Page 1 of Playing For Keeps

Six hours to go on this wretched Friday. Six hours of emotionally-draining work, a complicated commute, Midol, and a steaming hot shower were all that stood between Farren and the best part of her whole week.

Barely contained dark blonde curls started to slip from the hair tie as she bent over to fasten the kindergartener’s shoes. The waistband of her pants dug uncomfortably into her soft stomach, and she longed for the forgiving leggings the school prohibited. The five-year-old was practically bouncing and ready to race off the second her hands let go of the light-up sneakers.

She’d been asked the same question at least six times by nine AM, despite her morning introduction during circle time.

“Where’s Mrs. Wilson?” they’d chirped.

“What’s a sussitute?” another asked when she’d introduced herself.

“What’s ‘maternity leave’?” a boy missing his two front teeth chimed in, and Farren worked hard to contain the groan that swept through her body at the prospect of explaining it to a bunch of wide-eyed children, who would no doubt share any tidbits they learned with their families. The last thing Farren needed on her first day at a new school was irate parents greeting her the next morning.

“I’m sure she spoke to you all about it. Mrs. Wilson had a baby, so she needs to take care of them until they’re a little bit older. She’s getting to know them, and in the meantime, I’ll be here getting to know all of you!” Farren tried to be peppy. Usually, it wasn’t too much of a stretch for her, but she’d recently finished up her first consistent chunk of subbing for a high school. They’d sucked the life out of her with their relationship drama, hormones, and attitudes so rotten, she’d done some deep breathing so she wouldn’t walk out and not return.

You need the rent money. Farren chanted in her head like a mantra. You need the rent money. She could tinker with her game ideas and pipe dreams in her free time, but without steady cash flow, it didn’t matter. The jagged envelopes of bills sitting on the coffee table came to mind. It was all that kept her going.

Farren filled small empty spaces, she plugged holes, a hermit crab hopping from shell to shell, keeping it warm for the permanent inhabitant, protecting herself in the process. It suited her. It did. Variety was the spice of life, or something, right? This way, she never got too tied down, and she could step out as needed.

She focused her energy on being what the kids in front of her needed: wiping snotty noses, and consoling tiny shaking shoulders. Farren administered band-aids, read stories, and drew shapes on the whiteboard to help them understand math problems.

Although it was draining and temporary, she treasured the feeling she got at the end of the day when one of the children turned around before walking out the door and gifted her with a little “See you tomorrow, Miss Davis!”

When the last child crossed the threshold, and Farren straightened the room back to normalcy, she turned the lights off and sighed.

A bus, the Metro, and two blocks later, Farren walked up the tree-lined street to her apartment, hips aching from standing all day in shoes that offered no arch support or comfort. If this substitute teaching thing was going to be long-term, she’d have to invest in better footwear. If… this was the first consistent job she’d found in a while. There was no if about it.

It made her feel like the associate’s degree she’d muddled through wasn’t a total waste. Her friend’s referral had made all the difference. Thank you, Luis. After weeks of crappy dog-walking jobs waiting for the background checks and wading through interviews, she’d survived her first short-term placement and was onto her next.

Their row houses all looked similar, albeit with color variations between the buildings. The tall concrete steps outside were a bitch and left her feeling far older than her twenty-seven years. She greeted Gary, the neighbor who hung out on his tiny folding chair under a tree out front reading the paper, the same way he did every day. He lifted the rolled-up paper in response, and she pushed the doors open with a huff.

It didn’t help her achiness that the elevator never worked or that mid-September in D.C. was still too damn hot. Skeletons were planted into the mulch beside the stairs, pumpkins hanging out by front doors. They were prepped and ready for Halloween, but it felt slightly ridiculous when the grass was green, and people still wandered around in T-shirts.

Her slightly heeled shoes clacked as she schlepped up the flights up to her home. A trickle of sweat made its way down her spine, droplets collecting on her forehead. God, she couldn’t wait to get out of the Goodwill work clothes and rid herself of the kiddie germs clinging to the fabric. Clicking the lock, her keys jingled as she tossed them into the wooden bowl on the counter near the door. Farren was greeted with a slightly messy apartment, diluted light filtering in through the semi-sheer curtains.

Eventually she’d find time to mop the old wooden floors. It would probably be a good idea to fold up the fuzzy blanket she had bundled on the couch. And pack up the stack of games sitting on the floor. Still, she loved the feeling she got when she walked in after a long day. Cozy, messy and filled with things she loved. So, she would put up with the crappy commute and scrape the money together for rent, because this was her home.

Farren pushed aside the longing that snuck up every now and then, the niggle at the back of her mind reminding her how lonely she was. How aimless. But she was good at distracting herself. Despite the week she’d had, heck the month, it was Friday. Best day of the week and the one time she got to let it all go for a few hours.

She turned the window unit on in her bedroom, frigid air blasting out at her. Farren unbuttoned her blouse, letting the sides flutter as the air rushed over her, goosebumps rising on her skin, the blessed relief of her under-boob sweat finally cooling. If only she could remove them at the end of the day as well, toss them aside like house keys, pounds of weight gone. Maybe then the backache wouldn’t be as bad.

Discarded clothes sat in a sad puddle on the floor, yet another thing she’d have to deal with later. For now, all she wanted was to be clean. Farren couldn’t stand the sticky feeling of sweat clinging to her skin. She stood under the punishing spray of her shower, scorching water washing the last of her fatigue down the drain. She shrugged the stress of the day off, relishing the prospect of a well-earned weekend and the possibilities it held.

A shrill ringing cut through the steam of the shower, one of the few pre-programmed numbers to ring through her do-not-disturb, and Farren raced to her cell phone. She dug through where she’d tossed it onto the sheets and raised the screen to her ear before the call could drop, not bothering to double check the name.

“Hey!” she greeted, a little breathless.

“Hey, are you bringing ‘Here to Slay’ tonight?” Corinne’s voice came through sounding frazzled as usual, clinking glasses and crashing sounds in the background. It was always chaotic on Corinne’s end and Farren assumed she was unpacking the dishwasher while trying to keep Alison occupied. Subbing was worth it when it kept Farren off of Corinne’s couch. The last thing Corinne needed was another stressor.

“I hadn’t planned on it, but I can. Any other games you need me to bring?” Farren trapped the phone between her cheek and her shoulder, trying to keep it in place while she wrapped a towel around her dripping body, tucking the cotton into itself under her arm.

“Just that, Luis has a friend coming by who’s really into D&D, and we were trying to come up with games with similar theming or such to make it a more enjoyable experience for them.” Corinne’s daughter, somewhere nearby the phone, let out a squeal and giggle which let Farren know she was up to no good.

“Okay, I can pack that. Tell Allie-Cat I say hi!” Farren tried and failed to keep the smile from her face as she listened to Corinne and Luis try to corral the feisty four-year-old.

“Auntie Farren says hello,”—more rustling and a dull thud as the phone was no doubt tossed onto the first soft surface. “Alison. Alison, get back here! Alison! You need to get your pants on before your grandmother gets here. Come on, do it for your abuela.”

She must have acquiesced because a few seconds later a slightly breathless Corinne was back on the phone. “Sorry about that, she’s a handful.” The words ended in a sigh and Farren could relate after the day she had with the kindergarteners, though thankfully no one there shucked their pants and ran around bare-assed.

“This is what I get for not naming her after Luis’s grandmother. My mother-in-law still gives me side-eye every time we call her Allie. She insists on calling her by her middle name, and loves to mutter about family and tradition.” Corinne’s voice was a near-whisper, the cultural differences between Corinne and her in-laws something Farren was familiar with after the last five years of listening to their family squabbles. It made something in Farren ache when she thought of how far away her own family was, and not just in miles.

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