The Cardboard Sign: Laura's View: The Cardboard Sign, #2

By K.Y. Thompson

Homeless?  This can't be true! Laura discovered at an early age that life can change in an instant. From Miss Popularity to the girl in the background, Laura finally views people for what really counts. The only person in her corner is her mother. She vows to be the rock her mother needs. Will life ever be the same again? Read The Cardboard Sign: Laura's View to discover a lesson that takes some people years to fully grasp.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.Y. Thompson
• Release date: Aug 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201398255

K.Y. Thompson

K.Y. Thompson, a native of North Carolina, wrote her first story and at that moment discovered writing was a creative outlet. She grew up writing tons of stories and reading all genres. With a Master’s degree from Southern New Hampshire University, Kenya continued to perfect her craft.  She aims to inspire others to explore their passions and live life to the fullest.  When not reading or writing, Kenya enjoys art projects, spending time with family and friends, good food, and lots of laughter.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and not to be thought as real people or situations. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, entities, and/or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Spring 2013

THE BEGINNING

I remember the way things used to be, and it was not perfect, but it certainly was not like this. Homeless. My mom and I are homeless; I never imagined our life would ever be this way. For as long as I can remember, it has always been just my mom and me. I had a dad, but he passed away when I was just two years old. We had his pictures displayed throughout our house. I only know what my mom and other family members have told me about him. So yeah, it has always been just my mom and me.  

Before our life changed for the worst, I was a social butterfly at school. I would sign up for any club because I liked being around people, and people like being around me too. We had a nice car, a decent house, and plenty of pretty clothes. After our life changed, my mom told me to write down my thoughts and that I did not have to show anyone what I wrote if I did not want to if that was my choice. This is how I began journaling.

Right before life became difficult, Mom worked a ton of hours at her job at the manufacturing plant, and the work was becoming unbearable. Her boss did not care what anyone had going on at home, just demanded the work get done, and it did not matter how long it took either. A few months before we became homeless, mom got hurt at work really bad and had to be out on sick leave for six weeks. There was a chemical spill at the manufacturing plant, and some of the chemicals spilled all over Mom’s legs. When she went back to work, her boss made life hard for her, and my mom got fired from her job of twelve years. So, mom was unemployed, with a new disability. A terrible life change she got trying to please a boss that did not care anything about her. Some days Mom would cry from the pain in her legs, but she would dry her eyes if I walked into the room.

Even though Mom did not have a job, everything else seemed to be okay, and then one day, the car people came in the middle of the night and took our car back to the car dealership. I later found out this was called being repossessed. I thought the car was stolen, but Mom quickly informed me the car was not stolen. Good thing I did not dial the police. The phone was already in my hand, and I was ready to hit those numbers. We would have been so embarrassed if the police arrived only to find out Mom lost her job. Things changed quickly after that. We took the city bus, and when the money got low, we walked everywhere. Despite Mom’s injuries, we still had to walk.

One night, Mom and I had a girls’ night where we watched old horror movies and ate lots of junk food. Mom was cooking a roast in the crockpot, and we had candles lit because the candles made the house smell delicious. We fell asleep in a junk food coma. Somehow one of the candle jars broke and fell over on the floor. I woke up to the fire alarm screeching, and mom was screaming at me to get up! Mom and I ran around the house trying to put the fire out, but nothing worked. The neighbors saw the blaze and called the fire department. Just like that, our entire house was gone, and life would not be the same.

P.S. Our house fire made the front-page news: Woman and Child Lose Everything in Fire.

Notebook Entry #1

No one wants us around. Yeah, sure, people say they welcome us with open arms. Well, that is what they say to our face, but no one really means it. We first moved in with Mom's cousin Kerry because Kerry lived closest to our now burned house. We lived with Kerry for three weeks, and then she asked mom when the insurance policy would payout and if Mom could give her some money. Mom told Kerry that the house insurance lapsed when Mom lost her job, and there is no money to give out. Kerry did not like that answer, and she and Mom started fussing a lot. The next thing I know, my Aunt Henrietta came to pick us up from Kerry’s house; No warning at all. She just said Kerry could not let us stay with her anymore. 

Mom and I left the city we had lived in our entire life and moved to a new city, forty miles away. We lived with Aunt Henrietta for about two months, and things were tense there too. Mom tried to find a job, but her disability kept her from landing one. She always received the I will call you response from companies. Aunt Henrietta has two young kids. Her husband, Uncle Ralph, claimed Mom and I were in the way. I would hear Aunt Henrietta and Uncle Ralph fussing about us. Well... Aunt Henrietta cried and told Mom we had to go because she had to save her marriage. Just like that, we were on our own. We packed everything we had into two black trash bags. I also had my school backpack. Mom and I were dropped off at the shelter, and Aunt Henrietta said she would pray for us to get back on our feet. Yep. That is how we ended up here, at the shelter and homeless.

Summer 2013

NOTEBOOK ENTRY #2

The first day at Harrison Middle School was scary. This would be my first time attending a new school as a homeless student. Would I tell people that I lived in a shelter? How would that work out? Would I get picked on and teased? No clue. Mom advised me not to offer too much information and to answer all personal questions vaguely. So, that is what I did. Other than my name, I did not reveal too much information about myself to my classmates. Thankfully, my teachers did not really ask any personal questions. By the end of the first day of school, I had a ton of paperwork for Mom to complete. I am worried. Mom and I might get separated once people know our address, the shelter. 

On the second day of school, I handed the school student paperwork back to my homeroom teacher. I was so afraid he recognized the address, but Mr. Bowing took the paperwork and acted as if nothing was out of the norm. Whew! I took my seat in the back of the class and opened the mystery book I was currently reading. On the first day of school, Mr. Bowing allowed us to pick our own seats, and I chose the seat in the back right corner of the classroom. I did not want to stick out too much. My desk is near the window. I can easily blend into the background and stare out of the window while the rest of the students flap their gums.

It was only the second day of school, and the students in my classroom already noticed my shabby clothes. Everyone knows the first week of school is the time to sport your new clothes. It was easy to tell my clothes were not new. My classmates kept looking at my shoes. I wore a pair of shoes Aunt Henrietta outgrew. They are not pretty, but at least my shoes fit.

After our house burned down, I hit a growth spurt, and a lot of my clothes and shoes we salvaged no longer fit. Mom promises when we get some money, she will buy me new clothes and shoes. She cries a lot, and I try not to stress her about what I do not have. I sit in the back of the class and place my book bag on top of my shoes. It is a good thing my book bag is a solid black color, nothing too outrageous, and blends in with the crowd.

In a way, I am glad Mom and I were tossed into another city where we do not know anyone. Once everyone was made aware of the fire, people viewed the two of us as charity cases. No one talked to me anymore about regular stuff, only the fire and how it made me feel. Mom’s former coworkers found out about the fire and donated some items to us, but through all of the moves, we do not have most of that stuff anymore. We only have what we could fit into the two black trash bags. Packing your belongings into trash bags is embarrassing, but Mom said it will not be like this forever.

I hate gym class already. The students must change into our school provided gym clothes. My sneakers are highlighted in gym class more than anywhere else. With everyone having on the same gym uniform, my old, tattered shoes stick out like a sore thumb. The girls in class ask me all types of invasive questions about my shoes and why my sneakers look like last year. I told them to mind their business. There was no need for me to respond. After class, I heard their sneers and mean comments. I now know not to