With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo

 

Money Talks

Abuelo died before I was born. And he worked a job with little benefits, and definitely no life insurance or any of that. But luckily, by then my father was full-grown and the only mouth ’Buela had to feed was her own. That is, until she adopted me and also realized that her son wouldn’t be helping much with my parenting.

When she injured her hand and began receiving disability, money around the house got a lot tighter. The disability check she gets only goes so far, and although she still does small sewing jobs for the church or our neighbors, it takes her three times as long as it used to to get anything done, because her hand begins to ache. Her stitches, slow as they are, are still precise as ever. And she says even though it was her dominant hand that got stuck in the machine, she’s thankful it wasn’t the hand with her wedding band that’s all scarred up.

But once I got pregnant with Babygirl, it quickly became clear that her disability money and side-hustle jobs were going to barely be enough to cover rent and feed the three of us. I’ve known since I was little that we had to learn to treat money like a rubber band and stretch that jawn until it almost snaps. As soon as I was able to get a work permit in eighth grade, I did. I worked summer jobs, I worked after school, I’ve always worked to help ’Buela around the house.

And losing my hours at the Burger Joint means I have to find a new way to help, and not just for the rest of this year.