I just got an eviction notice.
Some of us might end up homeless. I’m in the middle of having to file for bankruptcy due to some medical bills and that means it’s going to be hard to get another apartment. I just can’t believe they can do this, some of us have been here 10 years.
BEVERLY GARDENS BY CAMERON COWAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 74
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It’s another great day here in LA, 78 degrees by the ocean, 85 in the inland empire, and 91 in the desert.”
Deb stood outside her Beverly Gardens apartment listening to a plastic radio. She lit another cigarette. The sky was cloudy but the clouds were already starting to clear.
Los Angeles is dotted with apartment complexes like Deb’s, built in the sixties and seventies. Beverly Gardens had been standing in the California sun for about 40 years and the stucco exterior had seen better days. Some of the cars in the parking lot had different-colored body pieces and others had windows taped up in plastic where the glass had been smashed. The paint on the parking spots was faded and cracked.
Deb flicked her cigarette into the parking lot, then started up the wooden stairs to her apartment.
In the kitchen the sink was full of dishes. Deb put a pastry in the toaster oven and knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door.
“Sara, it’s time to get up.”
“Why?”
“I got a toaster pastry heating up. Besides, you need to go get the food stamps.”
Sara rolled out of bed. Her blonde hair was matted against the side of her head.
She pulled on a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a T-shirt.
She ate the toaster pastry while Deb stood in the kitchen, hand on hip. “Alright, eat fast and then I’ll drop you off at the food stamp office.”
“What’s your shift today?”
“2-10.”
“Closing again?”
“Always. They always got me closing. I think I’m the only one who knows how to close.”
“Alright.”
“Any calls for a job?”
“Not yet,” Sara said. “I’m going to try the movie theater today.”
“Are you meeting with that guy tonight?”
“Probably.”
“Get $200.”
“OK,” Sara said, shoving the last of the pastry into her mouth.
They walked out to Deb’s van. Deb turned the key a couple times before the van started.
“We need to get you a car.”
“I know, when I get a job I’ll get a car.”
“I’ll call you when I get out of work.”
That night Deb got back to the apartment to find an eviction notice on the door. “I thought they couldn’t do that,” she said to herself.
She locked the door behind her and sat on the couch. The notice stated how much rent she owed and how they had been unable to serve her or anyone over 18 at home and therefore this notice was now required. She had 60 days to move out.
Deb put the notice on the coffee table along with the TV remotes, some bills, a bottle of hand lotion, and a few dishes.
She checked her phone but Sara had not texted her.
She opened the calculator on the phone and ran some numbers. She figured she could come up with only $500. Deb let the tears flow.
She pulled a frozen dinner out of the fridge and a can of cheap beer.
She took a long swig of the beer. She picked up the eviction notice and read it again.
She flipped through the TV as she ate the dinner, settling on a reality show.
Her phone buzzed.
“Hey Mom, on my way home—got $300.”
“OK, talk when you get here. Do you have a ride?”
“Yes, uh, sort of, a friend of the guy is taking me back.”
“Alright, be safe.”
Deb tried to watch the TV but she kept looking at the eviction notice. $2474 was due. Sixty days and they would have nowhere to live. She kept working on her beer.
Sara got home and set her purse down on the coffee table. She pulled out some cash and handed it to Deb.
“Thank you,” Deb said.
“Sure.”
“I have bad news.”
“Wassup?” Sara said, looking up from her phone.
Deb showed her the eviction notice.
“So wait, we have 60 days to be out unless we find two Gs?”
“Yep.”
“How’d we get so far behind?”
“Remember I got sick?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I’m calling these people tomorrow.” She held up a tattered business card.
“How much do you think you can get?” Sara asked.
“I know they give out at least $500.” Deb went to the kitchen to get another beer. “How’d the movie theater go?”
“They said they’d call me but that’s what they all say.”
“Food stamps?”
“I was approved, they said they’d mail me my card, should be here in five to 10 days.”
“Looks like we’ll have to use the food pantry too, try to figure this all out.”
“OK, listen I’m going to take a shower—I feel gross.”
“Did you eat?”
“I’m not hungry!”
Deb opened the can of beer and watched the TV. She heard Sara get out of the shower and go into her bedroom. She watched TV until the small hours of the morning.
She woke up midday. The sun was hazy, streaming through the venetian blinds in her bedroom. She rolled over and checked her phone. She pulled off her clothes from the night before and slipped a T-shirt over her head. It pouched out in her middle and hung wide over her legs. She made coffee, picked up the business card and her phone.
“Hello? Yeah, I need to talk to someone about help with my rent. I just got an eviction notice.”
“OK,” the woman on the other end of the line replied. “Where do you live?”
“Central LA.”
“OK, when is your rent due?”
“The first.”
“You said you got an eviction notice, do you have back rent due?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, let me transfer you to someone who can help you.”
Deb waited to a piano rendition of sacred hymns.
Sara sat down at the kitchen table and lit a cigarette. Deb pointed outside. Sara rolled her eyes and went outside.
“Hello?”
“Hi—hello, this is Deb. I’m supposed to be talking to someone about help with my rent.”
“Yes, I got your notes from the receptionist. Are you in immediate danger of losing your housing?”
“I just got an eviction notice.”