*Jennifer’s name isn’t Jennifer. I changed it.
Jennifer makes boxes. It seems like a rather boring and monotonous job, putting boxes together, one after another.
She’s a regular at the Mitten Brewing Co. Every Tuesday she comes in, fingernails dirtied. She mostly orders a stout or a porter. She throws me off occasionally by ordering an IPA.
She used to come with a coworker before he changed jobs. He finally got off the 2nd shift.
Mostly our conversations revolve around her ventures to the rest of the Mitten State’s breweries. Beer takes her away, it makes her happy. The crazy tastes, the cool settings, the awesome people. Mostly she travels around with her husband, much older and grayer. He has two beers, and tastes rest of the day.
Last night, she trailed off onto a tangent about her kids. About how her oldest daughter is amazing in languages, English, French, Spanish, Vietnamese, Italian. She wants to learn Japanese so she can move to Japan after high school. Jennifer said she’d cry if she leaves, but knows that might be the best option, since her grades won’t get her into a good college.
She does what she does to make her kids survive. That’s what she’s passionate about. Her upbringing and life hasn’t been that great. It’s evident by the way he acts, talks. Polite as can be, but a little rough around the edges.
It became more clear last night, when she started talking about her sister. Her sister owned a bar, and drank the profits away. Jennifer’s niece came to live with her, in a double wide trailer.
Six kids under one roof, as Jennifer’s then-boyfriend had two himself. The trailer had one bedroom with a bunk bed, the other with a king size bed. The living room was converted into two more bunk-bedded bedrooms. The kitchen held the 42-or-so-inch TV, with Wii. They didn’t watch a whole lot of TV, spending most of the time outside.
When they wanted to watch a movie, they all snuggled up in the kingsize bed and put on a flick.
It was a fairly heart-warming story. She just wants her kids to be happy; to a live a life she didn’t.
My favorite part about the latest conversation is after I told her about a blog. It was actually the segue into the trailer home. She said she used to write everyday. She wasn’t good at it, she just liked to write. Mostly it was goofy, almost fictional material. It too was based off of everyday interactions.
She would go home, and take out her 5-Subject notebook — because she couldn’t afford a computer — and just write. Usually it was about someone she met that day. She’d jot down her thoughts about what they were wearing, about what she thought they did for a living. Sometimes the prose would go for five pages.
She said she did it to relax at the end of the day.