Doctor

“This is going to suck.” Mom sighs as she turns off the lights in the kitchen and approaches the stairs. She asks me to grab a club soda, a straw, and her laptop and place them on the desk in her room.

“You are going to bed now?” I ask as I jump from the couch. “But it’s only 10 p.m.”

“Work starts at 7 a.m. I need to wake up at 5 a.m. so I can get ready and make it on time.” Mom slowly climbs the stairs to get to bed.

Mom just recently got a job in Brampton at a factory called Quest. We live in Mississauga and the factory is an hour away. She got the job through an employment agency. The guy at the agency explained to her that the job is nothing but labor. She will not sit on a desk or organize files or meet customers or try to sell a product. She will only pick up boxes from place to place from seven to four every day.

Mom used to be a doctor before we came to Canada. She worked in a well-known hospital in Egypt. But she had to resign when we decided to move to Canada. Dad could not resign because he maintained a high and hard to reach position in his glass company called Sphinx. Mom hoped to find a better position in a better hospital here in Toronto. But it turns out; Mom could not be a doctor in Canada. Or at least not right away. She had to study again and take a placement test. Then study some more for a couple of years and take another two or three tests. Mom couldn’t do that again. She did it once and passed and worked in several hospitals. She shouldn’t do it again.

I wake up the next morning to the sound of Mom rushing down the stairs. She fumbles for her car keys on the shelf in the main hall of the house. I hear her bursting out words every minute or so.

“Shit!” Mom yells. “Where did I put those damn keys?”

“Hey Mom, what is wrong?” I rub my eyes and scratch my neck.

Mom wears a grey Canada shirt, blue jeans, a black jacket and fat safety shoes.

“It is already 6:30 a.m. and work starts in thirty minutes.” Mom hops in her shoes.

“I think the keys are on the kitchen counter.” I said while yawning hoping to sleep some more.

Mom dashes to the kitchen, snatches the keys and runs back to the door. “I gotta go. I am running late. Don’t let Hatem miss class again.”

I zombied my way back to bed and set the alarm to 11 a.m. for my writing class. I hear the garage door creaking and watch Mom as she speeds out of our driveway. I rest my back on the side of the wall and stare at my wallet. Someday I will have to wake up at 6 a.m. for work just like Mom. Someday very soon. I slide down my bed and plant my face under the pillow. I open the window slightly to get a soft breeze to make myself feel better. I slowly drift back to sleep with the sound of the garage door closing.

I come back home from school at 4 p.m. Silence rules the house. My brother is in class and Mom should be here soon. I toss my bag next to the stairs and march to the kitchen for a snack. I open the fridge, but nothing grabs my attention. I hear the garage door squeak.

Mom barges in the side door.

“Hey, I am home,” Mom says as she enters with a couple of plastic bags. “I got some stuff from Walmart on my way back.

“Oh cool. How was your first day at work?”

“As I expected,” Mom smirks slightly. “It sucked. I had to go to Walmart and buy myself some chocolate. I couldn’t find Galaxy chocolate though. Got Cadbury Dairy Milk instead.”

Mom loved Galaxy chocolate. She used to eat it almost every day back in Egypt. We couldn’t find it here in Toronto.

“Was it tiring?” I ask as I take the Walmart bags and put everything in place.

“It was exhausting.” Mom takes off her safety shoes.

“Won’t you miss being a doctor?” I raise my eyebrows and scratch the back of my neck. “I mean it is a huge jump from doctor to labor in a factory.”

“I’ll get over it.” Mom snatches a club soda and surrenders to the couch while resting her feet on the footrest.

I grab some of Mom’s Cadbury bars and run upstairs to do my homework. Hatem comes in an hour later and whines about food. Mom worked all day so she didn’t cook any food.

“Oh crap, I forgot about food.” Mom scratches her lower lip. “Just get a pizza or something. I’ll make some food tomorrow after work.”

I order two large pizzas from Pizza Hut and they arrive an hour later. Mom eats three slices and runs to bed at 9 p.m. I stay up a little longer playing The Last of Us and watching The Walking Dead. I got to bed at 12 a.m.

I wake up the next morning at 6 a.m. to the squeaky sound of the garage door. I look out the window and I see Mom’s white Honda taking a right into Burnhamthorpe road.