That’s what Daniel had said the day we went to the courthouse, a sum that seven years ago was a fortune to me and which now was my only lifeline to keep from drowning in this cruel current of life.
The memory of that day returned as vividly as if it were yesterday. It was pouring rain, a curtain of water that seemed to want to wash everything away, but couldn’t cleanse the bitterness from my heart. We had just left the courthouse, the divorce decree still fresh with ink in my hand. Daniel stood there in a black trench coat that fell below his knees, holding a half-sm smoked cigarette. His face was an icy mask, devoid of any emotion. He looked at me, and I will never forget that look. It was a mixture of contempt, cruelty, and something akin to pity for an abandoned animal.
He pulled this card from the inner pocket of his coat. He didn’t hand it to me. He tossed it toward me. The card landed in a puddle of dirty water at my feet. He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the sheet of rain, and said in a frigid voice,
“The pin is your birthday. There’s $10,000 on it. Take it and start your life over. Consider it payment for your youth so you never show your face to me again.”
I stood paralyzed in the rain, the water mixing with the salty tears streaming down my cheeks. I wanted to scream, to pick up that card and throw it in his face, to howl at him that I didn’t need a traitor’s money. But my feet felt like lead, my pride crushed by poverty, hunger, and the dead end of my reality.
In that moment, I bent down and picked up the mud stained card. Not out of greed, but because I wanted to keep it as proof of his cruelty, as fuel to build a better life than his. Daniel saw me stoop for the money and a mocking smile formed on his lips. He turned and walked toward the luxury sedan waiting for him where a young beautiful woman was sitting. His back disappeared into the misty rain, leaving me alone at a crossroads in my life, a cold bank card in my hand.
For seven years, in my most desperate moments, when I had to eat instant ramen for a month straight, or when life knocked me down, I would take out the card, look at it, and put it back. I was afraid that if I spent a single scent, I would have lost. I would become the beggar of his compassion, just as he wanted. But today, I had truly lost. Pride doesn’t pay the bills. Dignity doesn’t buy medicine for my mother. With bitterness, I admitted my crushing defeat. I needed that money to settle my debts. And then I would take a night bus back to my small hometown in Ohio to get away forever from this glittering, deceitful New York City.
The voice from the loudspeaker calling my number brought me back to reality. It was my turn. I took a deep breath, smoothed my messy hair, and walked to window number five, telling myself that as soon as I withdrew the money, everything with Daniel would be over for good.
Behind the bulletproof glass was a very young employee with flawless makeup, bright red lips, and curled eyelashes. She glanced indifferently, almost disdainfully, at my disheveled appearance, my worn out shirt, and the dark circles under my eyes. It was to be expected. In this place that smelled of money, appearance is the first business card people use to gauge the respect you deserve.
Trying to suppress my humiliation, I slid the old card and my driver’s license through the slot in the glass. The employee picked up the card with two fingers, as if she were afraid of catching something from the grimy, worn plastic, and asked in a mechanical, emotionless voice,
“What can I do for you today?”
I swallowed hard. My voice was a whisper, but I tried to make it sound firm. I want to close the account and withdraw all the cash. The girl’s brow furrowed slightly. She probably thought there wouldn’t be enough money on such a shabby card to be worth the trouble of withdrawing it all. Lazily, she swiped the card through the reader, her long fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard.
Suddenly, the tapping stopped. The space around us seemed to freeze. I saw the girl adjust her glasses and lean closer to the computer screen, her eyes wide as saucers. Her expression shifted from initial disdain to astonishment and then to absolute panic. She looked at me, then back at the screen, and her hands began to tremble violently. She stammered, her voice changing completely, becoming terrifyingly respectful.
“Ma’am, Mrs. Laura, please wait just one moment. The system requires a verification.”
With that, without giving me time to react, she jumped up and disappeared through a door behind the counter, leaving me sitting there in utter confusion. My heart was pounding. Was the card blocked? Had Daniel reported it lost long ago? or worse, was the money connected to some illegal case I knew nothing about? A series of terrible scenarios flooded my mind, making me want to get up and run, but my legs were shaking so much I couldn’t move them.
