26th of July, 9:22 AM

  I’ve been thinking about Ginette.

  We were both baristas. I worked with her. I started working at that cafe in 2001, I think in August. I met her when she started, in 2002, I’ve forgotten what month. It might have been March, I really can’t remember. I’ve forgotten a lot about her, so I need to write about her right now, so I never forget.

  She was blonde, blue eyes, pretty fat, but not rude or loud. She was helpful, and kind.

  I remember asking her how old she was. She asked how old I thought she was. I said, “Maybe around my age, like 20.”

  I remember what she said.

  “Oh my gosh, you’ve made my day!”

  She said it as she put one of the croissants in a paper bag for a customer. I got even more curious and asked her how old she was.

  “I’m 32.”

  I told her she was kidding. She shook her head and said she was serious. I was in shock for a couple minutes.

  She was in nursing school, but left to take care of her dad, who was dying of cancer. He died before she started working at the cafe. She lived with her mom, and got a job at the cafe because her mom, like my mom, told her, “No job, no house.”

  “No job, no house.”

  “No job, no house.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “No job, no house.”

  And how worthless and evil I am. And how she should’ve aborted me. That’s all my mom ever talked about. She started an argument every single night of 1999. I’m not kidding. Stupid fucking ugly bitch. She’s the one who’s a failure. She spent 17 years trying to be someone she wasn’t. Now she’s divorced because she married the worst guy possible, both of her kids are gone, and now she’s all alone. Maybe that’s why she was walking away crying on the last day I saw her.

  No job, no house. Stupid shit. Guess what, bitch, I have a job now. I do what I like. Sucking dick and letting guys fuck me in the ass. You can’t be angry anymore, I have a job. And if you think it’s my fault that I ended up where I am, it’s not. It used to be just your husband’s fault, now it’s yours too.

  When Ginette told me what her mom told her, I realised that her mom must’ve been at least a bit like my mom. Her life was tough too.

  She left before 2003. She went to work somewhere else.

  The fridge in the back of the cafe was where the milk was stored. The doors of the fridge always had a ton of papers on them. It was like a bulletin board.

  There was a meeting for the cafe’s staff once a month. In January of 2003, I went to the cafe for the meeting. While me and two other people were getting ready for the meeting in the back, I looked at the fridge’s doors. I saw a piece of paper on there saying when Ginette’s funeral would be.

  I couldn’t believe it. I asked Carrie, one of the people with me, about the paper.

  “Yea, she died. Heart attack,” Carrie told me.

  I’ve tried not to end up like Ginette. Ginette went through school, which is nothing but a pain in the ass and a waste of time, and then was finally free when she graduated. But then she decided to do more school, and then stopped, and then spent her life doing what other people wanted her to do. What her mom wanted her to do, what her dad wanted her to do, what our manager wanted her to do. She had no time for herself. And she’ll never be able to fix that.

  All my mom ever did was hate me and hurt me. All my dad ever did was hate me and hurt me. All his dad ever did was hate me and hurt me. For a long time, I wished every day that my family was like some of the families I met, kind. I left them behind, and I have no regrets. Family is an obstacle. It does nothing but slow you down, trap you, and hurt you. It keeps you from writing. It’s exactly like school.

  I’m not gonna be like Ginette.