Page 2 of A Minute Past Midnight

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Somewhere along the way, struggling stopped feeling temporary. It started feeling like my damn name, and this morning, Mr. Harris had come knocking to remind me.

I stood from the full-sized mattress and trotted over to the door. I sighed heavily and swung it open.

“Mr. Harris. I’m aware that I owe you partial rent from last month and this month’s rent. I am asking you to bear with me. I will have all of your money before the end of the week.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Ms. Sidora. You can’t just pay me when you feel like it or when it’s convenient for you! I have bills to pay of my own, and this apartment building doesn’t come cheap!”

“I understand that⁠—”

“You don’t! I have given you enough grace. Either you have my money by Monday, or the sheriffs will be here to escort you out. I’m sick of your shenanigans. I won’t tolerate your bullshit, because you can’t use your looks to pay your damn bills!”

“You don’t have to be fucking rude. The paint is chipping off the walls, the lights blink on and off all day, and these hallways reek of dirt and despair. Yet, you charge me nine hundred dollars a month for a studio apartment that feels like a fucking shoebox!

“While I don’t say anything because I’d rather be here than on the streets, I won’t tolerate the disrespect when you’re basically robbing the rest of these tenants and me in this place. Please get away from my door. I’ll have your money on Monday!” I slammed the door in his face, went over to my stool in my little corner, and plopped down.

I stared at the designs in front of me.

My dream stared back at me, . . . mocking me as if telling me to wake up and smell reality.

When I left home, my father told me he would not support my decision to leave, therefore making it clear that he would not help me if I needed it. My mother, Gilliana, would send me a few dollars on occasion, but she stood by my father most of the time. It really hurt my feelings that they weren’t supportive of me finding a career in what I loved.

So much so, I felt the sting of pain behind my eyes but quickly shook it off.

“No. You will not cry. You will not feel defeated. You came here to follow your dreams, and now you will make them a reality. Get your shit together. If a racist, manipulative tyrant can become president, you can be the interior designer you’ve always wanted to be.”

I stood from the stool, looked at the beautiful home I designed, then went into my bathroom to shower and start my day.

After showering, I slipped on some joggers, a tank, and my Reebok Classics. Since I didn’t have to slave for pennies this weekend, I had time to go to the local grocery store and grab a few things for dinner tonight.

I grabbed my phone, headphones, and keys, then walked out of the door.

As I locked up, I saw Mrs. Gloria struggling to walk up the flight of stairs and hurried toward her.

“Hey, Mrs. G. Let me help you,” I said, reaching for the bags in her left hand.

“Oh, thank you, sweetie.”

“No problem.”

“I keep telling that slumlord Harris to get that elevator going, or at least move me to a unit on the first floor. I swear, with the amount of money we pay, we shouldn't have to deal with crap like this.”

“You ain't said nothing but the truth, Mrs. G.”

“Don’t I know it.” She chuckled lightly as I helped her up the rest of the stairs. Mrs. Gloria was the only person in this building that I spoke to, aside from Mya who lived down the hall. Mya was hardly ever home, but every time she saw me, she would always speak to me as if we were friends.

I wasn't the standoffish type, but I tried to stay to myself because I didn't want people in my business. She seemed bougie—too bougie to be living in this raggedy place, but I digress.

We arrived at her unit that was directly across from me, and she unlocked the door. Mrs. G’s home always smelled like pinewood and was very neat. I had been over to her place many times since she invited me to dinner. Those were times I appreciated since my fridge stayed on empty most of the time.

I walked into the kitchen behind her and set the groceries on the counter.

“Thank you, sweetheart. My grandson would usually take me to the market, but he doesn't get back in town until tonight. I needed to get some groceries and play my numbers.”

“You're welcome, Mrs. G. You could have come and asked me. I would have gone for you. I’m headed there now.”

“It was too early. I didn't want to bother you, baby.”

“It’s no bother at all. You’ve looked out for me on plenty of occasions. I’ll never mind doing anything for you.”