Finn had finally done it. He had saved enough money to attend the town's all-boys school. After years of bullying from the public school, he was ecstatic to start his first day.
Of course, Finn hadn't expected to be 20 minutes late on the first...
My alarm blares, and for a moment, I think the last two days have just been a cruel dream. Honestly, it would make more sense for this to be a horrid drink that whoever controls the universe is playing on me. It's six am, and I groan, knowing it was all too good to be true. I grab my phone and am greeted by a good night text from Mateo, accompanied by the heart emoji.
A huge dumb smile spreads across my face. Mateo's sweet to text me good night after he said good night to me about ten times before I left. I hop out of bed and make my way to the closet to get dressed. I pull out my Chuck E Cheese uniform. It's just a basic purple long sleeve top with the logo on the back. I have a nametag to pin to it as well, but I'll wait until I get there. The pants are simple dress-pants but were a bit pricey.
I put a Pandora station on before hopping in the shower. I sing in my horrible voice as I shower. The hot water is short-lived. It's always temperamental in the mornings and very rarely lasts more than five minutes before noon. I pull on my uniform. I grab a cream-colored sweater before I slip out of my apartment. I lock the door behind me to be greeted in the hallway by my crazy cat neighbor lady. Ms. Renoylds is pulling a bag of cat food into her apartment.
"Do you need a hand, Ms. Renoylds?" I ask, placing my keys into the side pocket of my apron. This woman is practically agoraphobic. Ms. Renoylds only leaves the house for cat food. And even then, she only goes out when she can't get Walmart to deliver it directly to her. I always wonder if she comes from money or if she works from home. She could also be on disability, but I've never asked.
"No!" She grunts out. "If anyone else touches the food, the cats won't eat it." I didn't bother to point out that the person whose job it is to stock shelves has definitely touched.
"Alrighty, then. You look like you need a hand, though." I offer my assistance again.
"And you're gonna lend a hand with those noodle arms?" She asks, heaving the bag past the threshold of her doorway.
I laugh softly. "Have a nice day!" I tell her happily.
"Yeah, yeah. Hope your day doesn't suck, I guess." And with that bit of kindness, Ms. Renoylds slams the door shut behind her.
"Crazy woman," I mutter, stepping into the elevator. I press the lobby button and wait in silence. I send Mateo a good morning text, even though he's probably not awake.
The elevator door opens to reveal Morrie at the front desk. He looks like hell. Morrie usually does on Sundays. While I'm not entirely sure, and it's unfair to make assumptions, Morrie's an alcoholic. He always smells a little like alcohol. Except for Sundays, because Sundays are when Morrie goes to church and visits with his daughter. So that means Morrie binge-drinks on Saturday so he can stay sober for the day. It makes me sad for Morrie. He's such a nice guy. But, on Sunday mornings, he's not generally pleasant.
"Good morning, Morrie," I say, stepping out of the elevator.
"Lower your voice, child. Or I will break into your apartment and steal your shit," Morrie growls.
"Say hello to Charlene for me," I tell him, lowering the volume of my voice.
"Will do," Morrie answers, taking a swig of black coffee.
I begin my walk to work. On my way, I realize I'm hella early. I don't have to get there until eight-thirty. I walk into a coffee shop. As I walk in, a bell on the door sounds, which alerts everyone in the shop to my presence. No one bothers to look up in acknowledgment. I make my way to the counter to place my order.
"Good morning," I say, chipperly.
The barista looks at me with a look that tells me she's dead inside. Her hair is a deep shade of purple. So deep that upon first glance, it seems to be black. Her ears hold so many earrings that it looks heavy. She's probably around twenty and drowning in student loan debt.
"What can I get for you today, sir?" She asks, trying to match my energy and failing miserably. I wonder if it feels uncomfortable addressing people younger than you as sir.
"Iced coffee, please." Yes, I am well aware that ordering an iced coffee makes me a bit basic sue me.
"Size?" She asks.
"Oh, a medium, please."
"Can I get a name for the order?" She asks, typing something into the computer screen next to her.
"Finn," I give her my name, now wondering if I should have just put on my name tag.
"Alright, your total comes to $2.15."
I pull out my wallet. I have a five in there, and that's it. Maybe I should have just circled the park like a creep until it was closer to eight. I hand her the five, and she returns my change.
I take a seat at one of the tables. After a few minutes, a woman approaches the counter. The cruel part of my mind wonders how long it'll take for her to ask for the manager. I'm watching the exchange when I hear my name being called.
I stand and make my way to the counter. I thank the barista, and she returns my smile with a half-hearted one from herself. I can feel the woman's eyes on me. I turn to her, ready to ask if she has an issue.
"Finn?" She asks.
It takes my brain a minute to register who this woman is. When I do, I drop my iced coffee on the floor. I blink for a moment as tears well in my eyes. I think my heart may have stopped. I feel the beginnings of a panic attack underway. It's my mother.
I mumble a sorry to the barista for leaving a mess, then I bolt.
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