1. Sophie
Sophie
“Sometimes we can only find our true direction when we let the wind of change carry us.” — Mimi Novic
“ H ey.” I sigh into the phone, dialing Craig as soon as I get on the subway.
“Sophie?”
“I had such a crap day. Do you want to come over?” I lean my head against the germ-infested pole.
“Come over?” Craig asks slowly.
“Yes, why do you keep phrasing everything as a question?”
“Um, maybe because we broke up a month ago?”
I blink, straightening up. “What? When? How? A month ago?” Surely, I’d remember breaking up with my boyfriend.
Craig sighs, and a humorless laugh leaves him.
“Yeah, Soph. A month, but I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed.
I’m sorry you had a crap day, and I wish I could help but I’m going on a date tonight with someone who’s actually interested in me instead of being their afterthought.
” Craig sighs again when I just remain silent.
“I told you this when we were breaking up, but clearly you don’t remember, so here it is again.
I don’t recognize you anymore. Do you recognize yourself? ”
Craig hangs up before I can say anything. But really, I have nothing.
I make it home on autopilot, his last words still running on repeat.
I’m a little bit proud of myself. I was one hundred percent sure I’d cry.
Like, dead serious. Because that’s what you do when your life gets flushed down the toilet. When all of those hard-earned diplomas are staring at you, mocking you from the wall. When every single aspect of your life sucks so bad, there is no seeing through all that crap.
Nope, I’m not crying at all. I’m also not really moving, just standing in the middle of my tiny studio apartment, still clutching my bag with all of the million picture frames I took home from my desk.
But hey, I’m not crying.
Standing like a zombie is fine. Totally fine. For about an hour, I simply stared at the way my apartment looks in the daylight. When was the last time I’ve seen it without the lamp light? I feel my feet aching through this almost catatonic state and notice I haven’t even taken off my heels.
I slip out of them, kicking them to the side as my fingers pull the zipper of my skirt down, not realizing I’ve started to undressed until I see the black fabric pooling at my feet, leaving me standing in my simple black thong and white blouse that is halfway unbuttoned already.
My eyes lift up to the sunlight again and then back to the black skirt and a feeling of utter contempt washes over me. Freaking black pencil skirt… How did I get here? My best friend, Grace, would be appalled.
Not that she has any room to judge when she was wearing similar clothes not too long ago while stuck in an abusive relationship with an egotistical bastard, but at least she got up and turned her life around.
No more black pencil skirts for her…while I’m over here, still stuck in those black pencil skirts zone.
There were days when you wouldn’t catch us dead in boring clothes. There’s nothing wrong with boring clothes…it was just never us. There were days—when she still lived in New York and before she met the above-mentioned bastard—when we had lived our life to the fullest.
In color. And full of magic. Despite both being in school and living off scraps…we had magic.
Looking up from the skirt, I take in my tiny apartment. The dull, naked walls that hold no pictures or art. The simple, full bed from Ikea and the white nightstand next to it. The one that has dust piled on top of it.
When was the last time I had the time to take care of my place?
I remember buying these simple pieces because it was convenient, and I thought they’d do for now, until I found something better.
But I never did, because I never looked.
My eyes fall on the one piece that I bothered to hang up in my house. The signed hockey stick I was gifted because I was obsessed with the sport ever since Dad turned it on for the first time to fill in the silence in the house while Mom made dinner, only to find me glued to the screen.
I suck in a sharp breath. When was the last time I actually watched the whole game and not the highlights the next morning while on the subway?
My eyes widen when I realize it’s not just hockey I’ve been watching through highlights.
I didn’t even notice how my life became so monotone. So boring and convenient.
I look back down to the pooling skirt and step over it, striding to my closet in three purposeful steps, tearing the flimsy doors open.
One by one, I rip the clothes off the hangers.
Black slacks, gray slacks, beige slacks, navy slacks, another black skirt, gray skirt, beige skirt, navy skirt.
I keep throwing them all over the floor, over my head, to the side, not giving a flying fuck about where they land, because I’m fucking done!
I’m done with this.
I’m done with living a life I never wanted…
My whole body freezes, my hand stopping mid-air above another white blouse.
I never wanted this life.
I never wanted this life.
I. Never. Wanted. This. Life.
The words slowly register in my brain as I finally speak them out loud. “I never wanted this life.” The hand that was hovering over the blouse drops. And I’m left here, standing half-naked, surrounded by the sea of polyester death when I admit the truth.
What am I doing with my life? What do I want? Like, really want? Not what I’ve always thought I needed to do. To be.
No.
What I want? Do I even know?
Nearly tripping and falling face-first into the heap of clothes, I rush into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror.
Long, dull brown hair. Dead, soulless brown eyes. Frown lines on my forehead…
“Change. I need change,” I say to no one at all, but we’re not going to judge here, okay? “Where are my scissors?” As if possessed by something, I start ripping open every drawer in the bathroom, looking for a pair of scissors, but there are none.
“Damn it.” I shut the last drawer closed and run into the kitchen, going straight to the fancy butcher block with fancy knives that Vassar gifted me last year for Christmas.
As if I ever had the time to use any of them on an actual meal. I guess, I’ll give the scissors some use at least. Snatching them out of their spot, I rush back into the bathroom, gather my long hair into my left hand and… swoosh .
What looks to be around a foot of brown hair drops to the peeling linoleum floor.
But I don’t stop to look at it, because I see my panties and slide the scissors right through the sides, cutting one and the other off until they fall to my feet, mingling with the hair there, and I stride out of the bathroom my gaze set on the thin, dresser where I keep all the rest of the suspects.
Black, gray, beige, and white panties. Wow, how original, Sophie .
When had I stopped buying only neon-colored ones or the ones with crazy patterns? The crazier, the better. It was almost as fun as trying out new, small bars with Gracie.
As if these cotton panties did something to personally offend me, I take out my frustrations and my scissors on them, slashing through the whole pile. I keep cutting and cutting and cutting until I feel something prickle at the corners of my eyes.
But I don’t stop. I don’t stop until there’s nothing bigger than two-inch pieces of scrap left in the place of the life I created for myself.
I decide that even two inches is too much and go to cut some more when I hear my phone ringing the tune I’ll never be able to ignore. It’s the only color and magic I’ve clung to over these convenient, practical years.
Gracie is calling. She’s the only one with a special ringtone to her name. But I did promise my oldest niece—Victoria, or Vee for short—that I’ll find a fun one for her when she gets a phone.
Scrambling over the heaps of clothes on the floor, I rush to the bag I dropped by my heels and dig through it until I find my phone at the bottom.
“Hey! How did it go? Did they all fall at your feet when you presented them that masterpiece?” Grace doesn’t waste a second as her cheerful voice sounds through the phone and that little prickling feeling at the corners of my eyes manifests into more.
I finally break down, falling to the ground.
Tears streaming down my face as I sob into the phone without saying a single word.
She knew how much my work meant to me, how many nights I stayed up to finish that damn program without getting as much as a thank you in return and it all just finally catches up with me at the sound of her voice.
All of it. All the wasted years.
I know how precious every moment in life is. I know it! Yet I wasted so many of mine chasing the dream I never belonged in .
“ Expecto Patronum! Sophie! What is going on? Why are you crying? Say something, please!”
I want to laugh at her never-ending use of Harry Potter words instead of curses, but I can’t even manage that. When I still can’t form any words, she continues. “That’s it, I’m getting on the plane and coming to you.”
I start to cry even harder because I know she would. I know my Grace would get on that plane and come see me just to make sure I was okay, but she’s newly pregnant. She shouldn’t have to take care of me too.
Everyone always is. That’s why I needed this damn job. I needed to show everyone that I can take care of myself.
“I never wanted this life,” I manage to push out through the wailing. “And now I lost all the magic and my panties.”
“Um…can we back it up a bit?”
“There’s no backing up, Grace. I don’t have any panties,” I cry into the phone.
“Did you just say you don’t have any panties? Like…underwear?” she asks, confused.
“Yes,” I wail.
“Um, did someone steal them?”
“No, who’d need to steal panties?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” she mutters like she knows something I don’t. “Then what happened to them?”
“I killed them. I killed them all.”
“Okayyy, I see the little Greek in you finally woke up. By hand or knife?”
“Scissors. Cut those little fuckers into tiny pieces.” I hiccup.