Cornell Tomorrow

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-5439-6203-1
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 178 Seiten

Reihe: Tomorrow

In the game of life, every move is pivotal. Some will say it's an impossible win, while others sail easily across the finish line. In Tomorrow, three people who are strangers to each other will find themselves locked in a mire of desperation, desire, and hopelessness that turns their game of life into a deadly reality.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Cornell, Tabitha

Leseproben

Janny As I sit in my car, in an almost empty parking lot, I think to myself, Is today going to be the day? The day I have been fighting back this whole time? Is today going to be the day I finally snap and completely lose my shit? Will I bust at the seams and let the real Janny pour out onto the floor like green toxic sludge for everyone to see? Will today be the day I go home and take the bottle of pills? I just never know. That’s what makes me so crazy in my head sometimes. I feel like I never know anything about anything, and it kills me. I feel like I’m just barely sliding by, day to day. I don’t believe life is supposed to be this hard. Yet, here I am, giving myself another pep talk. Trying to muster the courage, the motivation, to put my hand on the door handle and open the car door. To put my left, then my right foot onto the pavement. To slide my bulky body off the seat of the car into a standing position. To take those dreaded heavy steps into the building. To attempt to thrive in a place where I spend most of my precious life. For what? So I can get a paycheck and not be a homeless fat person? So I can call myself an honest working citizen that doesn’t live off the government like so many folks do? Pretty much. It would be much easier to leave my everyday life, to check out of realism for a while. So why don’t I choose to be one more statistic? Why don’t I live off the government, get the free health care, and never work again? Because—I was raised right and I believe I need to do my part in civilization to make my own authentic living. Even if it literally kills me inside. It’s not as if my job is tough or anything. I work in a clothing store for fuck’s sake. It’s the upscale customers that I have to cater to on a day-to-day basis that drains me mentally. Any occupation dealing with customer service is out-and-out repulsive to me. However, I only have a high-school level education, so my selections are very limited as far as careers are concerned. My official job label is fashion assistant, but I like to think of myself as a spending assistant. I make most of my earnings from commission and client tips, so the fashion assistant label sounds more reputable. The philosophy is, the more money the customers spend, the more money in my pocket at the close of the day. I was recently promoted to assistant manager yesterday. I believe it’s safe to say I’m decent at what I do, and I’m proud of it. I glance at my watch and realize I’m three minutes late for my shift and I’m still sitting in the parking lot. Okay, time for a pep talk. I got this. I need to put in my eight hours today so I can spend the rest of my evening at home, which is where I really want to be. I’m going to make the best of it today. Don’t forget to smile, because I am a mega-star. By mega-star I mean remarkable and awesome. I was promoted because I deserve it. Don’t second guess yourself. Don’t let my team regret their choice to hire me up. Be a team player. Most notably, be friendly with every person. I need to do what I need to do to get through this day. I think I’m ready. Let’s go! Open the door. The feeling comes over my body—I don’t want to do this. Another day of work sounds treacherous to me. I don’t want to be here. I want to be home in my safe spot. I want to be in my pajamas, cuddling with my fuzzy blanket and eating my favorite munchies. It takes every ounce of persuasion for me to not start the car and drive away forever. I force myself to get out of the vehicle and start walking. I open the front door of the store, and the smell of new denim hits me hard in the face. I forgot that today we start our fall clothing line. I have been enthusiastic for the new merchandise to be released in the store. It qualms me that it slipped my mind until now. New products in the store mean I get to go shopping for myself! The best part of my job is that I get a 40 percent markdown on everything in the store. My company requires me to wear clothing from their brand while I’m working. Each employee is allowed a generous budget for our own personal use. Anything beyond the budget is employee-discount worthy. I do love the fact that this boutique has attractive apparel in extended sizes. Many fashionable clothing stores only go up to a size XL, which usually fits like a medium size anyway. Even wearing agreeable clothes for eight hours a day, I’m still uncomfortable in my oversized figure. My frame doesn’t fit many of these clothes properly, and it makes me look bumpier than I really am. When I feel bumpy, I get pissy. I guess it’s safe to say I’m pissy a lot these days—more than the average 23-year-old woman should be, in my opinion. It’s hard to find decent clothes for a body that is bigger than God intended. I need a top that’s going to tighten at my chest so I can bring more attention to my breasts. It still has to be able to conceal my horrid arm fat and be loose enough to flow over my muffin top and jellylike rolls. Most importantly, it has to be long enough, so when I bend over, the stretch marks on my back aren’t exposed. This is a lot of pressure to put on one shirt! Don’t even get me started on jeans. It would be a miracle to find a decent pair of jeans that could live up to my overrated standards. Today I’m working with Lucy and Sherry. Lucy is a young blonde gal who is 18 or 19 if I had to speculate. She reminds me of that bouncy cheerleader girl in high school that all girls loath but secretly desired to be. Perky people make me sick. How can people be perky all the time? It’s not logical. I have to try very hard to act like that, and even then, I know it’s all forged. Eventually, my act shows truth and I’m revealed, leaving me to hate her even more than before. She annoys the crap out of me, probably because she is pretty and I’m not. She does her hair and makeup everyday like she’s going clubbing and hitting up an afternoon porno shoot. Who honestly has time to wash, dry, and curl their hair every morning and apply what appears to be 16 layers of makeup? Not me, that’s for sure. I look at people like Lucy and it makes me feel miserable about myself. I know that sounds absurd, but it’s true. She looks like she puts too much determination into herself. I wonder why. Is she hiding from something? Is she trying to cover up who she really is? I don’t have the patience for makeup and hair. As I watch Lucy, I begin to wonder what my life would be like if I were thin and polished like her. Would I be happier? Would I have a hot husband? Would people want to be just like me? I begin to feel bad for thinking these things about Lucy. She is actually a very nice person with an attractive personality. She has been nothing but kind toward me in all the months we’ve worked together. Deep down, I still hate her for reasons I don’t fully understand. I’m a horrible person, I know. Sherry is older than me; maybe low 30s? She has a boyfriend and kids and dogs—basically, the white-picket-fence type of life that most people dream about. Her boyfriend has a decent job managing a concrete company, so they are filthy rich. Sherry would never admit my assumption about her being rich, but I am observant. I can tell. She constantly has her nails manicured and freshly polished. Sherry wears a new flashy pair of heels to work every day. I rarely see her wear the same shoes twice. She must have a room in her house dedicated to storing shoes. I know she’s loaded because she has a new chic purse on her shoulder every few weeks. It’s sickening. She reminds me of those housewives that are bored, so they shop online for shit they don’t need. Oh, and did I mention she drives a BMW with huge rims? That’s a dead giveaway. For a long time, I questioned why someone with noticeable money would be working a low-paying job in clothing. Then it dawned on me one day. Maybe she truly is one of those bored housewives. Perhaps Sherry needs something to do throughout the day when her kids are at school. Maybe she has this job out of boredom. I wish I had that problem. A group of women enters the store. They appear joyful and are snickering with each other as they make their way around the clothing racks. Each of them has platinum blonde hair. I wonder if they realize how fake that blonde looks on each of their pretty little heads. I recognize one of them as a girl I graduated with in high school five years prior. Sherry can take this one. I need a minute to compose myself and get into the work groove. I stride around the corner, out of eyesight but close enough to eavesdrop. Two of the women are making fun of my old classmate because her pregnancy belly will be condemning her to the plus-size section of the store. Jealousy immediately strikes my mind. It’s hard enough seeing all the ultrasound pictures and gender reveals of friends on Facebook. Yet again, another person I know is moving on in their life and starting their family. My eyes start to swell, as the longing I have tucked away begins to surface. I have wanted to become pregnant for a while but Sean always says he is not ready to be a dad yet. Part of me thinks he just doesn’t want to have kids at all, and this is his way of procrastinating until it’s too late. Will he ever be ready for fatherhood? I went off the pill without telling Sean hoping...