is their final notice.
I have been seeing their emails, but I haven't logged in to check the balance. Here, I see it in black and white.
“Wow, you're that much behind,” Mom says, leaning over. I pull the paper to my chest to try to hide it from her, but it's too late.
“Don't be like that,” Mom says.
I exhale slowly and put the paper back on the table.
“I don't have any money to pay for this,” I say.
“You'll figure it out.”
My eyes flash red.
“What makes you so sure?” I ask through my teeth.
“You always do. You’re a good girl.”
I know that she's trying to be encouraging, but it sounds patronizing. It sounds like she doesn't realize that I have a real problem.
“You know, you always say that. You always think that no matter what happens, Isabelle will just figure it out. That's a lot of pressure on me. I don't have it altogether. I took out most of my savings and the kidnappers took most of it. Plus, you still owe another ten grand. I can't pay my student loans, I can't pay your debt, and in a few months, I probably won't be able to afford this mortgage.”
“Listen, I know that you have already done so much for me and I appreciate all of it. I'm going to try to figure something out.”
“Thanks,” I say without too much enthusiasm.
She doesn't have anywhere to live, let alone a way to make any of these payments.
The only option that I have is to dial the 800 number, stay on the line for an hour until a customer service representative comes on, and plead with them to give me some sort of break.
“See, that's something,” Mom says. “I knew you’d think of a way.”
I shake my head and walk away in anger.
She doesn't get it.
Half an hour ago, I thought that she understood, but now it's like we are talking two different languages.
It takes me about two hours on the phone to get everything sorted out and get my payment deferred by a month. I let out a brief sigh of relief, but I know that this is not enough. It's hardly anything.
The interest is still accruing, but at least they won't be sending my account to collections and ruining my credit. So, I guess it's something.
“You know,” Mom says that evening while I cook some pasta on the stove. “I've wracked up credit card debt with my gambling and shopping addiction and I've known many others who’ve done the same. We've all managed to declare bankruptcy to try to start with a clean slate. Have you ever thought about that?”
I look at her and then realize that she actually doesn't know. She's not just being facetious.
“I can't do that,” I say.
“Yes, I know that it will be really hard. You have to build up your credit again and you won't be able to get credit cards for a while, but it may be a solution, especially since you have a job.”
“No, you don't understand,” I say, shaking my head. “People with student loan debt don't have the right to declare bankruptcy.”
“What are you talking about?” Mom asks.
I shrug.
It's the whole problem.
Everyone else has the right to declare bankruptcy: all of the shopaholics, gambling addicts, and businesses that can't manage a profit.
People who try to get ahead and get an education, they’re stuck with it. You sign those papers when you're eighteen and you'll never be able to get out of paying a cent for the rest of your life.
We eat dinner while watching television and don’t talk much. It wasn’t a particularly busy day, but I still feel completely drained and exhausted.
I know that one of these days, I have to figure out what I'm going to do next with my life or how I'm going to get back to at least what I had before, but that's not going to be today.
Right now, I'm just trying to survive minute by minute and not drown underneath all of the worries and the disappointments of what could have been.
When I pour myself a second glass of wine and get a few trivia questions right on the British trivia show Mom likes to watch, I start to feel a little bit better. The comedians make jokes and I even crack a smile.
The seventh question in the round is about the Tudors and neither of us are exactly an expert on English history. I grab my phone to look it up and that's when I