Coining July

Coining July

The picture above is the picture I took after I woke up from the hard day in Summer of 2012.


Summer is bombing every part of the city. This year I’m eighteen and living on my own with my boyfriend. The sun fiercely pounds my ivory skin. The risk of getting a painful sunburn is too high. I walk towards the grocery store in my white sundress. I begin sweating and it feels outrageous. My hair is wrapped into a simple bun. I pull out some makeup and paint a thin layer of red lipstick onto my lips. Some strands of my hair become free with humid breeze. Heat continues beating me down. I wasn’t sure if thirst or dehydration was bringing me close to death. Maybe it was toying with me by having me exaggerate. Either case my feet are beginning to sweat too despite the fact I am wearing sandals. I stop for a second in the middle of the sidewalk. I wipe the sweat from my neck and brow. I bent my knees and put my hands onto my waist. I look down and sweat droplets start dripping onto the pavement.

I quickly get over how gross my skin feels and straighten my body. I observe the silent Pico Rivera neighborhood. Not a single car has passed me by. If one did I felt tempted to hitchhike, but I wasn’t in a hurry, and I’m not stupid. Abduction is too high in Los Angeles County so is forced sex trafficking. This could be worse. All the trees could be dead. There could be zero shade. But the trees aren’t dead. I can stop underneath any of these to cool down for a bit. I glance at one of the orange trees in front of an untended lawn. Its fruits have yet to ripen. I would have pulled a few oranges had they been ready. I glance upwards into the tree’s branches and little streaks of sunlight pour down. This is heaven, this light, and this life must be heaven despite my body’s craving for water. I begin getting a flashback to when I was younger.

Suddenly, I am five walking alongside my mother. I found quarters everywhere in the cracks of pavement. I crouch, pick a quarter up, and jump yelling out, “Another one mommy!” My mother smiles as she pushes a shopping cart out of our path. “How much do you have now sweetie?” she asks. I stop following her and look at my palm. I don’t understand how money works. I only know four quarters lets me take a Kit-Kat bar, without the store lady telling me I don’t have enough, and that quarters are the richest thing I can have. I count eight quarters. “Mommy I have enough for two Kit-Kat bars,” I tell her and skip towards her so happy. The image fades away and I snap out of it.

Presently, dehydration was getting the best of me. I laugh as I start to stare into the pavement’s crack. The crevices of all these sidewalks are a reminder: childhood was too easy and too short. My purse suddenly became so heavy. The rolls of pennies inside my purse feel like they weigh twenty pounds. It’s nowhere near that weight. My body continues to become thirsty. I look behind to see what I traveled so far. I want to crawl back home, give up, and become melted ice cube somewhere safe. I refuse. I keep moving forward. I couldn’t give up now. What for? To sleep off the hunger and feel bad for myself. I can’t do that anymore. My reality becomes more apparent to me. I am in need for some spare change.

My eyes frantically look at the pavement in search of anything: a penny, a nickel, a dime, if I’m lucky enough a quarter, or a fallen fruit. Luck never happens fast enough though. It took a few more blocks before I manage to collect forty-five cents. I hold back tears as I pick up coins one after another from the ground. It’s not a surprise. When I was five and found quarters left and right it was before 9/11/2001. 9/11 robbed America of that pure happy-go-lucky attitude we had with ourselves, with our neighbors, and with our community. Now we hold onto spare change like if the world wants to rob us again. Talking to strangers feels like a threat or is threatening if you’re outside social events. Minorities softly winged themselves to be scared of different minority groups. I saw it unfold growing up among my impoverished Highland Park, Los Angeles neighborhood after 9/11 when I was 7.

After a one-and-a-half-mile walk, I reach the grocery store parking lot, and I stay put at the front entrance staring at my purse. The phone rings. I glance at the caller I.D. to see who it could be. My boyfriend’s picture pops up and I answer. “Hello kitten baby,” he says happily. “Hello handsome,” I tell him in a weak, soft voice. “What’s wrong my love?” he asks me concerned. I was silent for a moment. “I was hungry, so I collected pennies around the house, and I managed to find three dollars,” I say softly. “Baby, where are you sweetheart?” he asks me saddened by the reminder of our situation. “I am in front of Big Saver. I wanted something to eat. Kiwis are on sale, ten for a dollar, and I could have enough for some cup of ramen noodles. At least I hope so…” I mumble and begin to cry. “Baby, don’t cry. I know things are bad right now but I managed to get work today. We’ll have a pay check in a day or so for food. I’m so sorry love,” he says disheartened. “It’s okay… it’s not your fault. We just hit a rough patch but it’s not your fault,” I say wiping tears from my face. I feel embarrassed for crying out in public. I hold on tightly to my purse. This is the only hope we have for today.

“I’ll be home soon love. Get what you can at the store and walk back home carefully,” he says to me in a stronger firm voice. “Okay love,” I tell him while I glance around the parking lot. I prepare myself to ask people for spare change. “I love you sweetheart. I’ll see you soon,” he says and blows me a kiss through the phone. “Bye honey, I love you too,” I tell him and hang up.

Nearby, in the grocery parking lot I finish asking ten people for change. I couldn’t ask more because the rejection made me give up. Only two people of those ten came to my aid. I managed to get 55 cents. I added that to the 45 cents I found on the sidewalk. Finally, I had a hopeful sum of four dollars with my penny rolls. I stare at my palm holding the change. I question whether this would be enough for today. I walk into the store. I quickly find the sign I was looking for, ten kiwis for a dollar it reads, and that was my jackpot. I begin picking twenty kiwis for myself. I pick only the ripe ones. This hunger cannot wait. I walk afterwards to the soup section. I get a pack of cup of noodles. They are on sale, six for a dollar, and I sigh with relief. My heart pounds in my chest. This would be at least something and it is better than nothing. Chris and I can share this. Tonight, we can be full.

Slowly, I pace myself to the express checkout lane, because I am afraid of this change not being enough. I am the only one waiting to be tended for check out. My nerves calm down. I slap my purse and place it on the counter. I pull three rolls of pennies out from it. The mid-twenty-year-old woman with a tan looks at me confused, but she shrugs it off and scans my items, and I realize I came across as rude or angry. I didn’t intend to. I close my eyes and pray it wouldn’t be over what I didn’t have.

“Three dollars and ninety-seven cents is your total. Would you like the items bagged?” she asks. Quickly, I place into her hands three rolls of pennies. The weight leaves my body as I give her the remaining ninety-seven cents. “You do take rolls of pennies, don’t you?” I ask her ashamed as she stares at the rolls of pennies in her hand. She smiles weakly, understanding now why I acted how I did, and says, “Yeah, we do.” Compassion paints onto her face. I pay and walk out of the store with my two bags of small groceries. Mentally, I prepare myself for the walk back home, another mile and a half, but I can do this I thought. I could care less that there wasn’t enough money for a bottle of water. I am happy and hopeful there was enough food for two. I begin my march back home. This time not empty handed.

I arrive home sweaty with my face blushing off rosy heat. My two-month-old Siamese blue-point kitten greets me when I walk into my bedroom. He rubs his face against my legs. He meows and looks at me. “I know what you’re thinking, Kitten. I smell and I’m all icky with sweat huh?” I say putting down the grocery bag on the bed. I pick him up and snuggle him into my face. He licks my nose, without a pause, and continues doing so for another minute. I don’t mind the sandpaper licks.

I get onto my bed, take off and throw my white sandals onto the floor, and sigh, feeling overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to think of this experience yet. It left me wanting to regress back into childhood and be protected by my mother and father. I grab one kiwi from the bag and start peeling the skin. My kitten crawls on my bed and starts licking my toes. I giggle with each lick he gives me. Stress left me as he finished ‘grooming’ me. I begin eating my kiwi feeling relaxed. I drink some water from a cup I left on my nightstand.

“Thank God, we are going to be okay Kitty, at least for now,” I tell him as I finish eating my kiwi. I rest my head on our blue pillow. My kitten wobbles from my toes to me and snuggles underneath my neck. Slowly, he and I, after a long hot summer day drift off into well-earned slumber.

© 2017 Raquel Campos