It Gets Worse Read online

  We walked into the living room and gasped as if we had seen heaven with our own eyes. The room was bigger than our entire apartment. Hell, it was bigger than our whole building! The TV was the size of a movie screen, and the couch looked big enough to do belly flops on. The walls were covered in art that wasn’t bought at the “House and other stuff ” section at Goodwill. It was everything we had ever dreamed of, and it was all ours. Except it wasn’t, and we were literally in someone else’s house. But who cares, we were just dreaming. I jumped on the couch, and my mom took a seat in a reclining chair.

  ME: Mom! This couch doesn’t smell like gasoline!

  MOM: And this chair reclines without going all the way back and throwing me out of it!

  At that moment we both did the sign of the cross. This is what we wanted more than anything, and we believed in all our hearts it could happen. As we left the house we got in the car and started talking about the pros and cons as if we were really considering buying it.

  ME: Ok, pro, it had a big living room.

  MOM: Con, the bedrooms were leaving a little something to be desired.

  ME: I agree. The master didn’t even have a walk-in shower.

  MOM: I mean, if I’m gonna have a master shower, I need at least four shower heads.

  ME: Totally, and how am I supposed to fall asleep with that loud fountain gurgling outside my window? I think our backyard should have a waterslide and a realistic rock-climbing mountain, not a loud, outdated fountain. Who are we, the mob?

  MOM: Agreed. Not our house. But we’ll find something better.

  It’s funny how fast money can change you, even when it’s invisible.

  ME: You know what I just realized? We can’t pull into our new driveway in an old shitty car.

  MOM: You’re right! We need to upgrade.

  On that note we decided the next reasonable car to bring into our family was a brand-new 1999 Hummer. You know, one of the biggest, most expensive cars a person could own in the nineties. They also completely destroy the environment, but hey, we were rich! We didn’t care about the earth! We could buy a spaceship and live on the moon!

  We pulled into the Hummer dealership and parked our sad, half-dead Saturn in the parking lot. We got out and dashed away from it as if it was about to explode. Mr. McTitface and Mrs. Queefington wouldn’t be caught DEAD in that trash can on wheels! As we walked around the dealership and looked at some of the biggest cars I had ever seen, my mom turned to me and made a confession.

  MOM: These are pretty cool. But you know what I really want?

  ME: A husband?

  MOM: Well yes, but also a Chevy SUV.

  ME: Really? But those aren’t fancy. Those are just normal cars.

  MOM: I guess I’m not really a fancy lady.

  ME: Ya, me neither. That last house had a water fountain in the bathroom. I mean, the water was cold and it was nice to rehydrate after taking a pee, but it was a little much.

  MOM: That was an ass cleaner.

  ME: That makes more sense.

  We left the Hummer dealership without test-driving anything. Sure, we wanted to be rich, but we weren’t interested in becoming the Hiltons. It was Sunday, so it was going to be a family dinner, which meant my grandmother was on her way over. My mom usually cooked something, but since tonight was going to be a special night, we decided we were going to go out to eat instead. It was our last night as members of the lower class, and we had to celebrate it in true lower-class style. HomeTown Buffet! Me, Mom, Grandma, and my brother Jerid sat around an E. coli–covered booth and talked about what our futures had in store for us, other than food poisoning.

  GRANDMA: So you really think you’re going to win the lottery?

  MOM: I really do.

  GRANDMA: That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I watch The View. The other day one of the women said that dogs can read, and THIS is stupider than that.

  ME: Grandma, just have faith!

  GRANDMA: The only thing I have faith in is that when I go over there to refill my soup bowl, they’ll have fished out that goddamn cockroach from the chowder pot. And I’m not even so sure about that.

  My brother Jerid chimed in.

  JERID: You really think we’re gonna win, Mom?

  MOM: I do. I feel like God was telling me that our life is going to change, and we are going to get so many amazing gifts.

  JERID: Can I get a skateboard?

  MOM: Of course! We can get a whole skateboard park!

  JERID: Really?! What about a ramp in my room?

  MOM: That sounds incredibly dangerous, but why not!

  JERID: I might break my neck, but who cares! I can buy a new one!

  GRANDMA: Wait, you can buy a new neck?

  JERID: You can buy anything if you’re rich.

  GRANDMA: What about new legs?

  JERID: Anything.

  The expression on my grandma’s face turned from doubtful to hopeful. Even though she still felt deep down this was ludicrous, the thought of being able to walk without crutches gave her so much excitement that she put her doubt on hold for the night. Over that meal we talked about everything we were going to buy with our fortunes, and we even told the waitress that we would mail her a thousand-dollar tip. I’m pretty sure she thought we were insane and most likely hallucinating from the amount of chemicals in our overprocessed food, but it didn’t matter. Our heads were up in the clouds, and nothing could bring them back down to reality.

  When we got home, it was 6:55 p.m. and we were five minutes from finding out the winning numbers. We all gathered around the TV and continued to talk about our new rich life that we were about to enter. And then the conversation took an unexpected turn.

  JERID: So how much should we give to the rest of the family?

  ME: What do you mean?

  JERID: Like aunts and uncles and stuff ?

  GRANDMA: Fuck ’em! They aren’t here!

  MOM: Mom! Don’t say that!

  GRANDMA: What? They didn’t buy the ticket.

  MOM: Well, neither did you.

  GRANDMA: So what? Are you saying you aren’t going to give me any of the money?

  MOM: Not if you keep saying selfish things like that.

  ME: Guys, please! It’s almost on. Let’s just pray.

  JERID: What about our friends? Can I give my friend Mike some money? He shares a bike with his little sister, and honestly, it’s embarrassing. It has streamers on it and a bell.

  ME: My bike has streamers and a bell.

  JERID: And do I ever ride with you?

  ME: No.

  GRANDMA: Well, I think I should get a new house because I gave my old house to you!

  MOM: You didn’t give it to me, we bought it from you!

  GRANDMA: And then you lost it!

  MOM: Don’t bring my bankruptcy into this!

  ME: Guys, the numbers are being announced!

  Everyone was heated and upset, but we all directed our attention at the TV. My mom kneeled on the floor and started praying as hard as she could. My grandma was still mad, so she had her arms crossed, ready for a fight. I held my breath as the woman on TV slowly took numbered balls out of a rotating container.

  WOMAN ON TV: The first number is . . .

  You could hear everyone’s hearts beating in our living room. Our lives were about to change in a matter of seconds.

  WOMAN ON TV: Twenty-four!

  Or not. Jerid looked down at our ticket.

  JERID: We don’t have twenty-four.

  My mom didn’t even hear him. She was so focused on her prayer that the only thing she heard was the sound of her own voice asking God for a miracle. As the woman on TV continued reading numbers that weren’t ours my heart slowly began to break. With each number a dream disappeared.

  WOMAN ON TV: Three!

  There goes our dream house.

  WOMAN ON TV: Fifteen!

  and my king-size bed.

  WOMAN ON TV: Six!

  my Easy-Bake Oven.


  WOMAN ON TV: Two!

  my ranch-dressing fountain.

  WOMAN ON TV: Seventeen!

  and my mom’s dream car. A Chevy SUV.

  They were all gone. My mom came out of her trance and turned to us all sitting on the couch.

  MOM: Did we win?

  My brother walked out of the room and went back to bed. I started to cry as I stared at the ticket, willing the winning numbers into existence.

  GRANDMA: Of course not. That was ridiculous. What a waste of time.

  My grandma headed to the bathroom. I could tell she was disappointed, but she would hide her real emotions with anger. For a split second I think she believed that we were going to win, but she had let her greed get the better of her. We all had. My mom crawled over to the couch and sat next to me. Tears were streaming down her face. She looked broken.

  MOM: You must think I’m an idiot.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just put my arms around her and let her cry on my shoulder. I didn’t think my mom was an idiot. I thought she was desperate. Desperate for a miracle to come and help her family. Desperate for God to answer a prayer and give her new hope. Desperate for somebody out there to hear her prayers and come save us. I didn’t think that dream my mom had was bullshit; I just think she interpreted it wrong. Our life was going to change, just not yet. That night I learned a lot about money and what it can do to people. Even though we didn’t have it in our hands, we were already letting our greed take over and tear our little family apart. That night taught me so much and made me realize how I wanted to handle money if I was ever blessed with it. I wouldn’t spend it like an idiot and let it ruin my relationships. It’s not worth it, because when all the money in the world is gone, all we are left with is ourselves, and I really didn’t like who we had become that night.

  Ten years later my mom’s dream came true. After working hard on YouTube, I started to have financial success, and I was able to do something for her that I had never thought possible. By that time, I had already taken care of my family by moving us to Hollywood and getting us a nice place to live, stocking our refrigerator with brand-name foods, and most importantly, getting us cable. But there was one thing I had been wanting to do for years that I was finally able to.

  One Sunday night, I walked into my mom’s room with an enormous smile on my face, similar to the one my mom had that day ten years prior.

  ME: Mom! I have something crazy to show you!

  MOM: Oh no. Please don’t pull out another dildo. I just did my daily Bible study.

  I liked to buy my mom dildos and film her reactions. We had fun.

  ME: Seriously! Come look!

  My mom followed me to the front door with a suspicious look on her face.

  MOM: What are you doing? Is this for a video? Should I do my hair? I look like cra—

  Before she could finish her sentence I opened the front door and revealed a brand-new Chevy SUV sitting in front of our house. She looked at me, confused. I took the keys out of my pocket and placed them in her hand. Before I could say a word, her eyes filled with tears and she grabbed me for a hug.

  ME: I know you’ve always wanted one.

  MOM: You got me my dream car??

  ME: It’s all yours.

  The feeling I got from buying my mom the car she had always wanted was the best in the world. But it felt so good because I had worked so hard to get it. If we had won the lottery that day, we wouldn’t have appreciated the millions of dollars thrust upon us. Every morning when I wake up in a nice bed with a nice breakfast to eat, I know that I can’t take it for granted and I need to appreciate what I have. I know what it’s like to have nothing, and I know what it’s like to wish for a better life. At the age of twenty-one, I was able to change my family’s life for the better, and we didn’t need the lottery to do it. I don’t think God played a prank on my mom that day when He told her that she was going to win the lottery. I think He just didn’t tell her when it was going to happen. She never lost faith that one day we were going to have everything we ever wanted, and she was right. Her dream came true. Now if she could just have a dream that six inches was considered super well-endowed then I’d really be set.

  Chub Rub

  About the Artist

  BRIANA MARINO is currently a freshman in college. She became interested in art around her sophomore year of high school, and that’s how she decided to become a graphic design major. Shane inspired her to be the creative person she is today.

  chub rub— When the skin between a fat chick’s thighs rubs together while walking, causing a mild irritation between her legs.

  Used in a sentence: Yo, I thought that chicken head had some cooties but it was some mad chub rub.

  —Urban Dictionary

  It was a warm September evening in 2006, and I was lying in bed with my pants off and the door locked. The steam coming off my sweaty, fat body had fogged up the windows and turned my bedroom into a hotel resort sauna. Except instead of fancy wood-paneled walls covered in Asian-inspired artwork, picture, if you will, asbestos-filled walls covered in termites and Hilary Duff movie posters. Titanic was on, and it had just gotten to the scene when they have hot, intense sex in the back of a car. As Rose’s sweaty hand SLAPPED the fog-covered window my sweaty hand SLAPPED my naked thighs and covered them in rash cream.

  If you are assuming my eighteen-year-old self was having a sexy night alone, you are wrong. It was the night before my first day of college, and I was medicating a serious case of chub rub I had gotten earlier that day. I had been walking through Macy’s—ok, Al’s Big and Tall—trying to find an outfit. After hours of hunting for the perfect body tent, I developed a rash. It’s something every overweight person is familiar with, and it’s one of the most annoying things that can happen during the summer. Well, that and having to keep coming up with new interesting excuses for why you don’t want to go to the beach. No shoes, no shirt, no Shane.

  The fact that I was going to college was a shock to me because I had never thought about it as a kid. Every time a teacher in middle school would say, “Ok, kids, this is to prepare you for college,” I would ignore them and daydream about how I wanted to die. My ideal death was decapitation by a machete. Is that normal for a kid to think about? Probably not. But is it any more bizarre than a twelve-year-old thinking about going to college? You shouldn’t be thinking about college when you’re in sixth grade. You should be thinking about not getting the shit beat out of you by the kids who call you “walking mayonnaise.”

  My parents never pressured me about school. Hell, they never even talked to me about it. I’m pretty sure it’s because they didn’t go and no one ever sold them on the benefits of an education. I remember one time when I was thirteen, I asked my mom if I should go to college, and it turned into a very confusing conversation.

  ME: Mom, I was thinking about where I should go after high school.

  MOM: Are you trying to tell me you want to move out?

  ME: No, I—

  MOM: ’Cause I need you here! If you’re not here, then who am I gonna have date night with? And who’s gonna eat the rest of the Hamburger Helper when I make it?? It makes SIX servings, Shane! And there’s only ONE of me!

  I’m sure from reading my first book you already know how unhealthily close my mom and I were, so I’m just going to keep moving. Near the end of high school I decided to apply to college because all of my friends were doing it. I wasn’t too passionate about the idea, but I figured I would give it a shot. I picked a school close to my house because I knew I couldn’t afford to move away, and let’s be honest, the Hamburger Helper wasn’t gonna eat itself. I was told by a guidance counselor that I should apply to more than one school, but my mom could only afford to help me apply to one, so we put all our eggs in that basket. As I was about to click send on my online application my mom kneeled down next to my computer desk and grabbed my hand to pray.

  MOM: God, please have Shane be accepted into this college and let him succeed and follo
w all of his dreams.

  ME: Amen.

  MOM: Also, let me find a man. Preferably one who’s not an alcoholic or a chain-smoker. And let him just pop into my life. Maybe a pizza man? Or a bag checker? I would even settle for a war veteran with PTSD who thought I was trying to kill him.

  ME: Amen.

  After a few weeks of waiting I finally got a letter in the mail from the college, and I ran into my apartment so I could open it with my mom. We were both shaking, and before I even finished reading the first sentence we started ugly crying. HARD.

  ME: Dear Shane, we are pleased to inform you—

  MOM: AHHHHH! THANK YOU, JESUS!

  Our cries were so ugly you would have thought we were two cripples who’d just had an Extreme Home Makeover.

  A few months later I had a talk with my guidance counselor about what classes I was going to take my first year of college. That’s when I found out I had to take three years of general education before I could apply for the film department, and there was still a chance after that that I wouldn’t get in. And if that happened the whole three years would have been for nothing. I didn’t have a plan B. Being a director was all I ever wanted. I had a gut feeling that college wasn’t for me, but I decided to put those thoughts on the back burner and focus on the fact that I got into college in the first place.

  A year later I was in my room, covered in rash cream, watching Jack and Rose make love while I thought about my first day of school. I was pretty terrified because I had no idea what to expect. The only things I knew about it were what I had learned from movies. I knew that I was gonna gain “the freshman fifteen,” which to me was nothing. Fifteen pounds? I could gain that on a Friday night at the Souplantation if I played my cards right. The next thing I knew was that someone was definitely going to try to sell me drugs. Although I’d been told I had the face of a forty-five-year-old policewoman, so most kids thought I was a narc. The last thing I knew was that there was going to be a lot of walking because the campus was so large and spread out. That’s what I was most nervous about. I got a rash walking around a department store; how would I survive a college campus?