Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
I begin to plead with the bill collector.
“Is there a way you could give me a little bit more time? I need my Civic to get to my job teaching yoga in New Canaan. I’ll only fall behind on more bills if you take it away from me, so you can see that I’m in somewhat of a bind.”
He’s silent for a moment before speaking.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not the right person to talk to about that. I represent the repo company, and we get our instructions from the lender. You’ll have to take it up with your bank.”
I snort. I can’t believe how mean this man is being! He must be downright heartless because this is definitely in his power. He’s the one coming to take my car! How can he sleep at night kicking people who are already down?
“Sir, forgive me but you certainly can’t mean that.” I’m choking back tears by this point. “You can help me. I know you can.” But instead of answering, the man merely hangs up, which somehow, makes me feel even worse. I wish he’d negotiated, but evidently, I’m not even worth that effort.
Pulling my knees tight into my chest, I wrack my brain for a solution to this problem. If my car is taken from me, my financial problems will only escalate. I’ll have to take public transportation to my job in New Canaan, which means hours on the train. I won’t be able to work as much, either as a yoga teacher or as an escort, which means less money. It feels like I’m going deeper into the hole, and I burrow my face into my knees, sobbing heavily.
What do I do now? That asshole Justin, or whatever his name was, wouldn’t help, and now, I’m on my own.
2
Marley
I jolt awake with a start. Today, the repo man comes and my eyes feel hot and heavy from the tears I’ve been crying. I pull the pillow out from beneath my worried head and clutch it tightly over my face, letting out a long bellow of desperation. Maybe I should just stay in bed all day.
Yeah, but that doesn’t mean your problems will go away, the voice in my head admonishes. It’s right. With heavy legs, I reluctantly swing my body up and over so that I am sitting stooped on the edge of the mattress. Then, I let out an exaggerated sigh and trudge to the kitchen for coffee.
Noon comes faster than I anticipate. I usually spend my mornings stretching and going over the sequences for my yoga classes later in the week. It’s important to be prepared, and usually, I take my time going through each pose, being sure to find exactly the right way to describe what the body should be doing and feeling. I work out modifications for students with injuries and other limitations. But this morning, things are different. The repo man is coming, and I can’t concentrate. Instead, I pace before the window, full coffee cup in hand, waiting anxiously for his arrival.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Oh no, he’s here! Startled, my coffee sloshes up over the rim of the mug and it burns. I clasp my free hand over my mouth, trying to conceal my small squeal. But then an idea strikes: I’m just not going to answer the door. Simple as that. I’ll pretend I’m not home, and then the repo man will go away. Yes, he’ll probably pound on the door and holler and hoot, but what’s he going to do without my car keys?
This is a great plan, I convince myself. Plus, it’s not like I’m stealing. Once I’ve saved up enough, I’ll catch up on my payments and the lender will back off. Maybe even my credit will be restored!
There’s another pound at the door, and as quietly as possible, I set my coffee mug down on the side table by the window. I begin to carefully tip-toe back towards the bedroom, out of ear shot. Once I’ve turned the corner to my room, I drop to the floor, leaning up against the wall with my knees to my chest, barely breathing.
Unfortunately, the repo man’s not so easy to fool.
“Ms. Magnus, I know you’re home. I’ve already located your vehicle on the next street over.” I recognize his voice as the man from the phone call yesterday. “I just want to be clear with you, I don’t need you present to repossess the car. Coming to the door like this is really just a courtesy.”
His words cut through me like a knife. A courtesy? That’s one way to put it. More like snatch and go, in my opinion. Sudden anger races through my veins, and I realize that he probably doesn’t even need my car keys. He’s probably an expert thief and knows how to steal my vehicle illegally.