Kate
I turn off the T.V. and my crappy studio apartment goes dark, save for the dim parking lot lights peeking in between the cracks in the blinds. I pad barefoot behind the screen that hides my bed from view and set the alarm to wake me just before 6 a.m., then climbed under the covers.
It’s only 9 o’clock. I should get a full eight hours, I think as I try to settle in. You can just call me Captain Responsible. That’s who I’ve been my whole life. I’ve had to be, really. It’s not like anyone else is going to do my laundry or pay my rent for me. I wish I had a rich great uncle I didn’t know about who’d leave me a fortune. I’d quit my job and just focus on school. That’d be sad though, I wouldn’t want my fictional great uncle to die.
I wish I would win the lottery, I amend, but I scoff at the fantasy. Shoot, I wish I could at least splurge on a lotto ticket now and then to keep the dream going, but I can’t afford to be frivolous. I have an early class before work and need to get my rest. Work. My insides twist with anxiety at the thought of going to work the next day.
I want to quit my job. I need to quit my job--before they fire me. Neither will look good on my resume. I’ve only been there a month for Christ’s sake but it’s been one long month though. It just hasn’t been a good fit, is all. At my last job I was a cashier at a mall shop. I’d always done well handling money, but for some reason being a teller at the bank... I can never get my drawer to balance. The other day I was only a penny off, I was so proud of myself. Unfortunately, the manager didn’t share the sentiment. I can still picture the disapproval on her face. There’s just so much pressure at the bank. I feel like everyone there is waiting for me to fail.
My coworkers don’t seem to like me at all. I haven’t been clicking with anyone. I overheard some of them saying I had a bad attitude and hearing that? Well, let’s just say it hasn’t improved my attitude enough to help me make any friends. In the first couple weeks I had a chance, I think. Some of the girls invited me out, but I couldn’t afford it. I made up some excuse because I was embarrassed about my lack of funds. In retrospect, it probably seemed like I was blowing them off. I think that was the beginning of my downfall, or it at least helped me earn my “bad attitude” label.
Maybe I do have a bad attitude. Maybe I’m a sourpuss. An old fart at 22. I sigh.
I thought this job would propel me into adulthood--that I’d do well and work my way up into something more than just a job… a career. Long story short, being a bank teller isn’t for me and now I need a plan. I can’t get behind in rent or, god forbid, lose my apartment. The thought terrifies me. I twist my sheets in my hands. In two days I have a rare day off--no work, no classes. I decide to spend it filling out job applications. Not that I have a choice.
Waiting tables might be good. I’ve never done it before, but I’d get tips. I can’t help but picture the needle nearing empty on my car’s fuel gauge. Or my bare fridge and cupboard full of ramen. Thank goodness for ramen. A job that tips would be ideal, I could really use pocket cash between paydays. So, I could buy a fucking apple now and then.
School has been my great hope though, even if it has been slow going. I don’t have the luxury of living off my parents like most 22-year-olds do. I don’t qualify for financial aid because my mom makes too much money. Never mind the fact that she doesn’t pay my tuition. The last time she gave me any money was when she lavished me with a twenty on my 20th birthday. She thought I was turning 21. The card said, “first round’s on me.” I put it in my gas tank.
Most of my friends from high school are graduating college already. Here I am just struggling to take one or two classes each semester at the local community college while I work full time. And forget about a social life. I can’t afford a social life. Sometimes I feel like I’m going nowhere and all this hard work and struggling is for nothing and I’ll never move forward in life.
But most of the time, that isn’t the case. Most of the time, I’m hopeful. I know there’s something out there for me, I just haven’t found it yet… which is probably why I’ve taken the widest variety of liberal arts classes my community college has to offer. I mean, I’ve taken puppet making. Puppet making. Who knew there was even a class for that? I know I’ll find a place for myself eventually. I’ll stumble onto something and I’ll just know. Until then, we can check bank teller and puppet maker off the list.
“Nothing has really spoken to me yet,” I told my mom last time we talked on the phone. “I just want to find something I feel a passion for.”
“Keep looking sweetie, the most important thing is you’re happy,” she told me.
That must have been nearly a month ago now. My not-so-present dad died when I was nine. Sadly, it didn’t really hit me hard. He wasn’t around much and when he was we didn’t really have a real relationship. It just felt like we were going through the motions. I didn’t ever really know him and he never really knew me either.
I don’t even know myself yet, I think bitterly. But that line of thought will do me no good. I have to stay positive and just keep my chin above the water. Then one day, it will just click. I know it. Hard work pays off. Karma is my friend. She’s just late… or lost or something.
Happiness is the most important thing, mom said. Is that true, I wonder? It doesn’t sound quite right, but that’s my mom for you. She has always been… preoccupied. I have a brother who’s 10 years older than me. When he still lived at home things were better. More normal, at least. Then, mom acted like a mom. But when he went off to college and didn’t look back… well, it always felt like mom was simply done raising kids. Or she had raised her real kid and I was just the leftovers.
After my brother Bradley left home, Mom and I turned into something more like roommates than anything else. As for Bradley… I haven’t seen or heard from him since his wedding. Which was like seven years ago now. I know he and his wife had kids at some point and mom made the trip up to Palo Alto to see them a few times. What were the kids’ names… Jayden? Hayden? Kayden? I won’t be winning any ‘best aunt of the year awards,’ to say the least.
“Okay, Kate. Bedtime,” I’m going to shake off these morose thoughts and anxiety and try to relax enough to fall asleep. I stare at the parking lot lights shining through the blinds, creating lines across my popcorn ceiling. I listen to the variety of apartment life rumblings going on outside my thin walls. It’s comforting to me. It makes me feel like I’m not really alone.
I listen to the cars driving by, bouncing over the parking lot speed bumps, music blaring an inappropriate amount of bass. A muffled conversation from the downstairs apartment. The T.V. from next door. The neighbors are watching The Bachelor. A dog is barking somewhere.
And then… suddenly... everything is silent. It’s a complete silence that comes about so suddenly it startles me as much as a gunshot would have.
I freeze, trying to make sense of what’s happening. I work my jaw, wondering if my ears are popping. Then, the light shining through the blinds starts to get brighter. And brighter. Until finally it’s so bright I wince at all the white light filling my apartment. Then, everything goes black.