55. Hungry games

I wait by the large tree for 90 minutes. I finally see Mary’s truck, frantically making its way around the marching field. I stand up so she can see me. She barely stops her car and motions me to get in. I jump in and she quickly takes off. “Sorry, I couldn’t get here faster,” she looks stressed out. Stress is literally oozing out of her skin, out of her pores, out of her being. It makes the energy between the two of us tense and I feel uncomfortable. She doesn’t speak and I don’t want to poke the Mary-bear either. We make it home and as we park the car, I see that Aaron and Dylan are waiting for us in the driveway.

Mary finally speaks. 

“Jarka, I need you to take care of the boys,” she commands.

Oh no. I was hoping to read my American history textbook. And I am still hungry. 

I get out of her truck and reluctantly tell the boys to follow me to my room. We play for the rest of the day, until it’s dark outside, until I am about to pass out. Mary finally claims the boys for the night and I am free. It’s 9pm.  

I creep into the kitchen. I must eat. I have only had an apple today. I am so hungry that I am actually not even hungry anymore. My numb stomach doesn’t seem to register that I actually still need food, I guess. The kitchen is all clean for the night. I open the fridge and I open the pantry. I grab a piece of yucky American bread, a candy bar, and another apple. I find a bagel and grab that too. Maybe I can save it for tomorrow. Wait, let’s make it two bagels. Ok, that’s better. Tomorrow will be another long day and I can’t starve like this again. I carry my loot  into my room and stuff my face with the food. I eat it all. I suppose I was still hungry after all. I end up eating my tomorrow’s ration as well. Sigh. I will leave tomorrow’s problems for tomorrow, I decide. It will be a new day, a new scavenger hunt for food.

In the morning, I manage to sneak out a poptart from the kitchen and I eat it in the car on the way to school. With all the morning commotion, with busy Mary and her nursing home residents, I am not able to find anything else. Aaron Sr. drops me off at school with the same instructions as yesterday. To call them when I finish. 

Today, I have a voice group class with Dr Jones and I am a few minutes early. The classroom door is locked and no one is there but I see a list of attending students taped to the door. It’s about 10 students long and 9 of them probably know how to sing. The last one is me. I can play the piano but I can’t sing! I am so nervous. I scan the list again and at the very bottom I see a familiar name. John Woody. Ok, ok, I am relieved. I can do this. There is at least one person I know. 

Whew, the class is actually not that bad. When we finish, John follows me into one of the piano practice rooms. He is so excited and has many questions about me and the piano, what and how much I practice, life in Europe, life in Slovakia. 

“I love foreign people. They are so much more interesting. Not like boring clueless Americans.” He claims. 

John talks a lot. This guy has something to say about anything and everything. I don’t mind, except he talks so much that I have a very difficult time participating in our conversations. Yes, I am much better speaking English now but I still have limits. By the time I figure out what John is talking about and before I even prepare my response, he is already talking about something else. Which is everything. He talks about trees. Why is that tree over there so large? Hm. I don’t know? Why did they put a stop sign right there? It’s not the right place. What are the best piano brands? Because the one in this practice room truly sucks. And he talks. And talks. And talks some more. And I listen. 

I still enjoy his company, even though sometimes I feel I am not able to match his speed and energy. But he is enthusiastic about piano and about my presence. I am sure soon I will be able to have a conversation with him too. Maybe we can talk about things other than wrongly placed stop signs and large trees.

“You want to go to the canteen? I am hungry,” he asks me.

“Ok, sure,” I answer. I have a little time before my next class.

We find our seats and John buys himself a sandwich. My stomach is churning with hunger and announcing its presence. I have 75 cents in my pocket. Somehow, my available money dwindled down to nothing. Less than a dollar. That’s pitiful. Essentials and other important things depleted all the little cash I had. I fish out three quarters out of my pocket and realize that I have enough for a drink from a soda machine. I spend 50 cents and get myself some Sprite. I sit back down with John and try my hardest not to look at his sandwich. 

“Are you not going to eat?” He asks me.

“I am not hungry,” I lie. But the truth is I want to snatch that sandwich out of his hands and fill up my stomach with nutrients. I sip on my Sprite instead. Hopefully that will satisfy my hunger and my stomach will shut up soon. 

However, the growling becomes louder and louder, especially when I am sitting in my next class. I suck my stomach in to make my muscles tight. It quiets it down just a little bit but I have to repeat it over and over. I guess it’s a good abdominal workout. I don’t want people around me to hear my hunger. It’s embarrassing. Sucking my stomach in is my new strategy to mask the noise. After a while, my body finally gets a clue and is quiet again. There you go. Who needs food?

One more task on my list is to go meet my international student counselor. I find his office quickly. His name is Benjamin. I knock on his open door and he lifts his head up from the papers scattered on his desk. 

I am surprised how young he is. Perhaps early 30s, I am guessing. When he lifts his head and looks at me, I realize that he is actually very handsome. Blond hair. Blue eyes? I can’t tell. I almost wish my counselor was an old wrinkly lady rather than a young handsome man, because all of a sudden I don’t know why I am here.

“Hi,” I blurt out.

Benjamin smiles and thankfully, he approaches me first,” 

“Hi, are you Jarka? You are the student from Slovakia? Here, sit!” He points at a beautiful leather couch and I plop myself down, my American history textbook next to me. 

“I went through your files. There are a few things we need to get started on.” To my relief, he starts talking and I can focus on something else, like my visa situation. 

“We will need to get your status adjusted. Also, you will need to get your Social security number. That should probably be our priority. Then you can get a job on campus.”

“Thank you so much,” I reply. “What do I need to do to get the process started?” I ask. 

“Hmm,” Benjamin looks at me. “I am not quite sure yet. But I will find out. Why don’t you come by in a couple of days and I will make a plan. We will probably need to go to the Social Security Administration office with your paperwork. I need to figure out what you need first.”

“Ok, thank you, I appreciate your help.” I am trying to be polite. But Benjamin just smiles, shakes my hand and says “Call me, Ben. Looks like we will be spending some time together.”

“Ok, Ben. See you later!” I smile.

Why does he have to be so cute? 

The rest of my second school day closely mirrors day one. I attempt to read the American history material, while still understanding only about half of the text. I am hungry. At the end of the day I call Mary who once again forgets to pick me up. I wait for a long time until it’s actually Aaron Sr. who drives up to the big tree to get me. I get home and little Dylan and little Aaron are ready to play for the rest of the evening. I am exhausted, tired, depleted. It’s only been two days of school. 4 more years to go.