I look down at the locket around my neck, tears streaming down my face. If Mother was here, she would tell me it’s going to be alright and that I will find another job, but it doesn’t feel like everything’s going to be fine. It feels like my world’s been ripped in half in one fell swoop and all because I’m not good enough. Yes, that’s how fast my whole life’s work has been shattered and how the heart-shaped picture of my mom and me when I was little now streams with salty water that drips slowly down my contorted face. I stare down at the locket picture and grief overwhelms me - for losing my job, for letting my mom down, and also for losing her ages ago.

You see, my dad left the day before I was born, so my mom raised me all by herself until one day, when I was five, she cried out in pain and told me to call 911. She had cancer but couldn’t get the right treatment because she refused to give up the money in my college savings account. She didn’t live through it, but I haven’t been brave enough in this gap year after high school to use the money. I told myself throughout high school - I’m going to get a scholarship and save that money for when I really need it, but that didn’t turn out so great. I know I should use the money and go to college, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.

Dad came back once he heard I was alone without Mom, and he sustained us for a little while. However, suddenly, as I grew into my teenage years, he wasn’t getting in enough money, so I ended up working. Turns out, I was working and had a job up until just recently, at 3:00 A.M. when my boss fired me over the telephone telling me I just wasn’t serving customers properly. As a cashier, it’s my duty to ring up every single item properly and do it as efficiently and fast as possible. I suppose I didn’t do it as much as he wanted. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get up to his standards. I’m good with numbers, but he wanted me to work faster than humanly possible to “increase the sales revenue” as he would say.

I worked at a dollar store in Scottsdale, but now I’m thinking maybe I set my sights too low. I’m good at math, and I’ve got the drive to do any task I need to. Maybe it was good that my manager fired me. A laugh bursts through my lips, causing me to cough at all the drainage that coated my throat. I take a sip of water and try to calm my thoughts, calm the ever-flowing tears and stop feeling so bad about myself. It’s what Mom would say anyway, if she were still here.

Anyway, Dad hasn’t been much help recently. He pitied me after Mom passed away, but he sort of shrunk into his shell and hasn’t offered much money-wise. I’m the one paying the bills, but he doesn’t stick around often. He says it’s his dream to “travel the world” and “experience all the culture,” so he’s always leaving home. He says that’s why he left Mom in the first place - because he wanted the freedom to go where he pleased. I certainly don’t agree with him and do wish he would have helped me when I was in such a time of need instead of leaving me on my own to gather the funds to eat and pay the bills. I haven’t seen him in a while. I think he went off to Paris. Gee, thanks Dad for all your help, not!

I stare down at the horrid device that gave me the dreaded news and drink another gulp of calming water. I quickly punch in my friend Lela’s number and press the phone to my ear. Once it stops ringing, I blurt out, “Lela, I lost my job!”

“Who is this?” a groggy voice answers.

“Camila, your BFF. Anyway, my boss fired me because you know he’s always complaining that ‘I’m not good enough,’” I say, imitating his voice.

“I think you have the wrong number—” a male voice says, but I don’t hear him.

“But it’s really annoying,” I continue, his words bouncing right back out of my ears without recognition, “and he decided to fire me for it. You know how strict and awful he is—”

“Miss, I’m not Lela—”

“But, I mean, he didn’t have to go that far! He’s asking for the kind of work only a robot could do. So he fired me since I couldn’t punch the numbers fast enough.” I break into sobs.

“Camila, I’m really sorry, but I think you have the wrong number. I’m not Lela, and I don’t know anyone named Lela, so could you let me get back to sleep?”

I don’t hear him over my sobbing, and the words come rapid-pace out of my mouth without even thinking. “What am I going to do, Lela? I don’t have much money left, now I don’t have a job, and you know my father’s no help. I really need to find a job soon. Do you think I could borrow some of your money just until I find another job?”

“Hello? Is your speaker not working? I guess I’ll just hang up” the man responds.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter that much. I’m sure I can use the money I have left in the time it’ll take to find a job. It can’t take too long, can it?”

I don’t notice the phone’s gone dead until after I finish. What’s with Lela? Usually she loves to hear my problems and is so kind about it. She’s such a good friend. Why would she desert me like that in my time of need?

Slowly it starts to sink in. Oh my God! I called the wrong number. I wasn’t even registering what he was saying, but now, as I recall the memory I can’t help but remember that it wasn’t Lela’s sweet higher-pitched voice I heard, but a more masculine, deeper one. Oh my gosh! I feel so bad. I press the redial button to apologize, not wanting to leave anyone on a bad foot.

No one answers, so I try again, and he finally picks up. “What is it at 3:30 in the morning?” he practically yells.

Suddenly, all my words become jumbled and I feel like I’ve lost the ability to speak properly. “Well, you see sir, um, it’s just—well that—you know—stuff—I didn’t—distracted—and realize—but I’m sorry—it just—was so wrapped up—not paying attention.”

“Is this Camila?” he shouts. I take a deep breath, needing to calm myself before he hangs up on me. I need to give him a reasonable explanation.

“I’m extremely sorry, sir. I was distracted, and I didn’t realize you weren’t Lela. I wasn’t paying attention, and I threw all of my unneeded blabber at you, and I was so wrapped up in my miserable stuff, but I’m sorry.”

“You know, Ms. Camila, if you really need a job, we have an opening at my music store.”

“Really?” I scream in excitement. “Sorry. I’d love to work there if you’d agree.”

“Come in for an interview tomorrow at 7:00 at Grizwald’s Music. Don’t make me regret giving you this opportunity.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply enthusiastically. “I won’t let you down.”

He hangs up, and I already feel better. Wow! I guess I won’t need Lela’s help then if I already have myself a new job. Perhaps this is just fate - perhaps I’m meant to have a better life. One can only hope. I flop down on my bed and fall asleep immediately.