The whole room reeks of old beer and sweat. Smoke dulls the colours and chokes the air. It's the end of the summer and we're collecting our final pay and bonus for making it to teardown. The operator jams his cigar into the side of his mouth and smiles like the creep that he is when it's my turn. He runs his finger down a filthy, crumpled sheet of paper full of names and numbers to a line scribbled in pencil.
Little Bridget. Bridget Bridget Bridget-oh, here you are. Let's see now.
He counts out four crisp twenties, straight from the bank. That's for all of August. It's a fortune. He didn't pay weekly like the others. We were nervous but Lochlan stole a bunch of tools as collateral. Temporarily.
It's not your funny money but it's worth more. And here's your bonus. You did a lot of running and lugging water for such a little thing. Come back when you're old enough and I'll pay you a thousand a week but not to work on the midway. Keep my card.
I frown at him and rip open the envelope. Inside is an American fifty dollar bill.
Bonuses are reserved for workers on paper but like I tell everyone, you shine.
I mumble a thank you and he softens into something vaguely fatherly.
Go back to school. This is no place for you or for your brother. Speaking of whom, tell him he's next and also you can tell him he has til sundown to bring back what he took. I'm good for my word.
I nod, chagrined, and step back through the door where I instantly smash into Lochlan, who's right outside. He isn't a fan of me being on the other side of a closed door with anyone. His shoulders are tense, fingers drawn into fists, raised up slightly on his feet. He's ready for whatever. Mostly sleep and safety. Same as always.
He winks as he steadies me. You all squared up, 'sis'? I get a kiss on the forehead.
I nod dutifully and he tells me to wait by the truck.
It takes longer since he's a worker on paper. He gets a form that shows the hours he has worked and the dates and he can prove he worked here but it's only for showing other operators or for coming back. It's like seniority but I'm not worried about that yet. I've got more money to my name than I've ever had in my life but the only thing I want is a root beer float and a grilled cheese sandwich without having to share.
I climb into the truck but leave the door open and I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a minute.
As the day gets hotter by the second, the glare moving across the hood imprinting late summer on my brain it occurs to me that being told I shine might not mean I sparkle like a diamond or like the sun on a breaking wave. I think it meant I glint faintly like cheap glitter swept into the cracks on the boardwalk. I don't think it was a compliment and I suddenly feel sad and insignificant.
Exactly like cheap glitter swept into the cracks on the boardwalk in September.
When Lochlan comes back he takes the tools out from under the front seats of the truck and dumps them on the grass. We drive slowly out of the field and he looks at me before doing a double take.
Why are you crying? Did you like it here? We can come back next year if you want to. Spoken with all the confidence of an eighteen-year-old boy with a clouded, uncertain future.
I don't want to come back. I'm happy we're leaving.
He kisses the back of my hand, squeezing it against mouth. Me too, Neamchiontach. You don't know the half of it.
But that's the problem isn't it? I know the all of it!
What are you talking about?
Nothing. It's just...glitter.
Garba-
It isn't! It's beautiful! Just like me!
He slows the truck to a stop and stares at me. We're not even all the way out of the field yet.
I'm sorry. You're right. It's beautiful. Just like you. Are you hungry though? Should we go eat?
Starving. Let's go. I wipe my cheeks with my grimy hands and fold my money into my Hello Kitty bag, zipping it securely. I'm a rich woman, I tell my eleven year old self, and I'd better start acting like one.