Chapter 1

Barely making it in Seattle. That should be my forum name. I finally found work, and then my husband slips and cracks his spine. He’s on disability, and has regained most of his mobility, but Donald whinges whenever I bring up applying for work. Stace, our 14 year old daughter spends like a sixteen year old. She’s attractive enough. She doesn’t need the makeup and makeovers and makewhatevers, she saves every cent of her allowance for.

We were making it, a living. Can’t say that for most of our neighborhood. Funny thing is, the community next to ours began booming when the LINK rail line passed through it. Not that the mayor’s investments in that district had anything to do with the convoluted divergence from the light rail’s originally planned route.

Anywhere within a fifteen minute walk of that rail line struck gold, when the Emerald City took on a more silicon sheen. Fucking tech companies! I’m bitter for two reasons. I hate the tech job I nearly had to suck cock for. And I have to walk twenty minutes to catch the light rail.

Fuck my ‘Office Assistant Support Engineer’ job. That’s my actual title. My walk to work is far more interesting. I should say, was. I wouldn’t be writing this, if my life turned out to be just another privileged white woman’s fantasy of finding love in a black man’s arms. No, I hate Terry almost as much as my daughter. Our combined antipathy couldn’t scratch Donald’s hate for that nigger freak. I say ‘nigger’ only because Terry tells me to call him that. I’d call him anything he wanted, to get what I hate needing from him. He hates being called a freak, though.

I used to call Terry a sad, black man, but never in public. He jangled pennies in a plastic Slurpee cup at me, and I would always add a dollar to it, on my walk to work. His eyes worried me.

Nobody looks at anyone, on commuter trains or buses. Going to work, I felt invisible, that my life had no meaning. Even the blowjobs, Donald begged for, since he couldn’t mount me for long with his back pain, were sad routine.

Stace, like most teens, lived either out of the house or stuck in her room. At least she came out to make our meals. I barely had time to eat them. Her father helped. It took both of them to prepare what he bought from the grocer. She couldn’t be trusted with a credit card. We could only afford raw vegetables and whatever burger was cheapest. Fruit was our dessert. Yeah, we were making it, like robots earning just enough juice for their batteries. I went to work numb from the banal repetition my income could afford. At least we paid off our credit card.

Terry’s eyes burned at me when I walked by. “Privileged, white cunt.” Is what they stabbed into my thoughts. I didn’t hate him then. I didn’t feel sorry for him. I assumed, like most people, he had earned his fate. He was too old to be a modern war vet, and too young to be a Vietnam vet. I bet he had been as fat as a child, imagining that food was his only comfort against a severely deformed cheek and jaw line. I knew a dollar wouldn’t save him. There are many options for the homeless in Seattle. Food and shelter are available. I paid him to ease my fear that I would one day end up like him.

“Thanks.” He said, one day. It was cold, but not raining. Global warming had blessed the Pacific Northwest. He wore a military coat from a supply store. You can tell the difference. His trousers were thick but polyester heavily worn at the knees. A folding umbrella lie next to him. He sat on a piece of foam meant for stadium seats. A corner of it was ripped.

“Um, welcome.” I dropped the dollar, but missed the cup. Did he move it at the last second? I wasn’t really watching. His grunt of gratitude unnerved me. I just wanted to hurry away.

“Fucking wind!” He growled. If only I hadn’t looked back. The dollar bill danced towards me. I picked it up and returned it to the grim looking bum.

“Sorry.” I spun back towards the rail stop.

“If only.” He muttered.

I lost it. I don’t know why. I’m not that type. “Who else gives you a dollar, every damn day? I missed your cup today. Give me a goddamn break!”

“Sure. You deserve a break, cuz you’re such a fucking philanthropist!” The last word surprised me.

“Jesus, why talk to an ugly nigger like that? How stupid is she?” The comment came from two black men walking in their business suits.

I had no words. I felt stuck. LINK was about to arrive, but I didn’t want to follow the two assholes. I couldn’t bear the shame they made me feel.

The beggar’s eyes continued to burn. I was going to be late for work. I sighed. “Look, do you want a sandwich or something? I’ll get one from that 7-11, if you want.”

“I want barbecue.” He struggled off of his seat, using the squat umbrella for balance. Standing, he was an inch taller. “But not a sandwich, a full meal. That’s what I want.” His stare cooled but never blinked.

“I don’t have time-”

“It’s over here, behind that nail painting bullshit shop. Best barbecue on the block.” That didn’t mean much. Many blocks in this neighborhood had BBQ vendors. He grabbed my wrist and tugged. I would have screamed, but he let go before I could lose it again. “It’s cheap too.” His fingers left a white smudge on my wrist.

The tug launched me in that direction. I don’t know why I continued after that first, forced step. I followed him around the nail salon and other shops. Sure enough, “Angus’ BBQ” awaited. Its entrance was on a side of the building. In back, a couple trash bins, commercial sized, lurked in the building’s shadow, near the concrete wall buttressing a hill behind the shops.

“Angus, git me a spicy beef special.” The bum bellowed jovially upon entering.

“Sure, Terry. Who’s the lady?”

“I don’t know. She’s buying.”

“She better, or you’ll clean up again, tonight.” A burly, handsome black man wiped his hands on a towel. “Can I make something for you, Ma-am?”

“No. Thank you.” I couldn’t make a sound louder than a housefly.

“Have a pickle. They’re on the house.” He pointed to a jar on the counter.

Terry grabbed one and a napkin. He took it to a table. “Git yourself one, Lady. They’re good. Angus’ wife makes them.” His bulk overflowed the folding chair’s seat.

“I just had breakfast.” An egg, one slice of white toast plain, and an orange. We’d run out of butter.

“What’s your name?” Terry waved his hand at the seat across from his table. “Good barbecue takes time.”

“He’s going to cook it fresh?”

“Hell no. It’s already smoked. He’s going to grill it after slicing it, to cook the sauce in.” He poked his pickle at me. “Have a bite.” He had already taken two from it.

“Can I just pay? I need to catch the next train.”

“Sure, Ma-am.” Angus turned from the grill, to the register. “Eight-sixty-four, with tax.”

I handed my card to him.

“We don’t take cards.” His lip curled.

I dug into my wallet. I had six dollars, twenty two cents. “Is there an ATM?”

“There was, in the 7-11, but it’s been bust for a month. Terry! You got two fifty?” Angus called.

“Yeah.” He grunted getting up and pulling a handful of bills and change from his pocket. He dumped them, crumpled on the counter. His eyes stabbed me. “Fucking, stupid, white cunt.” They said. “What is your name?” Terry demanded.

“Ruby.” I squeaked.

“Ruby, you made me look like a fool.” He frowned like an angry pit bull.

I left, wanting to cry. My co-workers didn’t notice I was late. The computer that spat out paychecks would.