Promising Young Woman

Ordinary Girl

Cassandra does a "walk of shame" down a busy street back towards her house. She holds her dark red heels in one hand and a breakfast hotdog in the other, the ketchup dripping onto her arms and legs in blood-like fashion.

The sidewalk is disgusting—trash everywhere. Crumpled up soda cans litter the sides of the street, empty chip bags thrashed around by the wind. And the obligatory missing shoe lying in the street, waiting for its other half to arrive. The smell is somewhat manageable yet still reeks—the heat of the sun isn't helping much, either.

The sun beats down on her as her forehead has some droplets of sweat. Her clothes are wildly messy, her white blouse half-tucked into her skirt. Her hair is frizzy as if she just got up after a long night of rolling around in bed. The bottom of her feet have imprints of rocks and the bumpy concrete, a thin layer of dirt on them.

She can barely hear herself think over the sound of the loud construction in the vacant yard next to her. The workers hoot and holler at her, making snide comments about her body. The usual catcalls. "Hey, baby, why don't you come on over here?" "You need some woodwork?" Hard to deny they're getting kind of creative with them.

Cassandra stops in her tracks, finishes swallowing the bite she's chewing, and turns to the construction workers, lined up right outside the lot. She stares at them for what feels like minutes, pursing her lips and raising her right eyebrow. Their comments quickly stop as they get more and more unsettled at the woman standing her ground. They start getting aggressive.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" "Stop staring at me!" "Can't you take a joke?"

She smiles. She is satisfied—her job is done. She continues walking down the road.

———

Cassandra sits in the silent kitchen, a warm cup of coffee and a plate containing two runny eggs sitting right in front of her. She still has yet to touch the coffee. The only audible sound is the clacking of a fork on a plate.

She's cleaned herself up rather well. It's almost like last night never happened. Her hair has life and volume. Her face is no longer dirty. She's dressed in a light pink robe, though she's been out of the shower for about an hour.

Her mother, Susan, quietly eats her runny eggs as her father, Stanley, reads the morning newspaper. 

Susan is a beautiful woman—definitely looks like she was the hottest and most popular girl when she was in high school. She's still got the face, and the body to match. Her brown hair bounces with life as she glances at Cassandra. Stanley, on the other hand, looks like the star high school athlete who has since let himself go. His face has some acne and bumps, but nothing a little facial cleanser couldn't fix.

"Didn't hear you come in last night," Stanley says, finally filling the dead air.

Cassandra continues eating her eggs. 

"Everything alright?" he persists.

She finally takes a sip of the warm decaf coffee with French vanilla creamer.

"I had to work late," she answers.

"The coffee shop closes at nine."

Shit. They're not buying it. She idles for a moment, taking another sip of coffee trying to buy time. "We had to do inventory."

Susan sets her fork down and moves for her coffee cup. She sips. "You have to do a lot of inventory at that place. You should speak to the manager."

Cassandra nods her head, sarcastically replying, "I will." But they can't hear the sarcasm.

———