TO HAVE & HAVE NOT

9

Olivia

I sat on a bench, my hair a complete mess, wild strands catching the breeze, while my eyes were puffy and red from the tears that had flowed moments before. This veneer of calm I was trying to project felt fragile and almost laughable.

As I fumbled with my phone, dialing my father's number, I could feel a wave of longing wash over me—not just for my dad's familiar voice, but for the simpler times when I could share everything without the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. "Dad," I choked out, desperation lacing my words as I clung to the hope that hearing his voice would somehow ease the gnawing anxiety in my chest.

"How's it going, Hollywood?" he joked, his tone lighthearted and playful, an all-too-familiar sound that both comforted and stung, a reminder of the innocence I once possessed.

Through my tears, I chuckled, appreciative of his unwavering support, even as he remained blissfully unaware of the darker, often cruel side of this glamorous facade I found myself in. "It's good, Dad," I lied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue as they left my mouth.

"You sound upset. Has something happened?" he inquired, genuine concern creeping into his voice.

It took everything in me not to break down right there as I stammered, "No, no! I just left this meeting...it went well," trying desperately to mask the emotional turmoil. I rushed to add, "I'm getting into this cool event tomorrow night," hoping the excitement would seep through the phone and convince him of my joy.

His response was instantaneous, a swell of pride that resonated in his exclamation, "Hollywood, I am so proud of you! I can't wait to tell everyone; will you give me an update whenever you can?"

Those words filled me with warmth, contrasting sharply with my swirling doubts. "Of course, Dad," I replied softly, almost wistfully, marveling at how his faith in me remained a steady lighthouse in the storm despite the chaos surrounding me.

"I love you. Break a leg, Hollywood," he added jokingly, and I could almost envision the playful smile on his face—his way of reminding me to find joy in the journey, even amidst the chaos that often threatened to swallow me whole.

I returned to Forever 21 and returned the outfit I had stolen, never wanting to see it again after what I had been through. I slipped into a simple black dress, hoping that its understated elegance would help me blend into the crowd, and was off to the address on the post-it note I had clutched nervously in my palm.

The streets felt foreign like I was walking a tightrope between my old life and the new beginnings I desperately sought. When I finally arrived at the venue, a regal building pulsating with life, I was met with a surreal sight — a huge line snaking around the block. My heart quickened, and a tumult of anxiety and hope collided within me as I stood patiently awaiting my turn. Every second seemed to amplify my fear; the people around me blurred as I focused solely on the impending confrontation with the security officer.

When the moment arrived, my throat tightened; "Name?" he asked in a way that felt routine and daunting.

"Aaliyah Hussain," I replied, trying to mask the tremor in my voice.

He scrutinized the list, his brow furrowing in concentration, before looking back at me with confusion and firmness. "You're not on the list," he stated flatly, and in that instant, my heart sank.

"No, there's a mistake. I was told my name was on the list. Mr. Waters told me my name was on the list," I began to panic, my breath hitching as I recalled the tortuous day that led me to this moment.

"It's not on the list, ma'am," he reiterated, his tone unyielding, and I felt a chaos of emotions burst forth.

"No. You don't understand! You don't know what I've been through to get on this list," I cried out, my voice rising over the sea of chatter, the weight of my struggles crashing down on me like waves. I could feel the eyes of those behind me dull into my back, pitying me, judging me, but it hardly mattered; all that mattered was this moment of truth, standing bare in front of an unforgiving guard, encapsulated in both my hope and despair, desperate to prove that I belonged here, that I had fought far too hard to be turned away now.