The Realest Ever - By Keith Thomas Walker Page 0,8

stamps,” Aunt Ruth countered. “You got two kids and not a dime in your pocket. They can give you an emergency card the day you walk in there.”

“You knew I didn’t have any money,” Kyra said, careful to keep her tone neutral. If Aunt Ruth put her out, Kyra knew she’d have to take her family to a women’s shelter. She had no other relatives in Overbrook Meadows, and she didn’t have any money to take the Greyhound back to Little Rock.

But returning to Arkansas was not an option. Even a homeless shelter was better than that.

“Yes I knew you didn’t have no money,” Aunt Ruth said, greasy spatula in hand. “But we also talked about getting you on some benefits, until you start working.”

“I said I would go Monday,” Kyra reminded.

“You could’a went yesterday,” Ruth said. “You could’a went the day before that. Hell, you can go today. They got places open for emergencies.”

“I didn’t know it was an emergency,” Kyra said. “You still got a lot of food in your refrigerator.”

As soon as she said it, Kyra wished she hadn’t. Aunt Ruth’s eyes widened.

“That’s my food! I’m on disability. I don’t got enough money to be feeding all of y’all. I said I would give you somewhere to live. I never said I could pay for all the food your kids been eating. If you wanna know the truth, I think you being irresponsible, Kyra, not going to get those food stamps.”

Kyra took a deep breath. Her face reddened, but she managed to maintain her composure. The word irresponsible hurt her more than Ruth knew. Or maybe her aunt did know how often the word was tossed around in Arkansas. Ruth knew about Kat’s father, and she knew about Kyra’s run-in with CPS. Maybe she chose the word irresponsible because she wanted to pour salt on the wound.

In her defense, Kyra thought getting hooked on public assistance in Texas was the irresponsible thing to do. She saw it many times: Young girls realize they can get Medicare, housing and free groceries simply by remaining unemployed and not supported by their children’s father(s). Kyra knew she’d work harder to get a job if she didn’t have too much help along the way, but her aunt had a valid point.

“Do you want to take me to the welfare office today?” she asked with a defeated look in her eyes.

“Naw. We got enough food to make it through the weekend,” Ruth said right away. “It’s gon’ be too damned hot today. And that place is always packed on Saturday. You’ll be in line for hours. But we do need to go first thing Monday morning. I’ll take you then.”

“Okay,” Kyra said.

“Y’all can have that bacon,” Aunt Ruth said, wiping her hands on a wash cloth. “It’s some eggs in the refrigerator, if you wanna cook ’em. You wanna go out tonight? Want me to watch the kids?”

Kyra frowned. “No.”

“Alright,” Ruth said and promptly left the kitchen.

Kyra was left standing there, wondering if that was what this breakfast argument was about. Did Aunt Ruth really just torture two children with the smell of bacon just so she could get Kyra to do her bidding?

Kyra pushed the thought away. When you have nowhere else to go, why burden yourself with complaints about how bad your situation is? It’s better to look on the bright side, like how everyone had a roof over their head last night, and no one in the house was getting high. Plus Kyra could feed her children a hot meal this morning. That was something to be grateful for.

“You want some bacon and eggs?” Kyra called to the living room.

“Yes!” Quinell jumped off the couch and headed her way.

“Hold on, I haven’t made the eggs yet,” Kyra said with a grin. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

By eleven o’clock Kyra had her kids fed and dressed and on the bus stop down the street from Aunt Ruth’s house. Quinell didn’t talk much as they waited for the #8 to round the corner. Kyra hoped he wasn’t getting depressed about their new environment.

“You ready to go back to school on Monday?” she asked him.

Their bus stop didn’t have a roof or clear, plastic walls like the fancy ones downtown. There was just a fiberglass bench that was thankfully beneath a tall pecan tree. The shade it provided was a welcomed blessing. Quinell was busy trying to coax ants into an ant lion’s trap, but he dropped his poking stick