I HATE IT HEEEEERE!!

1:04 PM MONDAY AFTERNOON

“The price on the tag says $3.99! I have eyes and can read very well!” That is what a rude customer just said to me. “Ma’am, you’re reading the wrong tag. I promise you that $4.99 is the correct price. Maybe the item was in the wrong spot.” That is me responding to the rude customer in my very best customer service voice, all the while seething inside. A day in the life of Layla Robinson, age 20. Nothing but irritations, frustrations and disappointments. But at least it’s time for my break (actually 4 minutes past my allotted time) and I can call the manager away from his TV show to come cover me. Off to the “break room”. My life.

I wanted to be an author extraordinaire. I wanted to have several published books. And it’s simply not happening. It’s not happening and it feels like I’m dying inside. I have submitted soooooooo many pieces and the judges have liked NONE of them enough to choose me as a winner. Not one! Everything is a struggle. I try not to ask myself why NOTHING can be easy for me. But very shortly after this thought I feel ungrateful. My mother taught me gratitude is the key to happiness. While our large family shared a 2 bedroom apartment for those 4 years, Mom always used to tell us to be grateful that we weren’t homeless. So why can’t I just be grateful that I’m not worse off? What is my problem? These are my thoughts during my break. Sitting in the dreary break room of this mini-mart. The paint peeling from the walls. It is way colder than it should be. Sugar is spilled all around the coffee maker, along with someone’s empty creamer cups. The microwave is filthy and all I want to do is go home. These Prozac pills are not working!! But this is my life. I am starting to accept that I will be low-income for the rest of my life. “Low-income”. They love to call us that. Like we’re lab rats or something. It feels like such the insult to me. And why will I stay in the “lower class” (another one they love to label us with)? Because if I am not a writer, I am nothing. Every single one of my English teachers said that I would be great, from elementary school on up. Several of my family members said that I would be great. This was part of the reason I dropped out of high school in the 11th grade three years ago. I was dedicating my young life to writing. The daughter of a single mother on welfare in Philadelphia, PA. The second eldest sibling of 7. Working since the age of 14 just so that I wouldn’t be teased about wearing old and tattered clothes. So that I would be able to give my mom the bill money that she couldn’t come up with that particular month. Layla Robinson. A nobody. A nobody that will stay a nobody.

3 HOURS LATER ON THE CITY BUS

My shift is over. I’m on the sensational city bus (as I like to call it, with great tinges of sarcasm). I detest the city bus. A sea of blue fabric covered seats. Seats that, 2 years ago, were the home of bedbugs aplenty (according to local media AND some of my good friends who saw 1 or 2 while riding). It reeks of corn chips and destitution today. At least I got a seat NOT squeezed in-between two people that probably haven’t showered in days. At least there’s no derelict begging passengers for money. And at least there’s no pregnant woman forced to stand while able-bodied men sit, ignoring her presence. But wait, what is this black book on the seat right next to me? A really quality notebook it was, with a leather cover. It didn’t seem right that it was sitting on the seat of a musty city bus. Should I pick it up? This is kind of a long ride. It could be something to look at besides my cell phone. I’ve never been one of those young people whose face stays with a phone in front of it. I’ve always consciously felt the popular browsing of nonsense on the internet figuratively frying my brain. And I’d never taken to reading novels on a smart phone. This feeling furthered my love of actual books and reading. So a random notebook to read sounded like a treat. But is it covered with covid-19 germs? Well, I have hand sanitizer. The supposed answer, along with a trusty mask. I’m going for it. I open the notebook. Every single page is satisfyingly filled with writing. It seemed like a book someone carried around with them often. To jot down their thoughts and feelings. But there were also sloppily written “To-Do” lists throughout. I started to feel uncomfortable reading through this person’s “life”. But then I wondered if they’d left it purposely for some reason. The way it sat in the middle of the seat, as if to welcome the next passenger to peruse it. I can’t even tell if it’s a man or woman because the name written inside the cover was ‘Jamie T.’ Ever since Jamie Foxx entered the entertainment scene, I’d never looked at Jamie as a female name again.

So Jamie T., according to some of your words, you’re just as frustrated as I am. Apparently you work at McDonald’s and must be a lower level employee, because you seem to absolutely hate the job. Just like me. One of the items on your To-Do list says, “See about reenrolling in community college”. A thought that crosses my mind every other week. One page even had his/her thoughts on an upcoming 21st birthday. Jamie and I are almost the same age. Should I try to find the person to return their book to them? Should I just leave it? I decided to continue to peruse. I had another 20 minutes to burn. So I kept reading. Some of the “journal-ish” entries started off with a calm tone and ended very hastily written, as if Jamie was in a rush. Maybe his/her bus stop was approaching. There was also a 5 year goal list included, very neatly written. Then I saw it; a poem; a poem that made my heart skip a beat. A poem called “Numb”:

NUMB

I am numb.

That’s just how I feel

There’s no other word

What’s real is real

That’s when sad or angry

No longer fit

It’s when tired and lonely

Just get up and split

Talking to family gets old

When it’s all a big front

Go ‘head and put me on meds

Profit’s all that they want

“Try again.” “Try harder.” “Have faith.”

-Over and over-

-Phrases I hate-

Some say that you’re strong

To still be alive

Trust in your Lord

Is all you need to survive

If it’s as simple as that

Then why am I numb?

Hurt, pain, anguish

Marijuana and rum

Nothing else to feel but

---NUMB---

It was magnificent. I had a steady stream of tears running down my face right before it hit me. What hit me was that I was going to enter that poem in the most recent poetry contest I’d come across last week. The contest I’d initially said I would enter but hadn’t. The contest that was the deciding factor to my giving up on becoming a successful writer. Giving up, while simultaneously moving to the acceptance of being a low-income, “do-nothing,” resident of the ghetto until I die. I no longer thought I could win. My confidence had been shot and killed. Lying lifeless on a pile of rejection. I was going to enter this random stranger’s poem as my own. It wouldn’t win anyway. These judges don’t know snot about good writing. All of my writings were magnificent too, in my opinion. But not to the judges. So who cares if I enter it? Intentional plagiarism is what they call it. It didn’t feel malicious in my mind though, oddly enough. Because it would not win, bottom line. Jamie T. would understand? Right? But it does feel wrong. Kind of. Why does everything have to be so complicated?? I hate it heeeeeeeeerre!!!!

5 YEARS LATER

I entered Jamie’s poem into that contest 5 years ago. Jamie’s poem won that contest 5 years ago. Grand prize $20,000. I got a check written in my name. I was floored upon hearing the news. It took for me to commit plagiarism for me to be a top writer! I tried to find Jamie T. for about a year after it’d won. I was ecstatic and distressed at the same time. This wasn’t exactly MY money. But it’s not so easy to find someone on social media with such a common name. And then the possibilities of surnames that start with the letter ‘T’. Innumerable. I searched every last social media outlet. But then I remember thinking that maybe Jamie T. wasn’t even on social media. I searched in every way my mind could possibly muster. I did try my best. And the weirdest thing about all of this is that I sort of knew that the poem had winning potential before I’d hit ‘SUBMIT’ 5 years ago. But still, I believed, at that time, that I’d been cursed so to speak. And just the fact that it was ME submitting it would make it fall through the cracks like everything else. But I’d still made a dreamy list of what I’d do with the $20,000 if it won. And I did them a year after not finding Jamie. I saved that money for a year looking for the owner of the poem. I did try.

Following that year of searching, I gave up. I took the money and moved out of my family’s home. I bought a used car and a new laptop. I helped my mother and my siblings. Basically, I took away the financial worries that were adding to my depressive state of mind and lack of motivation to continue pursuing my dream. And then I wrote. I wrote as if writing was my food. I entered contest after contest. Then I started my first novel. I have 4 published novels today. The majority of these new works were received well and I thrived. And here I am today, 5 years later, with a hole in my very soul because it all started with a lie. I feel lost, although growing in my career at a fantastic rate of speed. What makes it even worse is that I could pay Jamie T. back RIGHT NOW with the book advance I recently received from my publishing company. And here I am, lost. So I turn back to the words of my dear mother. “The best gift that you can ever give someone is prayer by name.” I pray for you whenever I think of you Jamie T. I ask The Lord to bless you, to relieve your pain and frustrations, to guide you to the path that follows your dreams, to give you peace and security. I ask The Lord this while asking Him to forgive me and to pardon me. I ask these things with tears in my eyes. As I live each day as a successful author who is secretly filled with shame. I made it and I hope that you make it. I pray that I find you one day shining, with or without the $20,000 that I WILL repay you with. Because, in essence, if there were no you, there would be no me. I am forever, deeply indebted to you. Thank you Jamie T.