Better, But Not Great
The relief and shame of accepting government assistance.
I dress up for my appointment today, putting on earrings and a nice shirt. Tucked into my purse is a well-worn water bottle, a strawberry fruit bar, and a bag of salted cashews.
It is hot today. We exit the house and my back becomes wet with sweat. My daughter’s neck gathers small drops of salty dew. The center is only three blocks away, but I make the effort to load my daughter into her car seat and drive. The air moving through the open windows feels refreshing. We park in the shade and discuss the small pebbles of road base in the parking lot. The heat on the asphalt feels like added weight.
The air inside the center is cool and fast moving. We arrive ten minutes early and sit down to wait in a small waiting room. My daughter is confused and asks if we are at the dentist.
A woman escorts us through the small building to an office in the back.
I sit as gracefully as I possibly can behind Candice Shipley’s* U-shaped wooden desk. Candice sits on the other side, directly across from me. The feeling is intimate. When she rolls her chair to her computer, she feels too far away, but when she rolls back to speak to me, she feels too close. Her office has a lot of windows and is full of natural light.
