows you to stop and be grateful for the day, take it, enjoy it and when it moves you forward, then move forward.”

This lady’s every word of wisdom keeps sinking me lower and lower into the grave I dug for myself. What’s going to happen when she realizes her bag is gone? I park a few feet away from our houses.

“I stole your money but to be fair, I thought you were dead. I’m not a thief, I have a problem.”

She looks at me shocked and still. She laughs.

“Oh child, you’re worse than me. A problem? I call that your personality.” She howls laughing.

“Wait what’s happening?”

“That’s pretty funny and a bit pathetic I mean, I didn’t think you’d confess so fast. You didn’t even let me work into my fainting spell when I saw my trunk empty. Anywho, I’m gonna need my money back.” She says wiping laugh-tears from her eyes.

“Why are you laughing? And what do you mean worse than you?”

“You think I got $20,000 for reading? No! People try to take money from the old, not give it to them. I earned that money at the slot machines. I just do my $1 bills to play for short periods of time.”

“Wait what about the children?”

“Fuck the children. I don’t read to kids.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“What can I say, you remind me of myself a little. I think it’s our ability to spin bullshit that makes me feel kindred to you kid. My kid and I drove back here last night to get my bag. I know who you are Maggie. I knew you’d be my prime suspect after I realized it was missing.”

“I didn’t even know what you looked like. I didn’t spend your money, I literally couldn’t. Except to pay for your hospital bill.”

“Yeah thanks for that. I didn’t mean to hit the ground so hard. So how much do you have on you?”

I look at her and take the cash out of my bag.

“That’s enough for a few rounds in the slots. Come on Maggie Money Bags, let’s go.”

As I drive us to the nearest casino, it occurs to me that for all of those years, maybe the old woman was never judging me, maybe I was always just judging myself.