Participant Page 7

  “Are you mad at me?” she asks quietly.

  “What do you mean? I’m not mad at you. Why would I be mad?”

  “Well, you could’ve fooled me,” she mutters.

  I can’t think of anything that I could have done to make her think I’m angry with her. I’ve been a little distant maybe. Okay, who am I kidding? I’ve been downright depressed for a while now, but I do a really good job of keeping it to myself. My eyes widen. Oh my God. Her bridal shower is coming up. I was supposed to meet with her yesterday so we could go shopping for outfits, and I totally flaked. I never even called her back.

  “Oh my gosh, Sarah. I’m so sorry. I totally forgot.”

  I’d spent the day in my pajamas watching TV. It was actually a nice sunny day out, but I just didn’t feel like getting dressed or taking a shower. Now that I think about it, that’s not the first time I’ve flaked. I usually text her though, at least.

  “You never called me back. I don’t blame you for being miserable, but it’s not fair for you to shut everyone out.”

  I may have earned them, but her words feel like a slap in the face. I don’t know how to respond.

  “I’ve tried so hard to say all the right things and be there for you. Nothing helps. You’ve been walking around in your own little personal black fog for months, but when I ask you what’s wrong, you say you’re fine.”

  “Sarah, in case you haven’t noticed, my life is kind of the pits right now.” I lower my voice and glance quickly around the room. There’s only one other person sitting in a corner across the way with his back to us and his head buried in a newspaper. “My fiancé dumped me like a piece of trash, and you’re my only friend. What am I supposed to be happy about?”

  “Have you ever wondered why I might be your only friend?”

  My mouth drops open. So I forgot about our little shopping trip. I didn’t do it on purpose.

  A look of discomfort passes over her face as she continues. “Alexis, someone’s gotta tell you this. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t say this. You are very negative.”

  “What are you talking about? You would be too if you were me. Trust me,” I retort. “I just wasted seven years of my life in a dysfunctional relationship. Everyone else I know is getting engaged or married and I’m about to turn twenty-five and I’m alone. I’m broke. I live in a dumpy apartment on the bad side of town. Hmmm... let’s see what else. And I’m fat,” I hiss back at her.

  “You’re so busy being miserable that you can’t even see how lucky you actually are.”

  This has to be a joke. I roll my eyes. “Okay Sarah, enlighten me. Tell me how incredibly fortunate I am.”

  She sighs. “First of all, you are not fat. Gaining five pounds or whatever does not make you fat. And, okay, so maybe you lost your fiancé, but you are smart and pretty and you are still young. You might be struggling, but you’re making it on your own. Do you realize how huge that is? And you don’t have to work here forever. You haven’t even tried to see what else is out there.”

  “Well, it’s easy for you to say. Your life is perfect. After you marry Jason, you don’t even have to work here unless you want to. I, on the other hand, am pretty well stuck. I mean, what else am I qualified to do but this?” I know I’m being a brat but it’s true, and I’m so bitter about all of it that, a ball of anger swells in the pit of my stomach.

  “You act like you’re the only one who has ever had problems,” Sarah says in an incredulous tone. “We all have problems. I’m older than you are, and Jason didn’t just fall into my lap. I kissed a lot of frogs before I finally found my prince, and this job is not that bad.”

  Her last boyfriend cheated on her for almost a year before she found out, and if anyone could like a job like this, it’s Sarah. Call her a bitch and she says thank you for your time before hanging up. I scowl when I have to interrupt mountains of work to sign another birthday card, but she’s in charge of the birthday committee. Sarah is the office Miss Congeniality, which is why she’s always in the know about office gossip and lately, a lot of that gossip is about me and “What’s wrong with Alexis these days?” Like a true friend, she hasn’t said a thing to anyone. We sit on either side of the table locked in awkward silence, and I welcome the diversion of a co-worker entering the break room to wash out a dish. We follow her with our eyes, watching as she dries off her bowl and exits the breakroom followed by the guy reading the paper.

  My chest tightens as a horrible realization presses all the air out of my lungs. I’m toxic. It’s not exactly what she said, but that’s what it is. My fiancé had to plot an escape. Our wedding plans weren’t good enough. Oh, I told him I thought about it, but not once did I ever entertain the thought of moving to Anderson, and I think he knew it because all I see is what I can’t do. I’m the type of person who sees the shadows before I notice the sun, and it makes me mean, bitter, and worst of all, jealous. I wish Sarah’s bridal shower was mine, and it’s painful watching her turn into a princess while I turn into an old maid.

  I can barely swallow past the lump forming in my throat and I can feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes. I can hardly get the words out. “I’m sorry you feel that way and I’m sorry that I’ve been such a bad friend.” I gather up my empty creamer container and Splenda packets, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll see you later,” I say to her and walk out of the break room.

  My fiancé is gone and I’ve managed to screw things up with my only friend here, so what does that leave me with? Work. I can’t face my desk. I can’t face those angry customers yelling at me. I slip into the bathroom, unnoticed. I don’t have to go, but I don’t know what else to do. I lock myself in a stall and fight against the hot tears that have already started to flood, bracing myself for another long day in the trenches of injury claims and collision deductibles.

  I take a deep breath, open the door and wash my hands. My fingers catch on a nest of tangles as I try to tame my disheveled hair. My skin is ashen under the fluorescent lights, and I’m caught off guard by the lifelessness in my eyes. At this point, I’m basically a zombie who hasn’t decomposed yet, one who eats potato chips and ice cream instead of human flesh. Is this what I wanted to be when I grew up? I stare hard at my reflection in the mirror, contemplating the unfortunate series of events that got me here.

  The reality is, I never wanted to be anything. All I ever knew was that I didn’t want to be a teacher, and it has nothing to do with the notoriously low pay teachers are assigned. I just never felt I could ever be smart or confident enough to stand in front of a classroom and teach anyone anything of value. Kids can sense fear and it would be dripping off me the way melting ice cream oozes down the side of an ice cream cone on a hot day. I had thoughts of being a ballerina or a writer, as lots of little kids do, but those are more like fantasies than actual career ideas. Nobody ever told me those were things to be. I’d make a good secretary, but it’s not something you aspire to, just like nobody dreams about being a claims adjuster.

  I go to my supervisor’s office and do something I’ve never done before. The work day hasn’t even officially started yet, but I tell Jan I’m not feeling well and need to go home. There’s no way I can face this day. I’m all out of gas. I gather my things from my desk and leave the office amidst the whispers and questioning expressions of my coworkers. I catch Sarah’s eye for a brief second before she looks down.

  Aimlessly, I exit the building in a daze. My freedom for the day granted, the only thing I want right now is to retreat to the safety of my bed. I can already feel myself curled into a ball, eyes closed, cool sheets pulled up to my neck. Irritated by the noise coming from my radio, I reach over to turn it off but pause as a chirpy, energetic voice pipes up.

  “Don’t just dream about it, do it. Follow your dreams to the Chloe Dillon Modeling and Acting Center. Build confidence as you take classes in Modeling, Acting, and overall personal development.”

  Spurred by defeat and eagerness for something mo
re than this passionless life, the wheels in my head spin in the opposite direction. I can go home and assume the fetal position in bed, but then what? What will I do tomorrow...and the next day? I exit the freeway to turn around, anxiously making the ten minute drive in silence, my radio muted. I park my car and speed walk to the building, jabbing my finger on the up button repeatedly until the elevator doors open. Pressing the number fifteen, I wait impatiently while the elevator makes its way up, then make a beeline for the reception desk.

  “Hello, my name is Alexis Conway and I’d like to sign up for the combo course.” A teenage girl and her mother turn around and glance at me. Oops. I didn’t realize I’d spoken so loudly. The music isn’t as loud as it was on orientation day.

  She gives me a mildly amused smile and asks, “You’ve been to one of our orientation sessions then, right?”

  “Yes, I have,” I reply more quietly.

  She taps my name into her computer. “Okay, take a seat and I’ll have a consultant right with you.

  “Thank you,” I say and sit in the waiting area. I look terrible, I can’t afford this and all they’re going to do is lie to me, but I don’t care anymore. Just five minutes later, Tami calls me back to her office. She opens the file on her desk and there they are again, my horrid Polaroids staring up at me.

  “Welcome back, Alexis. We’re so glad you decided to sign up. Erin tells me you’re interested in the combo course.”

  “Yep. I want the full experience. I want to learn about modeling and acting, and I need a confidence boost.” Please, let there be a class I can get into soon.

  “Okay, we can get you started in a Tuesday/Thursday evening session next week. It’ll run from February to May and will start out with personal development, then move onto acting then modeling. We already have quite a few adults signed up for that session, so your timing couldn’t be better.”

  “I’ll be using my credit card. Can I pay monthly?” Which is something I never do, but I can’t really afford the full $400 per month.

  As I reach for my credit card, my hand is shaky. I’m having a difficult time removing it from its slot in my wallet. Maybe this is a sign. I shouldn’t be forking over money I don’t really have right now, but I ignore the doubt. Operating on pure instinct, I dig my finger harder into the slot, yanking out the card and breaking a nail in the process.

  “Okay, I’ll go run your credit card. In the meantime, I’ll need you to fill out this packet then you’ll be on your way.”

  Height. I stretch it to five-eight because models are supposed to be tall. Measurements, weight...ugh! Can I just write too much? At least it was the last time I weighed in. Then it goes into questions likely meant to analyze my personality, followed by questions about any previous modeling or acting experience, and what I would like to gain from taking the class. I write “HAPPINESS and CONFIDENCE” in big block letters then underline, it adding exclamation marks and a smiley face for good measure.

  I know most of these modeling schools are considered a total scam, but I don’t feel scammed when I leave. I feel a little nervous about what I’m getting myself into, but mostly glad to be taking some action. I’ve done nothing but exist in misery for far too long. I need this. I turn up the radio volume loud and sing along as I drive home. Not even the sight of Valentine’s Day booths sprouting up on every corner selling red flowers and obnoxious pink balloons is enough to spoil my good mood. My life is going to change. It has to because if I have to suffer through another mental break, I may not make it out alive.

  Chapter 10

  Since Sarah and I had our little falling out, things between us remain strained at work, with just the occasional “hello” here and there. Payday lunchtime came and went. All morning, I wasn’t sure if I should assume we’re still going or ask if she wants to go to Black Angus. I got my answer when lunchtime rolled around and she went to lunch with Angela the husband stealer and her sidekick Michelle. All I could do is watch them walk toward their car, talking and laughing about something funny that happened in the office that day, feeling like the lonely kid on the playground with no friends. I totally lost my appetite, which is always a small miracle for me, and went to my car and took a nap. I didn’t go to her bridal shower and even though I have yet to be uninvited to the wedding, I imagine I will be. Our friendship was the one bright spot at work and now, even that’s gone. I really am all alone now and maybe deep down, that’s what I wanted all along.

  I always was a pretty solitary kid. After quitting club gymnastics, I had no one for a while. A few friends came along with high school gymnastics and cheerleading, most notably Jamie, but I was never outgoing and often felt left out of things. I longed to be the popular girl surrounded by a posse of adoring friends. I heard chatter about the latest beach bonfire on Monday and wondered how everyone else knew about it but me. Everyone went out for pizza after football and basketball games, and everyone else had a ride except me. I stood alone at the curb after games in my cheerleading uniform, waiting for my dad to come pick me up while they shrieked with laughter and camaraderie on their way out to the student parking lot. I was a cheerleader. Didn’t that mean I was supposed to have friends? Sometimes they’d wave and call out. I’d smile and wave back. Maybe something about my vibe told them to leave me alone. When everyone else had boyfriends and started going to dances, I’d cry myself to sleep at night wondering what was wrong with me. Jamie was always there for me, but she had a very active social life filled with a lot of boyfriends and couldn’t spend every second hanging out with her socially challenged friend.

  College didn’t thrust me head first into a party fueled journey of self-discovery abundant with friends I’d keep for life the way I’d hoped. I went to a college known for academics not parties, where I lived on campus for exactly one year, missing out on socialization fostered by dorm life because we couldn’t afford the expensive meal plan. Settling for on campus apartments cost fifty percent less but did nothing for my social life. I didn’t join any clubs or rush a sorority. I attended class, nothing more. Even the semester exchange my parents made me do at a college in Virginia my third year didn’t help. I met a lot of people, but didn’t form any lasting friendships. Having a boyfriend surely contributed to the ruining of my college experience. People don’t like me. I don’t have whatever it takes to attract interest. Reserved might as well be invisible, and average is rarely in demand.

  Will protected me from all of that. I didn’t need a gaggle of girlfriends, parties to go to or likes on social media because at long last, I had a boyfriend of my own, and his love conjured a sense of self-worth I couldn’t find within myself.

  I check the clock. Just thirty minutes left and I’ll be out of here, but I have time to make one more phone call. I roll my eyes, letting out a tiny breath of exertion caused by picking up one of my thickest and most dreaded files.

  “Hello, this is Alexis calling from Silver Insurance. May I please speak to Phillip Jones?”

  “Uh...well, he’s not here right now. Can I take a message?”

  It’s the same routine every single time. I know its Phillip Jones on the other end of that line and he knows I know, but I carefully spell out my name, give him my number and wait for him to read it back to me. Based on a witness statement, he’s at fault for the accident but he’s been lying about what happened and rather than just ‘fess up and give me the darn recorded statement, he’d rather dodge us and let this situation drag on longer than it needs to. Meanwhile, I have the other party on my back about when they can get their car fixed. I check the clock again. Twenty-five more minutes.

  My supervisor Jan stops by my desk with a smile on her face to tell me that the Top Fifteen list has come out. Every month, our supervisors rank us on closures, injury settlements and whether or not we’re up to date on claim file reviews. Jan posts the list just outside the manager’s office for everyone to see.

  “Go look,” she says.

  I don’t really care, but since she’s asking, I he
ad over to the cluster of people staring at the list. As I approach, Angela turns around and glares at me through the crowd. I’m number one in all areas for the third month in a row. She’s number two. Sarah’s name isn’t on the list at all.

  “Good job,” our manager Randy calls out from his office.

  “Thanks!” I reply with false excitement. Don’t they realize I’m only as efficient as I am because the alternative of being behind and trying to dig myself out is terrifying? The only way I can survive here is to stay a step or two ahead of the work.

  The day drags on endlessly and as soon as the clock strikes 3:45 p.m., I’m packing up my desk. Sarah glances my way and I give her a small, strained smile before I grab my purse and go. My stomach churns a little bit as I drive toward the agency. I can hardly believe I’m doing this. I’m still worried about being in a classroom with high school kids, but the money has been spent and the decision has been made. “Here I am,” I say out loud, pulling into the parking lot.

  I’d waste too much gas going home first, so I kill time across the street at a strip mall and read while I eat dinner at the sandwich shop until it’s time for class. At 5:45 p.m., I check in at the front desk. The clerk directs me to a room with about ten chairs in the center arranged in a semi-circle facing each other. Framed posters of inspirational quotes and song lyrics decorate the white walls. The only other person in the room is an almost shockingly beautiful girl with long black hair that falls in straight silky strands down her back and a fringe of choppy bangs over her eyes. She gives me a huge smile, revealing a perfect set of large chiclet white teeth. When she stands, she towers over me but she’s about half as wide. This girl already looks like a model. What’s she doing here?

  “Hi, my name is Talya,” she says with an accent I can’t place.

  “Hello, my name is Alexis,” I say and we shake hands. She sits down again and I take a seat one chair over from her. As we settle in, a couple of other girls enter the room, one of whom appears to be a bit closer to my age. She has a pleasant face and stick straight, dull brown shoulder length hair. I wouldn’t call her fat. Big boned is a better word, but in perfect proportion to her tall frame. Her clothes don’t do her any favors though, as they appear to be too tight and she walks with her head down. Without as much as a glance at Talya and me, she sits down on the opposite side.