to shift some things, because your voice needs to be heard, Delaroo. Welcome to the House of Representatives.”
He nodded his head with that last statement and made his exit, which was down the opposite side that I entered, which made me think his office was down there.
Wow.
That was weird, but oddly on point. Year 1 and Day 1 of my first time as a representative of the House for the United States, I was excited and thought I did not know all of the trials to come, but I was willing to put in the work to see it through.
…
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Mr. Vega - Prelude
“You live in the clouds, girl,” my mother snapped again. “Your art degree will not do anything. Like I told you six years ago. The agency is hiring, just like they were when I first came over here, eh.”
She sucked her teeth in the way only Caribbean women could, with a roll of her eyes. I could almost mimic it if I wanted to get smacked, and even at the age of twenty-eight, she would, indeed, smack me. At forty-seven, the woman still wouldn’t hesitate to discipline her child.
“Edness will call you so you can get a job.” Her dark but worn eyes leveled on me. Mama spoke to me in a tone that was not compromising but final. “You need a job, eh? Get a job. Art won’t get you a job.”
It would, but she didn’t understand. It would happen with perseverance, consistency, and sometimes, later in life. What my wise mother did know, was that I didn’t have the luxury to sit around and wait for success to come to me. It wouldn’t happen overnight and in any further nights either. I needed a blessed job, and that could happen overnight.
A nanny, though?
I did not look down on the profession, not one bit, because I knew its power. Mom had been one for most of her life for the rich people, and while there were horror stories, she didn’t have many. Well, not recently. She preferred not to do live-in situation since she had children of her own. All of her friends were nannies, and they had crazy stories for days—from bratty ass kids to wandering husbands or wives. The job, for the most part, entailed helping to raise kids, but it could be household management, but at a cost. The working parents did not have a lot of time to do much of anything. Commutes could be from thirty minutes to hours. Hours could range from four to midnight—or for some, weeks of not being around. It was quite interesting, the lives that hired nanny services.
I never cared for why they hired them, but I always wondered what the kids thought.
“Are you listening to me, girl?” my mom was in my face again. “Come from those clouds. Hear me.”
“Mama, I hear you!” I exclaimed. “Ms. Edness is calling, and I’ll go to the agency. I need a job.”
I stood up from the kitchen table in the small Brooklyn apartment. I had lived here all my life with my mom and sister, who moved all the way to Texas after she graduated from college. Cordelia, unlike me, had no tolerance for following in Mama’s footsteps or anyone for that matter. She wanted to get away from the generation of nannies. I did not set out to be a nanny, which is why I went to college. I wanted to have choices, and I loved art. I still do. It brings me peace and a sense of serenity. It’s almost as if anything is possible.
Not today, it wasn’t.
I had been a struggling artist for close to ten years, and the late bloomer of waiting for my career to take off had run out a year ago. I was late starting college, late finishing high school, late to the artistic world, and now, late with the nanny business. I knew what it took to take care of a house since Mama was grooming me since I was five. ‘How to keep a house’ is what she called it—how to take care of one, how to take care of a child. She’d tell me of her stories, the tricks she learned, the types of people she encountered, and how to survive them. She was preparing me every step of the way, so I was confident in