Sleep Is Death

Interview

I walked through the double-doors and remember thinking I didn't belong at a place like that.

There was a tall fountain with tiny fish, pebbles, and change; oak floors and tall ceilings. It wasn't anything fancy, per se, but the expensive decor and well-put-together employees made me feel lower than my position as janitor, and I wasn't hired yet.

I walked to the receptionist, and my kitten heels sounded off with each step.

She looked up from the computer, her thin glasses hanging off her nose by a string tied behind her ears.

"Welcome to Pine Hills News," she greeted me with a genuine smile that I forced myself to reciprocate. "How may I help you?"

"I'm here for Amber Luis. Ethan works here and referred me," I said. She nodded slowly and narrowed her eyes as if she were trying to figure out who I was. "My name's Helen."

She clicked and scrolled a few times on the computer, then gave me a wider grin. Off her demeanor, if she were anyone on the street, I'd have crossed through ongoing traffic to avoid her. I started to hate when people smiled just because; I didn't realize that about myself, that the couple nights around Ethan's friends stained my image of friendly Julian natives.

"You're actually a bit early. Take the elevator to the fourth floor," she said while swiveling around in her chair to look past the wall behind her. She pointed to two silver elevators near two large floor-to-ceiling windows. "From there, if you make a left, you'll see a waiting room." She turned to me. As she spoke, I nodded to show her I was listening. "If she doesn't call you in as soon as you step off the elevator, just hang out in that area."

I thanked her and followed her directions to the elevator. I pressed the button, and while I waited for the door to open, I admired the view of the mountain in the distance. It was like a painting or a backdrop used in an old western film like Little House on the Prairie. 

A helicopter flew over the mountains, and from where I stood, it resembled an ant-sized dragonfly. The elevator dinged and the door slid open. Men and women in suits came filing out, so I stepped aside. When the last person exited, I stepped in and glanced at the only other person in there with me—a tall, thin man with dark hair and pale skin.

We were soon-after shut inside. Mirrors with metal bars surrounded us like those in an amusement park. I looked to my right and saw his reflection staring at mine.

I was never afraid of men, but I'd be lying if I said my stomach wasn't turning knowing he was watching me.

I swallowed, then his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

I raised a hand and tucked my hair behind my right ear so the rest covered the side of my face from his view. As my hand jerked on its way to my side, he brought his fingers to his widow's peak and swept his dark hair off his forehead.

I licked my lips and stared forward. Through my peripheral, I saw my doing the same.

I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jeans, then he put his in the pockets of his slacks.

Everything I did, every movement I made, he mirrored it.

We were silent in the confined space, the beeping screen and whirring elevator shafts serving as the only ambience.

"Helen," he croaked my name, and my heart started thumping faster. I whipped my head to look at him with furrowed eyebrows, and my hair swung off my shoulder. I opened my mouth as I drew a breath, about to ask him how he knew my name. "Moving to the other side of America won't save you," he said, causing my questions to freeze below a growing lump in my throat. "You can run from Lou, your family, your friends, and your past, but you can't hide. Moving doesn't make it go away."

My mouth formed an O, relaxed, and repeated the motion. Eventually, I mustered a, "What," and the elevator rocked. We reached the fourth floor, and the door dinged before it rumbled open. 

He looked like a regular young adult, but his voice and the words he spoke made him sound like the hallucinations I tried to leave behind in Columbia.

I trudged off the elevator with my eyes on him. My chin was against my shoulder as I stared at him, the door closing between us.

I faced forward as a tall woman in heels approached me. She wore a black suede blazer that stopped at her knees, a livid-colored satin turtleneck, and dress pants that matched her coat.

"Miss. Lombardi, my name's Amber Luis. It's a pleasure putting a face with the name," she greeted me with a soft smile. Her words sent chills down my spine, and I didn't understand why. It terrified me, a nagging feeling that I'd heard it before: pleasure putting a face with the name. It wasn't until recently that I remembered why—Lou told me that same thing.

"How do you know my name?" Her smirk reached her narrowed eyes, and she tilted her head. "I mean, how do you know I'm Helen?"

"Well, Ethan mentioned a pretty girl with colorful hair dropping by for an interview." I nodded, and she said, "We don't get many transplanties like you around here, so I'm guessing you're his referal. Care to start the interview?"

I nodded again, and she turned around. I followed her across the room to the partially open door beside the watercooler.

I darted my gaze onto the people in their cubicles, typing and talking on the phones. I heard bits and pieces about a local story. An elderly woman's house caught fire due to faulty wiring, and she was hospitalized for a few weeks due to smoke inhalation.

We stepped into a spacious room with wood tables and leather couches. She had a woven rug near the couches that was shaped like a peanut, a fishtank against the wall, and five floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a view of the small town. I saw the mountains painted in the background.

"Alright, Miss. Lombardi," she said, then took her seat at her desk with the windows behind her. The bulky curtains were drawn back and resembled stage curtains, allowing light to pool in and strike her salt and pepper hair. When I sat across from her, she asked, "Actually, what do you prefer me to call you?"

"My first name is fine," I told her. She powered on the Apple computer, flashed a smile, then typed in her password. She smelled like tangerines, vanilla, and the air on the beach when the waves crashed against the shore.

"Well, Helen, what're you looking for?" I folded my hands on my lap and straightened my posture.

"Um," I droned, then mentally kicked myself for doing the one thing Ethan emphasised I shouldn't have done. We spent the rest of our weekend practicing interview questions, my walk, and my smile. He told me again and again to avoid awkward or uncertain phrases and habits. "Sorry." I shook my head, then spoke slowly, "I'm looking for an opportunity to further develop my skills as a custodian and key carrier."

"When was your last job?" I answered after taking a while to remember. "Why'd you leave?" I told her that I was sick and spent months getting treated. "What does your desired salary look like?"

"A million dollars a year." Amber chuckled at my joke, her forehead forming more wrinkles and her crows feet growing in definition. With a smile, I said, "I made seven twenty-five an hour, working five full-time hours during the week and one part-time on Saturday."

"Well, now I'm curious when you're ready to get started," she told me through laughter. "Our starting pay is ten per hour, and you'll be working five hours, three days a week. We can determine night or day shift, but right now we have a few custodians already, so night shift would be preferred."

I agreed to nightshift and breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn't been in Julian for long, but it felt like I was slowly but surely getting my life back on track.