Enigma Stigma (ONC 2023 Entry)

3.

Constance did not have a poker face. Growing up, she was told that she could be read more easily than a children's book. Despite her best efforts to hide whatever turmoil she was feeling inside, it always seemed to come bubbling out on her face for all the world to see. That was why she preferred to talk about hard things over the telephone when she was alone. She could be an absolutely mess and no one would be a witness to it except her.

Leaning back against the lumpy grayish white couch in her apartment later that evening, she kept her eyes on the muted program on the television set in front of her as her mother filled her in on her day. A box of Kleenex sat on the coffee table in front of her; a small pile of used and balled up tissues beside it.

"Tessica was surprised to hear that you left the teaching profession," continued her mother; the name drawing Constance's mind back to the conversation at hand.

Tessica Fuller was a former classmate of Constance's. They had started out as friends - but as they grew older - they grew apart. Now apples and couchs had more in common than the two of them did. Whenever Tessica asked about her, it was a reflex of politeness. No doubt her mother was the one that had bumped into Tessica and initiated the conversation, and Tessica was too polite to back out of it. Her mother still saw her and Tessica as the same seven-year-old girls who loved playing with their Barbie dolls together.

"People change up their jobs every once in a while. It's not like it should come as that big a surprise. Didn't you say she had changed jobs too once?" asked Constance.

"Yes, she's a beautician now. She used to be a model."

And this is where their differences really came into play. At the mention of the word 'model', Constance looked down at herself. Once she had gotten home from her long day, she had changed directly into a baggy salmon colored sweatshirt and gray sweatpants before tying her straggly mess of hair back into a crude ponytail. Never in a million years would anyone want someone like her to be a model. Constance was no where near close to the beauty standard set by society.

"Anyway - speaking of jobs - how was your interview today? You said you had one today, didn't you?" asked her mother.

"I did have one today and it...went."

"Meaning?"

"I'm waiting to get a call," said Constance.

"Ah."

There were so many things hidden within that one syllable word. Constance could feel all the meanings being translated within her mind, shifting to sit up on the couch as the uncomfortableness they carried settled in her chest. The television in front of her had turned to some sort of infomercial for pizza, causing Constance's stomach to growl despite having already had supper. Hunger seemed to be her stress reflex.

"I need to get going for now," said Constance, finally breaking the silence, "but I'll let you know about the job when I know. Okay?"

"Okay...Constance?"

"Yes?"

"No matter what happens, I love you."

A faint smile broke across Constance's lips then as she echoed those words back to her mother before she hung up the call. At least there was someone in her life that uttered those words to her. She certainly couldn't count on hearing them from any guy in her lifetime.

Slowly rising from the couch, Constance padded her way out to her small kitchen. The kitchen was laid off in such a way that it always made her feel as if the walls were slowly squeezing together to close in on her. She was used to it though. For her, this cramped and rundown apartment was home.

Opening up her fridge, she peered into the dimly lit interior at her options for food. She eventually settled on a slice of leftover pizza. She didn't bother to heat it up as she made her way back into the living room, walking past the few family photos that she had hung up on the wall to decorate the place when she had first moved in.

The unemployment problem caused her head to ache as she sank to a seat on the couch once more. As she zoned out on the couch eating her leftover pizza, the man from the bus came back to her mind. He was a mystery to her that she needed to solve. It gave her a brief reprieve from her own problems which she realized she needed more than anything at that moment.

"What can I do to figure out who you are?" she wondered out loud as she finished her leftover pizza slice.

She supposed that - if she was going to figure out who he was - she needed to start with finding out what his name was. There was obviously no way that mister dark and brooding was his name. Reaching over to the messenger bag on the couch beside her, she tugged it closer to her to dig out her notebook. She figured that the man wouldn't willingly give her his name on his own which meant she would need to guess it.

"I'll just have to pester him until he tells me," she said as she began to write out names.

She spent the next hour or two doing so until she fell to sleep on the couch with the notebook hugged against her chest. For the first time in a long time, she found herself able to sleep through the night thinking about something else aside from her own messed up life.