The life I want

A whisper of condensation blurs my vision as the spark beneath my eyes ignites. Jumping into a window-shopping spree, I see the mirage of myself running as I race past the shop displays. The dishevelled state of my unkempt hair reminded me of the aftermath of a frilly dress set aflame the night after prom. At least I had the sense to hide it with a beanie, although it’s not doing the best job at it.

While resting my forehead on the mall's floor map, I nibble on the nail of my right thumb. I need to get to the financial area; exiting the mall from there will lead me to the studio.

A half-hour ago, I was on my way to school until I got a phone call from an unfamiliar number. It was a woman - her name was Stephanie. She asked me to come in for an interview today; I had sent my audition into a pool of several thousand applicants who were eager to start their acting careers.

It was all doom and gloom out. I was watching puddles of rainwater consume the entirety of the bus station. This ruined my mood to attend my lectures today. I felt a glimmer of prosperity beneath my guilty conscience; college was never something I could afford.

A buzz stimulates the fabric that separates my leg from my pocket—an emptiness spreads throughout my chest—the thought of Stephanie’s voice over the phone evokes an unfathomable fear within me. I quickly pull my phone out to find my best friend’s name oozing an awful chill into my fingers.

“Hey, you coming to class?” Lily texted, “we have a test today.”

“No, I’m sick,” I replied, “see you next week, okay?”

My pig nose is tingling; I never enjoyed the sight of that raised apex—it disgusts me. I roll my eyes and grit my teeth. Something within me is telling myself to send a heart emoji to top off my lie. However, I’m seconds too late. Lily messages me again; it’s just another useless blob of text. I ignore the disturbance and shove my phone back into my pocket.

As I approach the speckle of light at the exit of the mall, I suddenly find my noodle legs slipping against a trail of shoe-marks that had been mopped across the floor. Luckily, I land in this awkward position where my knees are inches away from the muddy puddle on the ground.

I feel a bit off-balance as I try to stand up - I look down. On the sole of my boot, there seems to be an envelope. It’s densely compact, and the whole envelope is soaked through. The soggy texture of the pulp and water is not too pleasant to touch. The integrity of the glue sealing the envelope was compromised, and I can smell an inky-cotton fragrance coming from within the deformed package.

Curiosity leads my eyes to the contents of the envelope. There are multiple hundred-dollar bills neatly stacked together. I glance around, looking for prying eyes. It seems that the witnesses of my misstep are simply trying to avoid me. Could this be my lucky day?

I hug the envelope tightly and run to the nearest washroom. I step into a stall and promptly close the door behind me.

I hurdle myself onto the toilet seat and begin counting the cash inside the envelope. A white piece of paper slides out from in-between the bills; it’s a cute little receipt - there’s $20,000 in this envelope!

A short squeak peeps through my lips.

My phone buzzes - a deep hum that is supposed to be low-key startles me. The continuous buzzing starts to annoy me.

I reach into my pocket to pull my phone out, and it nearly slips out of my wormy fingers. I swiftly catch it and a brief calmness cools my glowing cheeks.

Jennifer is calling - that’s my mom. After a never-ending minute, the vibrating heartbeat fades, and I swipe left to listen to the message my mother opted to leave.

“Honey, can you send me one of those electronic transfers to my bank account? I forgot the landlord had raised the rent this month - funny me, huh? I’m shy of a quarter of what I owe.”

My jaw falls open and expels all my happiness—do I really need to help her?

I already babysit my siblings in the afternoon, and I work at a gas station at night. Before I enrolled in full-time classes, I wiped out my first paycheck so that I could afford a pair of glasses to see clearly. I’ve also been paying off incremental loans on braces so that I can confidently smile today.

With this newfound wealth, I could do so much more. I could easily buy myself a set of designer clothes or spend it all on fine dining. But first things first, I'd definitely get my nose done.

An icy shiver crawls up my spine.

“No, I can’t,” I whispered to my thumb as I chewed against my nail, “it’s not mine to use.”

I squint my eyes to register the contents of the receipt. It doesn’t say who it belongs to; I can only see that it came from the nearby financial institution. Alongside this, the last four digits of a bank access card number - 2702.

There is no time to lose. I drop the receipt into the envelope, and I shove it into my bag. As I’m leaving, I step back to get a glimpse of the nervous girl in the mirror. I try to smile, revealing the metal bar across my teeth, which begin to chatter like rivets inside an active train track.

I put my bag onto the vanity top to pull out a purple container. I lick the plastic behind my retainer. I idle as I watch the wire bounce between my teeth—I cannot go into the studio looking like this.

The slimy substance stretches away as I remove it. I’m going to free my smile from this temporary jail - ridding myself of the very thing that causes my horrendous lisp.

I stumble upon my emergency contact lenses. I take off my glasses and gently tuck them into a case. I pry my eyelids open and slide the thin ovals onto my eyes.

There isn’t a lot of time left. I quickly pack my belongings into my bag.

I leave the washroom to find a woman in the way. A faint tickle scratches the back of my mind. This woman has a familiar face. She has the type of nose that I want. I would greet her, but I can’t put a name to her face.

“Excuse me, sorry.”

“Honey, may I bother you for just a moment,” the woman asked.

“No, I’m in a hurry right now.”

“I dropped an envelope around here,” she gazed into my eyes with a gentle squint, “have you seen it?”

The bubble I encapsulated myself in pops. I realize that the woman in front of me is agitated as she bites her right thumb nail. I guess I was a bit out of touch.

“What are the last four digits of the card you used?”

Having fish hooks for fingertips, she casts them into her handbag - seemingly made from the skin of an endangered mammal - her passion-red fingernails chomp onto a hard texture. She fishes out a wallet disturbingly made of the same material as the thing that stored it. As she dissects it, levels of cards become visible between the folds of taxidermy. With the precision of a laser pointer, her over-extended fingernails gouge out a card.

“I believe it’s this one,” she said, “2702.”

My bitter hand reaches into my bag. I pull out the moist and smelly envelope for her.

“This is yours.”

“Thank you, honey,” she said, “sorry, one more question, if I may?”

“Yeah?” I replied with a quiet tsk, “ask away.”

“With a lovely face like yours, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

“I’m going to become an actress,” I responded disdainfully, “I’m off to my first interview at a studio.”

The woman takes out a small black notebook from her handbag.

“I’d like you to have this,” she said, “you’ll find it useful.”

A brief shock suspends my low expectations.

“Read this while you’re in the lounge waiting on Stephanie,” the woman instructed, “start where the bookmark is.”

“You know Stephanie?” I gasped, “do you work at the nearby studio?”

“I do,” the woman responded with a hint of sorrow.

“That’s cool,” I glance at my watch, “hey, sorry, but I got to go!”

With haste, I take the book and leave for the exit.

“Thanks,” I forcefully smile as I wave goodbye.

The rainfall had darkened the concrete jungle. A shy ray of light shines through the now faint drizzle. I approach the elegant building across the street which houses the studio.

Upon arriving at the entrance, the vibrant colours decorating the atmosphere invite me towards the lounge. The murmur of words being exhaled by a warm crowd inside tickles my ears. My fellow applicants have eyes like shooting stars, yearning to fulfill their mutual dream.

As I approach the front desk, the secretary grins.

“Hey, you’re the one I called not too long ago,” she said, “I’m Stephanie, I’ll check you in, feel free to have a seat.”

“Thank you, Stephanie.”

Like an outcast, I sit on the nearby seat. I open the book and notice a silver strand going through the centre. Flipping through the book, the last entry is dated on the 27th of February, it reads…

In the modern digital world overloaded with entertainment, I have reached the pinnacle of success. However, aside from being an actress, I am lonely. I was poor, but now I’m spiritually devastated. In this darkness, I often reminisce about my best friend from college. If only I put more time into our relationship, she would at least still be by my side. I’ve sacrificed my friends, and even my family to achieve this status in society, but I wish I treasured my loved ones instead.

On the page beside her last entry, an arrow points left. Underneath the arrow, in blue text circled with red, it says…

Is this the life I wanted?

That penmanship—hastily written with a tasteful zeal—if I didn’t provide any context, mom or Lily would have unquestionably mistaken me to be the author behind this book. Speaking of which, what was the woman’s name?

A hollowness grows within me as I try to search for a name through the preceding pages, but an unexpected tap on my shoulder startles me. A gasp leaves my mouth as I shut the notebook out of impulse.

“You’re up,” Stephanie said.

I look at Stephanie as I get up; an unsettling feeling overwhelms me as she stands there like a statue. The ambient noise in the room evolves into a single pitch. The words leaving her lips become a perpetual ringing in my ears. I can only grasp that her hand is guiding me to a dimming hallway.

As I begin walking down the hall, cold sweat seeps out of my pores. I try to slide the book gently into my bag, but I realize my hands are shaking uncontrollably. At last, I find myself stepping on a red carpet that leads me to a solid purple door with a sign that says, please knock.

Adjacent to the door, I see a standing mirror hiding in the corner between the walls. The frail light bulbs surrounding its wooden frame illuminate the lukewarm droplets descending from my eyes.

I look to the door and bite my right thumb nail as I try to decide if this is the life I want.