Labyrinth of Life

Chapter 1

I look out at the backyard from my bedroom window and watch as the sun sets over the roofs of my neighbor's houses. I notice that almost all the snow, from the previous season, has almost completely disappeared. Although we're in the middle of spring, it's not a surprise to me that there is still a bit of snow on the ground. I do live in Toronto of all places, where it's expected to randomly snow in the middle of April.

The bright pink and dark yellow tones in the sky almost make me forget that I'm on the phone. That is until the voice of one of my best friends interrupts my thoughts. "You should wear that off-the-shoulder, light-pink crop top; the one you bought with me, with your black high-waisted jeans; the one with the rips in them. You know, those jeans make your ass look great. But whatever you do, do not wear your faded-out black jeans. I'll never understand why you still have them," Rosi, who has been one of my best friends for the past 13 years, said over the phone as she sighed. Her full name is Rosalina, but for as long as I can remember, I've called her Rosi.

It still baffles me how Rosi has the contents of my closet memorized. She's able to coordinate an entire outfit for me within a matter of minutes, without even being in the same room as me. "First of all, those are my favorite jeans. And second of all, they are my comfy jeans," I responded with a giggle. Alright, it's time to start getting ready, otherwise, I'm going to miss my window to go out. If I even attempted to leave the house after a certain time, my mom would probably beat me with a wooden spoon and direct me right back to my bedroom.

I turn from the window and walk towards my mirrored, sliding closet doors. "And shoes?" I asked as I slid the doors open.

"Your black stilettos, the ones with ankle straps." My eyes dart to the section of my closet where I have all my short-sleeved tops hung up; in in-between my sleeveless and long-sleeved shirts. "No way," I retorted. "How about my white Air Force?" I asked as I scanned the colors of my shirts until my eyes landed on the light-pink top Rosi amazingly described from memory.

"How about, no," Rosi counters. "Also, hold on, Mina's calling me. Let me three-way her in." Mina is my other best friend. The three of us have been best friends since elementary school. Mina and Rosi had known each other from junior kindergarten, and I was adopted into the friendship in grade 3 when my parents and I moved to our current neighborhood.

I look to the top shelf, inside my closet, where I have all my jeans folded. I cradle my cell phone between my ear and my shoulder as I reach for the section where all my black pants are folded. I listen to the hold tone on the line while I search for the second article of clothing Rosi had suggested. Just as I spot the jeans, I hear the voices of my two best friends emerge back into my left ear. "Tell her," I heard Rosi start. "Tell her she can't wear her air-forces."

"Ren," Mina said in a disappointed tone. "You need to understand that your white air forces are no longer white. It's time for them to be burned and buried."

"The only way those are getting buried is if they are attached to my corpse. I love those shoes." I playfully rebuttal. I slide my closet door shut and turn to my bed, which is at the center of my rectangular-shaped bedroom. "Are you wearing makeup, Ren?" Mina asked

"Yup, I'm about to put it on right now," I said as I placed my clothes down on the bed and proceeded to my walnut-colored bedside dresser to take out my eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss.

"Mina, you're supposed to ask her if she's wearing foundation. I bet you a bottle of Heineken that she's only going to be wearing eyeliner and mascara." Rosi is not wrong about that. I am not much of a makeup person. I only ever wear heavy makeup if it's a special occasion, and tonight does not qualify as a special occasion. "Sorry, you lose. You forgot to mention my lip gloss," I said with a chuckle before I continued. "Also, back to shoes, Air Forces?"