The Santa Monica Surf Shop

Chapter One

Inhale deeply. Exhale. Inhale deeply. Exhale. Inhale... Such was the series of events that ensued as I sat on a cold bench in the Conservatory Gardens of New York City. In a sense, when you inhale, you fill your body with everything around you--good and bad. Your body then proceeds to do an incredible thing: it filters out the bad, leaving only the good. It helps you take one more breath, have one more heart beat. Then, you exhale the bad. Exhale.

It was a wet, gray day in early April. The park was secluded, which didn't surprise me. No one liked to come out on days like this--except for me. I liked the cold air. I liked the shiver that ran up my spine. It was sort of...invigorating. Besides, being all alone gave me a better chance to collect my thoughts. That's kind of why I liked the Gardens so much, especially on "ugly" days. Seclusion was sort of my thing.

It had been a long day. As a twenty-three year old journalism major, I thought that there would be limitless job opportunities for me in the city that never sleeps. Well, it turns out that I was wrong. I had been looking fruitlessly for three months. I was qualified. I knew what I was doing. Writing had been my safe haven ever since I was a little girl. But in New York, no one really recognized or cared about that. To them, I was just another irrelevant person trying to squeeze more money out of them in an already tight economy. Sometimes I let my frustrations overtake me, and headed out to the Conservatory Gardens to think. But it wasn't like I moped around all the time--I had a strong will. I was determined to let nothing get in the way of what I wanted to do in life.

My phone buzzed. Nonchalantly, I reached into my purse and glanced at the message. "Crap!" I muttered under my breath. I was going to be late for a dinner date I had with Andrea Grey, my friend and roommate. Every Tuesday we went out to dinner at Casa Comida for tacos. I quickly got up and started a light jog. It was only a few blocks away--I could still make it in time if I tried. I'm never late, I thought, and today won't be a first.

I looked up. The sky was getting progressively darker and the clouds more ominous. I sped up the pace, dodging the blank faces of robots from which species (humanity) we are a part of.

Three blocks to go. Suddenly, I felt a large drop of cold rain land on my face. And another. And another. And another... And then all at once, in a spectacular celestial light show, a massive thunderstorm began. I shivered as I ran on. One block to go. By now, my new Louis Vuitton shoes (which I had saved up for a long while working odd jobs) were soaked and muddy and my hair was plastered to my face.

Breathless and soaked to the skin, I reached the doors of Casa Comida. As I stepped in, a blast of freezing air slapped me in the face. Great, I thought. The AC is on. I glanced up to the clock on the wall. 5:48. I'm late, too.

"Jasmine?" Called Andrea as she walked over to me. "Oh my god. You're a mess. Come on, let's take a taxi back to the apartment." Too cold and embarrassed to say anything else, I just nodded. Andrea and I then sprinted back out into the downpour to hail a taxi.

***

One hot shower and bath robe later, I sat in the kitchen of our three-room apartment in downtown Manhattan sipping hot tea and eating warm Lo Mein that tasted like chlorine and grease. This was the first time in months that we'd skipped Taco Tuesday. Letting my frustrations get a hold of me, I slammed my plastic fork down, breaking off a tine in the process.

"So, rough day?" Andrea asked, her mouth full of chow fun.

"Manhattan Today called. I got turned down. Surprise, surprise..." I replied, releasing a big, pent-up sigh.

"Hey, chin up. You'll get there eventually. And if it makes you feel any better, I didn't have a very good day, either. When you're the assistant manager of H&M, there's always some customer complaining. Oh, and Katrina was giving everyone major attitude today. I had to talk to her twice about it. I understand she's under a lot of stress, but seriously...Taking it out on your co-workers AND the customers that are basically providing your paycheck? Not cool. Or professional. I think Marco should fire her, but whatever. I'm not the head manager, he is."