chapter three The Curse’s Continued Humiliation
chapter three
The Curse’s Continued Humiliation
After spending half the night in the hospital, I probably should have taken the day off, but it’s a new job and I’m still
on probation and I don’t want to risk losing it. It’s rare you find a job like mine, where you’re actually making the world
a better place and you look forward to going into the office every day—even if that means taking the hour-long SkyTrain trip
all the way from Langley into Vancouver to the dingy little office I’ve been calling home for the past three months. Kindness
Forward is a non-profit organization that works to implement anti-bullying campaigns and create safe spaces in schools from
kindergarten all the way up through grade twelve. We have different teams working specifically for neurodiversity, disabilities,
marginalized cultures and ethnicities, and LGBTQIA+ youth. I’m on Team Rainbow, as we like to call it.
I’d applied for my role as a fundraiser months ago on a whim, one of those “close your eyes, press submit, and hope for the best even though you’re underqualified and have no hopes of getting the job” things.
Lo and behold, they picked me out of the stack and brought me in for an interview.
Thank fuck there wasn’t a romantic spark between me and my boss, Ebele, because the interview was totally not awkward and couldn’t have gone better.
She hired me a week later and offered me a meagre salary—not enough for me to afford
rent downtown and be close to work, but enough for me to move back to lower mainland BC and out of Alberta. I loved my time
at the University of Calgary, but the weather was awful. I couldn’t adapt to the intense heat of summer, hellish cold snaps,
and unpredictable chinooks. Coming back to the long season of dreary rain will be an adjustment, but at least it’s familiar.
Since my return to BC, I’ve been helping Team Rainbow work on their project to implement meditation and mindfulness in schools
in hopes that it would reduce bullying. It’s been a very fun and rewarding three months. I’ve learned a lot. Though, as far
as what I bring to the team, I can’t say I’m pulling my weight.
I have a business degree. I know fuck-all about mindfulness, unlike the other amazing women I work with.
On my team is Yoga Linda, a fifty-year-old instructor with golden skin and long grey hair locked and braided with colourful
beads and threads. She wears naturally dyed hemp dresses almost exclusively. Linda took her yoga training in India thirty
years ago, has taught classes all over the world, and during our lunchtime intermural yoga sessions she folds herself right
in half! I can barely touch my toes.
Also on the team is Sound Bath Samantha, a round white woman around Linda’s age with curly red hair, thick glasses, and permanently rosy cheeks thanks to rosacea, who originally had a degree in some sort of musical therapy but then discovered the power of crystal sound bowls.
She works with us during the day but makes most of her money hosting workshops, cleansing people’s chakras and energies with the power of frequency.
I went to one once hoping it could work some magic on my curse, but alas, it was not to be. I had a great sleep, though.
And the last person on my team, freshly graduated out of UVic with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a minor in gender
studies is—
“Jasleen! Hi! Any plans for the weekend?” I say as I grab a mug from the cupboard in the lunchroom and set it in the Keurig.
Jasleen purses her pretty, full lips in a half-smile. “Oh, you know, more of the same.” Her brown skin is clear and glowing
like she just got a thousand-dollar facial at a spa. “I have a 10k tonight after work with a few friends,” she says. “I’m
going to try to beat my best time, 36:42! And then we’re going out to Celebrities.”
I have no idea what good time is for a 10k. I don’t think I could even run a mile. And who does that on a Friday night? “Celebrities,
that sounds fun. I tried to go there once but the lineup was crazy.” I remove my mug from the machine and step backward to
let Jasleen in.
“You’re supposed to remove the pod after,” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“Oops. Sorry.” I reach for it, but she’s already popped the machine open. She lifts the pod out with two long perfectly manicured
pink fingernails and holds it away from her body, as if it’s contaminated. Jasleen drops it into the bin, dusts off her hands,
and then adds a capsule for green tea before pressing the button. “You had to stand in line for Celebrities?” She tilts her
head. “They always let us right in.”
Of course they do.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder. How the hell is it so thick and shiny? “I’m meeting a guy there. We had the best date last weekend! He drove me to Whistler in his Porsche and we had dinner at Il Caminetto, and oh my god that was the best carpaccio I’ve ever eaten.”
“Sounds divine.” So happy that you can go on a date and not end up in the ER.
“And then,” she continues, “on Sunday I’ll do my eight a.m. Pilates class, probably hit the markets, go thrifting. The usual.”
“Sounds like a perfect weekend,” I say, trying to keep the envy out of my voice.
“Totally. What are your weekend plans?”
“Me? Oh, I . . . um . . .” Where do I begin? Hiding in my apartment with my dog and avoiding human contact is pretty much
the opposite of Jasleen’s perfect life.
“Hey, since you’re not busy, you should come work out with me! I mean to Pilates, not the 10k, you wouldn’t keep up.” She
smirks. “But Pilates you should definitely do. Having a weak core is detrimental to your spine health, and it only gets worse
as you age.”
I blink several times, too stunned to respond. I mean, she’s right. But seriously?
Thankfully, we’re interrupted by Ebele. Her hair is cut short to her scalp, accentuating her high cheekbones, long lashes,
and full lips. Her umber skin is highlighted with metallic-blue shadow, matching her well-tailored pantsuit. Jasleen and I
both straighten in her presence and offer polite greetings.
“Aubrey. Jasleen. Boardroom in ten. I want to go over all your work from the past week so we can plan for next.” Ebele was
born in Nigeria but went to private schools in England before emigrating to Canada and graduating with a degree from Dartmouth
University, and with her mixed accent she could make a killing moonlighting as an audiobook narrator. Just as quickly as Ebele
arrived she sweeps away, disappearing into her office and shutting the door behind her.
“Well,” Jasleen says with a coy tilt to her head, “I’m excited to hear about your plans. You always come up with . . . interesting ideas.”
Before I can think of a witty retort she’s gone, and the coffee in my mug isn’t the only thing leaving a bitter taste in my
mouth.
The boardroom meeting lasts the better part of two hours. Jasleen’s, Linda’s, and Samantha’s ideas are all fabulous; they’ve
had productive weeks and made grand plans for the days ahead. My business degree rounds out the team, sure, but when it comes
to being creative and building my own schedule I’m still getting the hang of things. For my part, I decide to canvas local
businesses for funding to tide us over while we’re still waiting on a large government grant to be able to implement our programs
on a large scale.
After the meeting I meander back to my desk, a plain office whose only view is that of a crowded parking lot and overflowing
garbage bin, and collapse into my chair. From a chaotic and stressful night that ended in a hospital visit, to bringing little
to the table in that meeting where everyone else had great ideas, to listening to Jasleen’s perfect weekend plans, and topped
off with that backhanded exercise comment that sent me straight back to high school, I’m ready to go home.
Painful memories of my past resurface so vividly that I can smell Axe body spray permeating the air of the overly lit hallways.
I can hear the cacophony of lockers slamming, shoes squeaking, and conversations echoing as students shuffle their way to
and from class in hordes. It’s like it was yesterday: cliques forming, alliances shifting, lifelong friendships ending, mean
girls hiding cruelty in their compliments and spreading rumours at every turn. I thought I’d escaped all that nonsense, but
it’s like nothing has changed at all.
“Aubrey!” A kind voice snaps me out of my reverie.
I blink several times and turn to find Linda and Samantha poking their heads around my door. “Oh. Hey! Hi.” I clear my throat.
“You okay, hon?” Linda asks.
“Yeah, you seem sad,” Samantha agrees.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
But the pair must be too in tune with my aura for them to buy it. “What happened?” Samantha steps inside and sits on the edge
of my desk, assuming a motherly role that comes as naturally to her as opening someone’s root chakra.
“Oh nothing. Just a had a long, stressful night.”
The pair eye me, waiting for me to elaborate.
I concede with a sigh. “I had a bad date.”
“Aw, honey.”
“Poor thing!”
“What happened?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “I really don’t want to get into it. Let’s just say hell would freeze over before I got a second
date with that guy.” The little-known fifth horseman of the apocalypse: Aubrey gets a boyfriend!
Linda tsks. “You should let us set you up! My son, Topher, is still single, you know.”
Samantha agrees. “I have two eligible sons. Fraternal twins! You can take your pick between the rugby player and the guitarist.”
“As lovely as it would be to become one of your daughters-in-law, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say. My social life is
bad enough; the last thing I want is to poison what little joy I find at work with my stupid curse. “Thank you for offering.
I mean it.”
“Just promise you won’t give up on love,” Linda commands, brows raising and accentuating all her wrinkles.
I can’t say that I already have. So instead, I smile and nod. “Of course. The one for me is out there. Somewhere.”
Samantha snaps her fingers. “You know what? I met the loveliest young man playing pickleball last weekend—Marjory’s boy. He was so kind! And a hell of a pickleball player. I know for a fact he’s single. I could set you up on a date with him!”
I suck air in through my teeth. “Oh, you know, you really don’t have to.”
“Nonsense, I don’t mind at all.” Samantha smacks her hand on my desk like a gavel, settling it.
“A woman doesn’t need a partner to complete her, but it does make the years a bit brighter having someone to share them with,”
Linda says, her expression growing distant and wistful. “My Debbie and I shared eighteen wonderful years together before she
passed. It was wonderful having someone to build a life with, to have a shared history with, to create plans and memories
and . . .”
Samantha pats Linda’s back as her eyes become teary, and I reach over and take one of her hands in mine.
Linda gives us a small smile. “My point is, you are young and kind and intelligent. Don’t let one bad date get in the way
of finding your person—if that’s what you want.”
I give her a small nod. “I do want that.” And, despite all the shitty dates I’ve been on and the curse’s continued humiliation,
I still haven’t given up on the dream Linda so clearly defined. Someone to hold in the middle of the night, someone to share
a pint of ice cream with while watching a sappy rom-com, someone to hold my fears and insecurities and hopes and dreams so
tight to their chest that they become their own. To reciprocate, in every way, to become someone’s other half, to be trusted
and valued and depended on.
But with the curse haunting me I’m not sure if it’s worth the risk—not where Linda and Samantha are concerned.
“I’ll think about it.”