To be a God

Chapter I

Her arrival to Chester, South Carolina was not some grand entrance. It was a simple step from somewhere to nowhere. It was a small town but it was large enough for a college. There were no expectations in this town, none for Marla, it was her fresh start. Air circled around her as she stepped off the Greyhound. It was hot, fresh, and damp; it smelled like honeysuckles and mowed grass, the perfect mix of sticky and sweet. Not knowing where to go, Marla simply wandered. In the downtown area of her new home, she walked past bakeries with their doors wide open and the smell of pastries flooding the streets. Past boutiques filled with girls who had perfectly curled hair and sundresses. One nice thrift store, old chairs and lace curtains, and a faint musk flooding onto the sidewalk. And a coffee shop on the corner, doors closed, lights dimmed and a single barista leaning over the counter waiting.

She hasn't visited the school before and had only seen the brochures of the campus, quaint and green. The days that she had locked herself in her bathroom, pouring over her hidden fantasy – her brochures of her in a different life. Marla had all the privilege she or anyone could have hoped for. Private schools, private tutors, private chefs, private ballet lessons, private everything. Her mother stayed at home, teaching Marla the duties of a wife and a mother. Helping her keep her feminine figure and counting her calories, is apparently also part of being a dutiful wife. Her father worked all day and came home after dinner at night, no doubt already full from dinners with clients or too tired from sleeping with his secretary. What good is it to be a dutiful wife without a half-decent husband? This school would be Marla's freedom from the suffocation of being alone, and in a home that does not love or know how to be loved. This school, this small town, where there is nowhere to hide from life that could be lived. Marla turned into the coffee shop. A bell rang with the opening of the door and the barista stood up straight. She walked up to the counter, readjusting the strap on her shoulder that held a few of her possessions.

"One coffee please, black," Marla told the barista. Nodding his head and poured the coffee into a cup, handing it to her. "Would you mind pointing me in the direction of Chelsea College?"

"Yeah," he reached his arm over the counter," Keep going down 3rd like you were, hang a left on Simpson Ave, keep walking 'til you see the sign and archway. Hard to miss."

"Thanks," Marla lifted the cup in salute, turned on her heel, and walked out. Bell rang as she left.

The walk was pleasant enough. The air moved slightly, a breeze in the trees and in Marla's hair. This wind cooled the sweat working its way down her forehead, but did nothing for the sweat starting to pool at her back. Walking in the southern heat felt different than walking in the New England summer, a different air, a different everything. Marla drank her coffee until it was empty, the overly bitter taste made it obvious that the beans weren't that great. Small-town coffee shouldn't be that good anyways. Downing the drink and throwing it away in the nearest trashcan and she turned on Simpson Ave, as directed, and kept walking. Reaching into a pocket in her duffle bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. She dragged and puffed and walked. That barista didn't say how long this god damn walk would be. It felt like miles from the bus stop to the coffee shop to here. Her bag was not getting any lighter and eventually felt like a bag of bricks. Her feet shuffled over the pavement like a zombie.

The cool breeze in the air that once greeted Marla upon arrival has turned into a thick blanket of humidity and heat. A light jacket that she brought with her only exasperated the uncomfortable feeling that the heat and the beaming mid-day sun gave. Looking around the town, Marla saw the tricks of the girls and women. Bright and soft colored fabrics, lightweight and breezy materials that help block the heat and increase the airflow. Much smarter than Marla, who decided to wear on the bus, a baggy pair of shorts and a dark-colored tee-shirt, along with the jacket she brought to keep her warm or to cover her face from the light while on the bus from Albany to here.