by Brianna Cash
I was mediocre at best and a disaster at my worst.
Until I moved out of my two-bit bumpkin country town and into the city, anyway. That’s when I finally discovered my special talent.
I excel at not giving a shit about what people think of me.
I’m one of those lucky few people that gets to live life completely on their own terms. I don’t have to answer to anyone or anything.
After that realization, I started living the life I felt I should be living. I made amazing friends, I discovered there are more important things than an asshole boyfriend’s opinion, I quit jobs without having another lined up, and somehow didn’t get kicked out of whatever shithole I was living in. I bought a car, rented an over-priced apartment, and spent way too much money on take out. And I made one hell of a bucket list, crossing off one crazy thing, then another. And another. And another.
This is my story about stumbling upon my special talent, as well as learning many of life’s lessons, in all my ninety-two years.
Sincerely, Entirely, Me
Sadie
OC736: Still sticking with 92 as your age, huh?
Sadie: You should never ask a woman her age, OC736. You have much to learn when it comes to charming the ladies. I hope I don’t die in the middle of your training…
OC736: I think you’re safe. I have a feeling you’re amazingly healthy for your old age.
What is it with guys calling me old this weekend? Jamison last night, and now this guy. He told me he was, what? Twenty-four. I probably am old to him, even though I’m nowhere near ninety-two.
Sadie: Take away the mention of my old age and that would’ve been an acceptable comment.
OC736: What city do you live in?
Nothing like changing the subject…
He’s been trying to find out anything he can about me ever since I suggested we meet at the end of this class. I haven’t given him anything; my mysteriousness is half the appeal. Our game will continue tonight.
Sadie: A big one.
OC736: I live in a city, too…
Sadie: Ooh. We have one thing in common!
It’s a smartass comment, sure, but I’m in a weird mood. I’m pissed that Jamison was entirely right about me running every time I get too comfortable with him. I’m pissed at fuck-wad Owen. I’m pissed that the asshole-of-the-year’s comment actually got to me. Usually, I don’t let anyone’s shit get to me, but I can’t let it go. It must be because he’s always so damn polite. And then he comes out on my turf, where I feel like I can let my hair down and be myself and go after my mission, and he comes in with his mightier-than-thou attitude, making all kinds of judgements, and calling me a fucking whore! Who the hell does he think he is?!
OC736: What’re you doing tonight?
I’m playing with fire tonight.
I want someone else to say it. I want someone else to say those words to me, someone I can take out all my frustrations on, someone I’ve never seen before and won’t ever see if I don’t choose to, so I won’t have to deal with awkward moments or holding onto grudges.
Is it fair that I’m doing my damndest to take it out on OC736, who’s been nothing but exceptionally nice to me, especially when I need it most? No. It’s not fair at all. But I have to go somewhere with all these pent-up emotions, and he’s the unfortunate candidate who’s communicating with me right now.
Sadie: Going out to get fucked.
OC736: Are you really as promiscuous as you say you are?
No. Not nearly as much as I imply. But…
Sadie: Would it matter if I was?
OC736: I don’t know.
Sadie: I think you DO know. I think you just don’t want to answer because your opinion isn’t nice. And I also think I’ll leave you hanging since you couldn’t tell me the truth.
OC736: I would read your autobiography. The one with the new blurb. Huge improvement over the first one you wrote.
Of course. When I’m looking for a fight, he won’t take the bait. He changes the fucking subject, instead.
Again!
Sadie: You would read my ANYTHING at this point.
OC736: You’re awfully feisty tonight. Much more so than Thursday night.
Sadie: I don’t feel like a failure tonight.
That’s a truth. Even when trying to start a fight with this guy, I still feel like I can tell him the truth. And he says the right things. He notices the right things. It’s like he can read between the lines I type, whether it be in an email or a simple text. He just somehow knows where I’m going with it, whether I’m being sarcastic or honest, whether I’m joking or sliced open raw, bleeding and vulnerable, waiting to be beaten with the stick I just handed him.
OC736: Does your little black book have something to do with all the guys you take home?
Sadie: I never take them home.
OC736: Does your little black book have something to do with the guys you have sex with?
Deciding to give him a little more truth, because I feel like he’s earned it somehow by not taking the bait, I tell him this little bit. It’ll give him something else to focus on and bring the conversation back to my supposed promiscuity.
Sadie: Not something. Everything. Every guy I have sex with goes in my LBB.
OC736: What’re you looking for, SD?
How does he do that? How does he cut through all the bullshit and ask the questions no one else has thought of, the ones that gut me to my core?
I give him more of my truth. If I don’t stop soon, he’ll have all the answers he’ll need to figure me out.
Sadie: My perfect ten.
OC736: What happens when you find him?
Sadie: I don’t know. Part of me is convinced he doesn’t exist.
OC736: Have you ever thought of giving up?
More and more every day. But if I do, I’ll always wonder. What if I held out just a few more months? Just a few more weeks? Maybe even just a few more days? I can’t give up. If I do, I’ll always know I gave up and simply settled, instead of finding the best person out there for me.
Do I believe in love everlasting? Not really. But I’d love to find someone out there who makes me at least question that belief.
Sadie: I probably will after my next birthday. 93 years is a long time to look for someone.
OC736: Have fun tonight. I hope you find what you’re searching for. Whether you do or not, stay safe.
Fuck him for still being sweet and caring. And for making me smile with that stupid uneasiness in my stomach that feels like a good uneasiness instead of anything bad.
Sadie: I have stock in personal protective gear. No worries.
I’m glad he didn’t take the bait.
I would’ve really missed texting with him.
Chapter 9
Assignment #5
Write a short story, using these words, in order:
duster, sing, Volvo, avocado, indifferent
To: [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Assignment #5 You’ve got to be shitting me!
A young, attractive woman wearing a duster breezed her way into the coffee shop, singing a pleasant melody without words. She’s absorbed in her phone, but somehow manages to find the end of the line without looking, her voice moving through a range of notes, like a pianist traveling his fingers up, then down the ivory keys of his instrument. Several customers in front of her in line turn to stare, but she doesn’t see any of it as she slowly makes progress toward the register to place her order.
“Excuse, me, ma’am?”
The singing stops as she lifts her head from her phone. “I need an iced caramel macchiato.”
“What size?”
“Large. Wait...does that have milk in it?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says, his voice conveying his condescending thoughts.
“I can’t get anything with milk in it. What do you recommend that’s dairy-free and is actually yummy?”
“Can you have
any of the milk alternatives?” he asks with a dramatic roll of his eyes. After an intense discussion about coconut, soy, and almond options, she finally decides on a drink, pays the guy, and immediately starts singing again.
“Yo, lady,” asks a fellow patron waiting for his order. “What’s with the singing?”
She wears a sharp scowl but quits giving everyone a soundtrack to explain herself to the one person who asked instead of assuming she was being an intentional pain in the ass. He doesn’t look annoyed. He simply looks interested in her answer.
“I have a performance in half an hour. I need to keep my vocals warm.”
“Is that why you can’t have dairy?”
“The drink isn’t for me,” she says, stepping closer and looking around, showing a hint of self-consciousness for the first time. “I can’t have anything that’s not room temperature. But my driver wanted something, and he’s allergic to dairy.”
“You have a driver? Are you famous? Would I have heard of you?”
“What do you listen to?”
“The radio in my Volvo.”
The woman completely drops the pretentious act and gives the curious man a genuine smile. “People still listen to the radio?”
“What else ya going to do when you’re stuck in traffic?”
“Practice,” comes her simple answer. “But no, you’ve probably never heard of me. At least not yet. I’ve got big dreams I plan on accomplishing.”
“Cool,” he says, appreciating her motivation. He doesn’t have much of his own, but he loves listening to the radio every chance he can. “What’s your name? I’ll look you up.”
“What’d you order?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Ah...An avocado BLT.”
“Oh,” she sighs, thinking over his answer for much longer than is warranted. “Did you get it to go?”
After receiving affirmation from the intrigued stranger, she reaches for his hand, shaking it enthusiastically as she slips a small piece of paper into his hand. “It was great to meet you,” she offers with a smile. She then walks out without another word said or note sung.
“Olivia!”
The barista calls out the name repeatedly, but no one ever steps forward to claim the drink. She shrugs, totally indifferent that someone paid for their drink and walked out without getting it.
To: [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Assignment #5 Write a short story, using these words, in order: duster, sing, Volvo, avocado, indifferent
The duster makes its way across the open stretch of land, coming closer and closer, with nothing to stop it. I’ve never seen anything like it. The huge clouds of dust rise like ash from a volcano, except the land all around us is as flat as the ocean horizon.
“What do you think we should do?” I yell over the wind and the noise to my niece, hoping she has an idea. We’re all alone out here and I’m clueless about how to get us out of this disaster of a situation.
“Let’s sing!”
That doesn’t help us at all. I’m hoping she meant let’s pray. That makes a lot more sense. It also doesn’t make a whole lot of sense for me to ask her in the first place. She’s only three.
Knowing that I don’t want to be the person responsible for my niece getting sick, hurt, or worse, I grab her hand and pull her into my arms, running toward the parking lot. We need shelter, and being in a car is better than being stuck out in the open.
We don’t have much time. Lizzy, my niece, squeals in delight as I push myself harder, running as fast as I can, doing my best to get us to the car before the cloud overcomes us. We should be able to make it.
No, we will make it. We have to.
The parking lot is filled with cars, but no people. Mine is at the back of the lot, too far away if we don’t want to get swallowed in the brown haze of dust, sand, and God-only-knows-what chasing us down. Yanking on the handle of the first car we get to, I curse when I find it locked. Lizzy laughs, knowing it’s a bad word, one we’re not supposed to say when she’s around. I race to the next car, then the next, trying the handle on all of them before the door of a Volvo is almost ripped off its hinges in my haste. I toss Lizzy onto the passenger seat, then follow her in, collapsing on the stained cloth seats and looking out the window.
We made it.
Lizzy climbs into the back seat while I catch my breath, panting from exertion. After a few seconds, her little blond, curled head pops up from the back seat asking, “Uncle, what’s dis?”
Looking at the dark green, spherical shaped object in her hands, I almost laugh. “That’s an avocado.”
She shrugs her shoulders, indifferent, because that means nothing to her.
“It’s something you eat,” I explain, holding her eyes as the world disappears around us in a crazy intense wind of swirling brown. The sound of dirt, sand, and dust hitting the car makes her eyes widen, and her lip trembles as she looks out the window of the violently shaking car.
“We’re ok,” I tell her, brushing her hair off her damp forehead and taking the avocado from her hands. “Let’s try this, yeah?”
She looks at me with do much trust it hurts, watching me struggle with the avocado and my pocketknife. Part of her must be questioning where her mom is, but I can’t say a word about my sister. If I do, I won’t be able to tell Lizzy it’ll all be ok. I have no idea if my sister is going to get through this or not. And right now, with my sister somewhere in that storm, Lizzy’s safety is my number one concern.
Owen
Owen: The woman in your story is as mysterious as you are. Are you a singer? Do you annoy coffee drinkers with your voice while flirting or having sex with any guy who pays you attention?
SD275: Fuck off with the whore-ish shit.
She’s never sugarcoated anything, but she hasn’t been this outright mean, either.
Owen: Having a bad day?
SD275: Something like that. Is your niece’s name really Lizzy? Are you that protective of her?
Owen: It is, and I absolutely would be in that kind of situation. She’s the light of my entire family. Why didn’t the singer give the guy her name? Is your name Olivia?
It can’t be. Her initials are SD. As far as I know, the numbers in our email accounts mean nothing. They’re completely random. Which sucks. I’d love another clue about her.
SD275: No. And maybe she did, what was on the paper she gave him? Why were you and Lizzy separated from her mom?
I’m not going there. Not that I don’t want her to know, but I don’t want to talk about it. It’s cringe-worthy, something that might make her pity me, and I don’t want that.
Owen: Because we were. Tell me about the note. What was on it? Her name? Her number? A time/date/place to meet later so they could talk more?
SD275: I guess we’ll never know. I’m glad you took care of Lizzy. My story makes me look selfish. Yours makes you look like a hero.
I scoff at her comment. I’m not a hero. Nowhere close. I’m a bitter uncle, who hates the circumstances that brought my innocent niece to my family.
Owen: You said you were an only child. I’m assuming you don’t have kids. It makes sense that you’re thinking of yourself instead of someone else.
SD275: I love myself and it shows in my story. You don’t need to defend me. Yours was sweet. It makes you look…more attractive, I guess.
Owen: MORE attractive? That means you thought I was attractive to begin with.
SD275: That’s definitely not the right wording then. Let me rephrase...
Owen: Too late. I already know.
SD275: Whatever. I liked your story.
I like her story. Not the one she wrote tonight, but the one she’s giving me snippets of every time we communicate, no matter the reason. Knowing she won’t tell me, I type out a useless request.
Owen: I want your name.
SD275: Life sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?
I slide my phone onto my nightstand, chuckl
ing at her refusal. It only makes sense that she leaves me hanging. It’s kind of her signature.
Sadie
Fuck this week.
I hate my life right now. I checked my grades. The first one was all right, the second one, ok, the third was good, but the last one tanked my chances of getting anything above a C in the entire class. The prof slammed me, with good reason. The assignment about an autobiography blurb I submitted sucked. Like a broken sump pump trying to get rid of the raising waterline of a flood.
Ha! That’s a good one.
Mom’s place flooded this week because her sump pump quit working in the middle of the night, the same night her water pump broke in the ON position. Her already-old, rusty pipes burst, and she woke up to two feet of water in the basement. She said it looked like God was helping Noah’s ark set sail when she called me. So, tonight, after work, I have to drive home and help her move old, wet shit out of the basement and into a dumpster.
That’s not all. It’s more than my lousy grade and Mom’s basement.
Sarah’s been pissy all week. She’s saying I have a boyfriend, when I keep insisting I don’t. And what the fuck would it matter if I did? Why does she care? It isn’t going to make a difference to her either way, so why is she making it such a big deal?
And then you’ve got Owen, acting like he’s better than me all of a sudden. I still can’t believe the remark he made. How dare he think such a thing about me, let alone voice that thought! He can go fuck himself and the stick that’s wedged up his ass so far there’s probably a woody, shitty taste in his mouth.
Plus, my boss may have witnessed my lack of tolerance with both of those assholes on Monday. Thank God I didn’t slap Owen across the face like I wanted to when he gave me that degrading look as he came over to my desk, or I would’ve been fired on the spot. But when George saw me being “unfriendly”—or just a flat-out bitch, however you want to word it—toward both Owen and Sarah, it couldn’t be ignored.
