Iris Kincaid [Kincaid - The Witch’s Homecoming

Thirty is a big birthday. Some people try to pull off the nonchalant act, but its an undeniable milestone. Beryl Shimmer had long anticipated the day with a tingle of expectation, as well as more than a few ounces of self-recrimination. The last decade of her life had been filled with mediocre accomplishments, deferred dreams, and more recently, an extended period of unemployment and a dependence on her live-in boyfriend that went from humbling to catastrophic. They had just broken up in a loud and explosive fashion, and Beryl was to celebrate her thirtieth birthday by moving into her 2014 Ford Taurus.

It was a nice enough car, but moving into a small vehicle is an irrefutable indicator of lifes greatest epic fail.

As Beryl loaded the car in anger and confusion, it had not yet dawned on her that she would actually be sleeping in the vehicle. If it had, she would have left most of her things behind, because even with the back seats folded down, there was simply no room in the back for both her own outstretched body and a dozen boxes. It only took one night of trying to sleep in the front seat, and realizing that she truly had nowhere to go, to realize that she had to start jettisoning several boxes in the back to secure some kind of sleeping area for herself.

There was no family home to return to. Her foster parents had kicked her out on her eighteenth birthday, just as soon as they knew that no more checks would be coming from the state. Yet another milestone birthday that thoroughly sucked.

Her friends from high school were now scattered all over the globe, not to mention that she had lost touch long ago with virtually all of them. Most of them had gone on to college and serious adultingmarriage, a home, family. They were making contributions to the world, a painful and stark contrast to her own unimpressive existence. No, she could not show up a pathetic beggar on anyone's doorstep. The car was a more appealing alternative.

And so began the most precarious existence Beryl could ever have imagined for herself. She spent several nights dodging Bay Area police officers who did not appreciate homeless women sullying the appearance of respectable neighborhoods by sleeping in parked vehicles.

Beryl soon discovered her two safe placesthe public library by day and a large casino parking lot by night. The library represented comforting familiarity as it had been one of her favorite places even back in better times. Now it provided protection against the elements and thousands of volumes of distraction to fill her mind and crowd out her wretched state of affairs.

At the library, she could try to soften her biggest regretthat she had never been able to fulfill her dream of going to college. But here, she could try to approximate a college course of study for herself, poring over volumes in science, chemistry, physics, history, and literature. It was a self-guided education that would never result in a diploma on the wall but would still give her a small measure of satisfaction. She could read David Copperfield and A Tale of Two Cities and absorb the genius of Dickens on her own.

The casino was a lucky find. Since Beryl had never actually been to a casino outside of Vegas, she might never have discovered it, save for a sheepish online inquiry, Where is the best place for a homeless person to park their car? Why, at a casino, where dozens of cars are parked from late evening to early morning as the owners try to recoup the previous days losses.

Here was a place where a person sleeping in her car was nothing unusual, and the security guards just sized Beryl up as another hopeless gambler, or perhaps that she was waiting on a significant other who was glued to the roulette wheel. In any case, it was a location that provided late-evening and early-morning access to a bathroomone of her biggest problems solved.

As for money, she had precious littleonly a couple of hundred dollars in savings. It was needed for both food and gasoline. Food could often be gotten for free, sometimes from the food pantries, sometimes scooped up from the table of a sidewalk caf after the customers had just left and the remains of their meal had not yet been cleared away. Beryl had never imagined herself engaged in such an activity. But hunger gives you all the imagination you need, and she became a tolerably accomplished scavenger. A daily visit to the local food kitchen was doable. Mortifying, but doable.

And of course, there was the never-ending job hunt. After two full years of unemployment, Beryl had gotten so discouraged after the first year that her efforts during the second year had become rather lackluster, reinforced by Dougs assessment that she just wasnt a very good fit with the local job market. But now the job hunt had resumed with a frantic urgency.

She had access to library internet and printers. Looking for work was not only a logical necessity. It also helped to fill her days with some kind of meaning. But she kept getting rejected and fired from one menial job after another. She was not only denied her highest hopes, but her lowest as well.

One night, bleary-eyed, she took a good, hard look in the casino bathrooms mirror.

The clothes she wore were clean, owing to a monthly trip to the laundromat that she insisted on spending some of her final dollars on. But they were wrinkled, never getting a chance to be hung or ironed, and aside from the special efforts she made for interviews, Beryl had the look of someone who no longer cared about her appearance.

Her long dark hair was disheveled, her expression weary and defeated. Her bright green eyes retained their glow. Everyone always commented on them. But what good are lovely eyes? They neither provide work nor avert tragedy.

A bleached blonde woman in her mid-sixties emerged from one of the stalls and started washing her hands. The older woman looked sideways at Beryls forlorn figure and nodded sympathetically.

You look like you've lost everything. Am I right?

Beryl nodded imperceptibly. Everything .

Try to stay out of this place for a full week. I know it's hard. I've got problems with that myself. But sometimes, you have to take a step back. Take your next paycheck and first thing you do is pay all your bills. Be grateful that you have a roof over your head. Cause not everyone does. Especially some of us players. Go take a nice hot bubble bath. In the morning, you'll be fit as a fiddle.

This kind woman could not have been more mistaken about Beryls resources. But all she could do was to feign gratitude at the well-intentioned advice.

Get some sleep now, the woman ordered as she headed for the door.

Ha. If only the worst thing Beryl had to worry about was a bad night of gambling. She returned her harsh gaze to the mirror.

This was not who she was supposed to have been. This was not what her life was supposed to be like. Her old dreams now taunted her. A college chemistry degree. Getting a job as a pharmacist. Oh, and once upon a time, she had dreamed even bigger... to become a medical researcher. Realistically, curing cancer and other terrible diseases required a level of genius that she was not deluded enough to claim. But a pharmacist... that felt like a goal that had been within reach. It required meticulous attention to detail and strong chemistry skills, and it provided a critical service, helping people heal and feel better. It would have been perfect.