Ahead of Her Time

“Have you seen my charger?” Marta yells, sending clothes flying from her dresser to the open suitcase on the floor.

“I’ll get it,” Bruce replies from the kitchen. Walking down the hallway, he spots his roommate zooming through her bedroom in a flurry of panic. “What’s the suitcase for?”

“Email— short story—.” Between words, Marta zips around her room, eyes darting back and forth in search of her most presentable outfit that doesn’t need washing. She continues, “writing festival— Melbourne— morning.”

“Oh, so you got an email saying that your short story is being featured at a writing festival in Melbourne that begins tomorrow morning?”

“That’s what I said. It’s the spy one.”

Bruce nods in agreeance, but his expression betrays him.

“While you’re here, let me pitch it to you,” Marta says. Clearing off a space for him to sit on the bed, she brushes the hair from her face and prepares her pitch. “An undercover spy for the FBI… or the CIA… or one of the other fancy acronyms, I still need to sort that part out. But anyway, they spot their target across a crowded room, and—"

“Let me guess,” Bruce interrupts, “She seduces him into giving up the information and kills him in the hotel room because she’s a strong independent female and all of that.”

“First off, rude. Second off, let me finish. And third…” Marta pauses to smell a linen-white blouse before throwing it at the suitcase. “Anyways, He doesn’t seduce him; he walks over to charm his target, only to realise it’s his high school crush. But will he choose love or will he complete his mission?” She nods and smiles excitedly.

“Whaaaaat? No waaaaay?” The sarcasm is thick in Bruce’s voice. In a sudden urgency, Marta begins overturning every piece of clothing on the floor and bed.

“Where is it?” she asks, rifling through her drawers and scanning her bookshelf. “I can’t find it.”

“Find what?”

“Where I… asked for your sarcasm,” she says cheekily, resting her hands on her hips.

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious.” He returns her witty remark with an eye roll.

After managing to fit most of her wardrobe into her suitcase, the insurmountable task of closing the suitcase lies ahead of them. Marta jumps on the lid, wiggling around as wrestles with the zip. After seven minutes of jumping, four minutes of stuffing and a quick water break, they finally get it shut. The two of them collapse onto the bed with foreheads and armpits swimming in sweat, unaided by the slowly ticking ceiling fan.

“What a workout,” Bruce says. “Just about fainted getting your stuff in there.” He breathes heavily through his mouth.

“Told you, you need to go to that yoga class,” Marta replies. She slows the rise and fall of her chest

Managing a chuckle, Bruce pulls at his damp Hawaiian shirt as Marta fans her face with her hands.

“I’ll never forget this place… or you, of course, when I get super famous and all that.”

“How generous of thee,” Bruce says, sitting up and smirking. He sees his dreamy-eyed roommate staring up at the stars hidden behind the ceiling.

“In the distant future,” Marta continues, “I’ll look back to the 25th of November and—"

“23rd. The 23rd of November.” Marta gets up and turns to Bruce, mouth agape and eyebrow raised.

“Today is Thursday, right?”

“It’s Tuesday.”

Marta’s eyes widen before she flops into her bed face first, her yells muffled by her pillow.

“Well… umm… there, there,” Bruce comforts, awkwardly patting her back. “At least you have two more days to pack properly.”