Of course I understand. I’ll put on an exemplary show, I’ll play the part well; a well-behaved teenager whose world has just come crashing down

“O
f course,” I say. I smile and nod, and I smile and nod some more until I reach the staircase where I bolt up the steps to my bedroom.

Of course I understand. I’ll put on an exemplary show, I’ll play the part well; a well-behaved teenager whose world has just come crashing down.

I had asked for money to buy new clothes for the coming year. It had never been an issue, but now it was.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” Mommy had said very quietly, and I had felt chills tingle up my spine, tickling my senses.

I kick off my shoes and allow myself the liberty of self-pity. Who would have thought? Who would have believed that living a life of comfort could end so quickly, so ruthlessly, without giving me a chance to say goodbye?

Abba is out of a job. Just like that. Goodbye new backpack, new school supplies, new hairclips, new shoes. Goodbye exciting trips, ice-cream parties and malls.

Oh, where had I been? Oblivious to the world around me. I had been so busy hanging out with my friends. How had I not seen Abba’s gray beard start to turn white? The hushed conversations behind the study door, the dark circles under Mommy’s eyes? Come to think of it, when was the last time Mommy had gone on a shopping spree? Where was I, pampered little girl, so involved in the trivialities of teenagehood that I was oblivious to everything around me?

I pull at my hair, willing myself to comprehend, to grasp the severity of the situation. Abba is unemployed, out of work, laid off. No more money trickling in to pay for my every need and whim. No more money for me and my friends to go out for lunch at Avi’s Pizza every Sunday. No more trinkets and no more splurging.

I feel the heat creeping up, my face is sweaty. It’s stifling hot in here and the air conditioner is set high. I need a fruit shake, an iced coffee, a razzle; something to calm me. But these things cost money — money that we don’t have. I settle for a glass of water; at least sink water is still free. I’m going to have to prioritize, to distinguish my needs from my wants. I’m going to have to start learning the ABC’s of life.

“So, we’re leaving at about 4:00, is that fine with you?” I’m so absorbed in my thoughts, I don’t even realize that my cell phone rang, never mind that I had answered the call.

“Uh, where are we going?” I ask. My words come out strange, alien even to my own ears.

“Earth to Shaina! Don’t you remember? We’re going to Lord & Taylor to buy new school bags. I’m just finalizing a time. So what do you say? Can my mother pick you up at 4:00?”

I freeze. Going to Lord & Taylor means shopping, shopping means money, green dollar bills. Money which we don’t have. How ironic, what used to be a magic wand that wiped away my problems is now the very cause of my troubles.