The Nameless

I just wanted to breathe in this world where I am drowning.

That was my mistake.

The rattle of my keys hitting the table echoed hollowly in my dark apartment as I closed the door, leaning my forehead against the cool surface to marinate in the silence and shadows.

RrrrrRRRRrrrrrrrRRRrrrrrrrr.

My moment was broken by the insistent growl of my stomach. With a reluctant groan, I hit the light switch and blinked as it buzzed and flickered to life, revealing the dingy interior of my home.

Making my way to the partial kitchen in the corner of the studio, I leaned over to give the bright red, heart-shaped Tata plush on my futon the traditional “I’m home” pat, my stiff spine popping and crackling with the movement.

“How was your day?” I asked it, peering into my emptier than usual mini-fridge before settling on a half-eaten tub of takeout soup. “Mine was okay,” I said over the whirr of the microwave. “Exhausting as usual. People are really mean for no reason, Tata.”

My eyes fell on the growing stack of bills on the little table beside the counter. I reached for them as the microwave beeped, announcing the completion of its task so loudly I could swear MY manager could hear it… and then berate me for my comparative lack of efficiency.

I tucked the pile of envelopes into my armpit and, cursing my burning fingertips, carried my dinner to the cramped table and sat, the chair creaking under my butt.

One bill after another flipped through my hands, and I began compiling a list into my trusty small black notebook, the one luxury I allowed just to make myself feel a little more human, a little less desperate. The pages felt slick and hefty under my fingers as I smoothed them down and began to write.

Rent … $850.00

Student Loan Payment … $209.00

Monthly Toll Fee … $120.00

Bus Pass Renewal … $98.00

Electricity … $89.60

Internet … $54.00

Phone … $65.00

Opening my phone, I squinted at the cobweb cracks of my phone screen to see my month’s credit card charges, adding grocery bills, medical bills, late-night food runs from when my shift ran too late and the fridge was empty… and then comparing it to the too-small triple-digit singular green value that was my paycheck.

By the time every envelope was opened and every credit charge investigated, I was blankly circling a negative sum over and over again, slumped so low in my chair a crane would have trouble pulling me upright.

Perhaps if I circled it enough times my pen would become a wand and then a fairy godmother would magically appear and sing my growing pile of debt away.

I laughed hollowly to myself and drank my first sip of soup. It was cold. And I was too exhausted to reheat it.

Judging by the acid reflux and headache that heralded the next morning, I was unkeen to see what the day ahead would bring. I was sighing by the time I got to my desk, the deluge of ringing phones threatening a bitter morning. My glowering manager’s shining head popped over the plastic divider, and I obligingly slapped on my most genuine fake smile, popped on my headset, and began my day: “Hello Mr. Rafferty! How may I help you today?” and winced as a furious male voice shouted in my ear.

My skull was still ringing with dial-back tones as I stepped on the 188 bus hours later, skirting past pods of college students on their way to their next lecture before hurtling into a seat as the bus lurched closer to my next shift at the hardware store.

It was then that my phone dinged. It was the type of ding that always sent my heart racing. A ding that spoke of tragedy. A trage-ding. A bank notification ding. An overdraw charge, perhaps? My mind spiraled as I pulled out my phone, the shattered screen poking my scrabbling fingers as I logged into the banking app.

And then I blinked. Once. Twice.

No, that can’t be right. My heart began racing. I started laughing like a maniac as I counted one, two, three — FOUR zeros, uncaring of the both amused and alarmed glances that were shot my way.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, a tear leaking from the side of my eye. “Oh my god.” I felt like I could fly, carried into the sky just from the fluttering of my heart. “Oh my GOD.”

I stared one more time at the deposit statement before tucking my phone away. And there it still was, clear as day, a $20,000 deposit in my checking account.

My life had changed, inexplicably.

Apparently, it was only I who thought it would be for the better.

Two weeks later, as the chill of handcuffs bit into my bones while I sat in front of the unsmiling lawyer who had been assigned to me, my legs shook uncontrollably beneath the metal table. My eyes were fixed to my murky reflection in the scratched surface, and I was glad I could not make out the fear in my face.

“You are being accused of theft of property, value totaling $20,000,” the lawyer said.

My head jerked in a nod, not meeting eyes as I thought back to the mountain of debt I had eradicated overnight, the fresh food I had finally been able to eat without being wracked by guilt, the flowers I had bought for my mother’s grave.

My fingers curled into my thighs, heart beating out of my chest. “How was I to know?” I half-whispered, finally meeting sharp, cold eyes. Neutral eyes. Uncaring eyes.

“Know what?”

“To me, it was a gift from whatever deity is watching over me, not some bank teller’s error,” I said. “How was I to know? It was not my mistake, and they’re not even being punished-”

A short, impatient sigh. “And that will be taken into consideration, absolutely-”

“But why am I the only one being punished?” I asked.

The lawyer stared at me, through me, before those thin lips quirked in some semblance of sympathy. “Unfortunately, your lack of knowledge of the law does not excuse the breaking of it.” At my hopeless expression, those eyes softened by a single degree.

“Countless people would have done the exact same in your shoes. You can be a good person and still be seen as a criminal, that’s just how it is.”

I clumsily wiped tears and snot on my sleeve as a document was pushed into my field of vision.

“If we combine mitigating factors with the amount stolen, I think we can get you away with just some probation,” the lawyer said briskly, pen tapping against the table, “but the fine will be over a hundred thousand.”

I was only able to stare, the number crushing my soul deep into the hidden levels of the earth.

As an officer led me back to my holding cell, the tiny TV in the corner of the police station blared the news jingle.

“--was arrested earlier this year for embezzling over two million dollars of healthcare grant funds. Bail was set at $200,000 which was paid hours after the arrest, sparking outrage from victims as pictures have circulated with the individual relaxing at their multi-million dollar property after pleading not guilty--”

I started laughing hollowly as I slid down the wall of my cell, humorless tears carving tracks down my skin.

“You,” the detention officer snapped, “stop laughing.”

I have a name, I almost burst out, but then I realized no one cared. I had beyond nothing to call my own. I was insignificant, just one data point on a graph.

I wasn’t trying to be greedy.

I was just trying to breathe in this world in which I am drowning.

That was my mistake.