Fisherman's son

“I don’t have to listen to you, you moegoe,” were the last words he said to me before he left. Our lives were full of happiness, we had money to buy our new house and feed ourselves. I had to go and try to change his mind. He would have never back-talked to me before I intervened. It’s all my fault.
The air stuck to me while cool sweat droplets ran down my face. The dry season took a toll on the trees I usually hid under, escaping from the sweltering heat. Cars sped by me, their loud engines laughing at me. For the third time that morning, a car nicely pulled over to see if I needed help. The thought of jumping into the air conditioned car brought pleasure to me, but I was not helpless. I watched as the health workers strutted by. I could see the dollar signs in their eyes. I looked away in fear they would see me gawking at them.
The cool air inside the Tanzania Employment Services Agency tickled my skin, causing goosebumps to form. I softly placed my crutches on the side of my desk and plopped into my chair. Paper hid the top of my old desk. Once I finished all this work, then I could leave.
***
The check slowly slid across the desk, stopping just before the edge. I rested my arm on the cool wood trying to keep my balance as my other arm pushed the paper deep into my pocket. The corners of my mouth turned upward in a small but needed smile. Jakiya could finally get to school without having to beg for car rides. Every morning when he left worry would strike me. Every day I slouched at my desk wondering if he ever made it to school. He always wanted a bike of his own, a red one to be exact. I wanted him to come pick one out with me but first I needed to get home. The doors slid open with the help of machines. The air slapped m...

... middle of paper ...

... it made me late.
“Asagi, I would like to speak to you in my office,” my boss said to me with a monotonous tone.
“I will be right there, sir,” I uttered.
I rubbed my brow, removing the sweat that appeared. I pushed the chair backwards with my one rugged leg with as much speed as possible. The crutches were in my hands as my arms pushed me up from the low desk seat. My hands slipped on the metal handles, making it difficult to move at my regular speed. My boss held the door open for me. His head reaching the top of my shoulder, but his posture was perfect. The floor creaked as my unsteady foot made it’s way to the chair. Butterflies attacked my stomach and sweat droplets hung from my face.
“I want to make this as simple as possible. You’re fired, Asagi. You were late too much and we can’t have that here. The most willing costumers come in the morning,” he said.