Cookie Magic

The bank teller called my name just as I reached the sidewalk. I’d trudged over there on my lunch hour because I really needed some cash, and was about to return to work when she stopped me.

“I’m sorry,” she said when I answered her summons. “You don’t have enough funds in your account to cover this.” She was holding the check I’d just written. It was February of 1983, my first year in Seattle.

“What?” I couldn’t believe it. I pulled my checkbook out of my purse to look at the balance, feeling like a second grader who’s been caught stealing lollipops.

“Come inside,” she said. “We’ll figure it out.”

I followed her back into the bank, wondering if I had a neon sign saying “Overdrawn” emblazoned on my back. After we’d conferred, I could see I’d made a simple error in subtraction, leading me to think I had $100 more in my account than I did. I was sure everyone was looking at me as I opened my wallet and handed the teller the money I’d so recently received. Payday was coming soon, but still…. I slunk out of the bank with my head down.

That night at home I faced facts: I couldn’t afford the apartment where I was living. In fact, the only way I could afford to live anywhere in Seattle other than a garage would be to share it with someone else. Back in the Midwest, I’d lived alone quite comfortably for ten years before Bob came into my life. I’d left there almost a year ago after our breakup, hoping for a new start. I was thirty five, but now I felt like a little girl trying to keep up with the big kids. How was I to support myself and my two-year-old on what I was making in a city where everything was so expensive?

I looked at Ian, contentedly sitting on the floor with his toys, and wished I could be him--depending on someone else to take care of me. But there was no sense indulging in those kinds of thoughts. I needed a new place to live, and I desperately needed to get my rent deposit back when I moved out of my current apartment, so I sat down and wrote my 30-day-notice letter to the landlord, not knowing where we would go when the 30 days was up.