chronicles of charisma

𝐢.𝐢𝐢 - 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐚

chapter two - flora williams

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❝I want the fairy tale.❞

—Pretty Woman (1990)

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My vision is a blur as I vaguely see a man with paint splattered all over his face, smiling and posing like a statue, like he's my muse. Suddenly there's a noise - a laugh - which I realize is coming from me. 

The strangest thing? I feel so...elated. A feeling as though I could lift up and fly away. As though I could die happy right this second (and I'm a person who never wants to die at all). Although, at the same time, the dream is like I'm being controlled by someone, my movements and dialogue all already scripted. Like a movie.

A premonition? Unlikely. I doubt I  would manage to be this happy with someone - or, to rephrase, make someone feel this happy when they are with me.

Even so, the tenderness of being able to do anything gets rid of those thoughts. This is what I'm made for, isn't it? I could just live in this paradise forever-

Andddd my dream-thoughts are disrupted by my phone alarm, to which the word 'obnoxious' is putting it lightly.

"AAA! Dammit!- What the?.." I mumble, hearing my quacking phone alarm as I lose control of my breath, my heart pounding. But-

Yes, you heard me right, quacking. 

For a bit of context...A couple years back, I had a "duck" phase (meaning, I loved all things about ducks: plush toys, keychains, wallpapers, stickers, shirts, you name it), so I set my phone alarm, ringtone, and timer tone to be a quacking sound (the one on the iPhone, you know?), which now, looking back on it 2 or 3 year later, was 100% a bad idea. My past self seemed to manage, even love the ringtone; my current self does not. The sound is so loud and aggressive...but to my dismay, I have no choice but to stick to the aggravating sound (since I'm a heavy sleeper).

By aggressive, you know when your dreams incorporate sound around you into the dream, like someone calling your name (for example, in books or in the movies, the main character has a flashback in a dream and the person they're with starts saying their name - cut to the real-life person yelling their name)? That's what it's like every morning. My completely normal dream, suddenly crashing down because of DUCK NOISES.

Anyway, back on track, I feel something wiggling. I look next to me seeing my darling Carlos curled up in a signature coil. Carlos is a little, pretentious cat, who believes my bed is his home. I don't personally mind since I enjoy the company, but he's very, very, very clingy. Finally regaining my vision(as I'm really too tired to open my eyes), I look up at my bare ceiling which has a fan that unfortunately, doesn't work anymore. My home gets really hot in the summer, and I wish my fan worked because, to be frank, I'm a bit too broke to afford a new fan.

Looking to my right, I spot my wall covered in about twenty pencil drawings. Everyday I wonder if one day, someday.. I'll wake up and see someone else lying next to me, a different kind of art, a lover. I gain my consciousness back as I shake all my thoughts out of my head, tasting the lingering aftertaste of coffee that I was drinking late last night (or...early this morning?) when I was working on an email to my friends for a group hangout.

The last part of my "morning ritual" (yes, looking around my room and feeling everything around me is my morning ritual), is smelling delicious sweets from the bakery downstairs. This heavenly smell comes from a shop called Loli's Bakery not too far from Times Square. It's a simple name, I know, but Lolita the owner (and the nicest woman I know), has a very successful business with her bakery. And not just because it's nearby one of the busiest spots I know - trust me, once you try the food there, you'll be blown away.

It's quite popular with people who with significant others, for some reason. Maybe because the titles of the pastries are "Love - pain au chocolat" or "Companionship - Éclair". Or maybe it's just the atmosphere. I'll figure it out someday.

Anyway, there's always at least five couples already coming in and leaving the shop with a smile by 11 o'clock. I always sketch all of them from a distance when I'm around, nearby the counter, admiring the love they share for each other.

But sometimes I can't help to feel envious. Whenever I feel like this, I sadly laugh at myself, mentally (sometimes physically) slapping my forehead.

"Oh God.. C'mon Flora get your act together." I would whisper to myself, going back to my continuous thoughts.

Why do I spend my mornings at the bakery everyday? Lolita feels pretty bad that I wake up every morning to the "ruckus" of her making pastries, since she doesn't understand that it's literal HEAVEN to me, so she always has food made for me without any cost.

But, hey! I'm not complaining because I'm, once again, pretty goddamn broke. So: free breakfast? Hell yes. And don't worry, I do my best to help out at the bakery on the weekends, which you can probably guess are the busiest days of the week.

Lamentably, today isn't the weekend, neither was yesterday, so I was working to the ungodly hours of the night to finish my work late yesterday evening (or perhaps early this morning?) so I have nothing to do today.

I do have a job, of course - I work as an art teacher - but the "school" I work for is actually just a few kids from rich families over internet group calls. I love my work. The kids who are in the program are mostly chronically sick kids or children who are too far away to get a normal education. There have been some really...unfortunate...situations within the school, but for the most part it helps pay the bills and most of the kids like me, since it's an art class and I always give them good grades.

I'm a person who believes that most interpretations of art are correct, as long as you are passionate about the piece and you can somewhat explain your artwork. I'm, as I said, an easy grader, especially since I had a really hard time with grades during my high school art class days.

So! That's my job. Now, why am I sitting around doing nothing on a weekday? There's a day off since the head of the school decided that she wants to "talk" with some of the careless or falling-behind students and their guardians.

There's plenty of time for a morning walk, so I jump out of my bed, and walk to my dresser. I accidentally knock over a cup of paint brushes (because of course I do) which catches me really off-guard, making me flinch and almost fall over.

"OW- Shit. Aw... are you kidding me?" I mutter, deciding to ignore the brushes on my floor as I slip on a hoodie I probably bought in high school and a pair of black leggings. 

I then grab my headphones (my idol, my everything. I've had these headphones for 4 years since their Black Friday sale of that year, where they costed 200 dollars less than they usually did. AND THEY STILL SOUND GREAT. Sue me for loving them), and start playing my main morning playlist on Spotify. I ran down the stairs, grabbing my usual morning coffee and a cookie, saying "Hello" to Lolita in the process, and started on my usual morning route.

Well, most of the way.

Usually I only walk/run for about 20 minutes...but I was feeling spontaneous, and I had the time, so I chose to walk further than I usually would. There are some really cool buildings around this area, but what had ended up catching my eye was a guitar center on 25 W 14th Street, about 30 minutes away. 

It's name...drumroll...Guitar Center. 

Now, I can't play guitar, and I perhaps I never will, but its warm store lights and homey decor are luring me in like a moth drawn to a flame. 

Maybe...should I?

Fuck it, I have all day.

I cross the street and make my best second-best decision of the day: walking into the Guitar Center.