Margrot "Magz" Willsbury
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Like a complex spiderweb, twine was hung all around my itty- bitty studio apartment room. Each inch of the twine was covered with everything under the Sun, from achievements to Polaroids of personal memories from back home in Osaka. It was like a slideshow of my entire life, all displayed in one place; and that's how it always was.
The Good.
The Bad.
The Ugly.
The twine even ran across the top of my back sliding glass door, leading to the small joint balcony I share with my elusive neighbor. Turn 90 degrees and you have all Brooklyn exhibited right in front of your wandering eyes. The magnificent view of bright neon lights glittering like artificial stars. You look through my glass door, and you see me standing there talking to something. My loud, boisterous voice echoing everywhere, my exaggerated movements and constant switching of languages.
Yep, that's me.
Something my parents never wanted me to be, a measly internet "star".
"Why not a doctor, or lawyer? Why act like an idiot on the interwebs instead?" My adoptive parents use to scold when I lived at home. I would just look down and shrug my shoulders.
"Because why not?
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Friday 2:33 p.m.
The cold winter air of Brooklyn hit my already reddened face, making a slight burn sensation. I move my scarf more over the lower half of my face, hoping to generate some warmth. I clutched my yellow beat up backpack closer to my side, trying to find a park bench that wasn't overtaken by pigeons or cold old people. I've been walking a while, my small apartment not anywhere close to the serene park I usually sketch in.
I come across a park bench that was half taken half not, empty take out boxes and ither random shit encasing left side. I sigh, rolling my eyes and sitting down. My long dark hair fell over the back side of the bench waving in that previously mentioned winter wind. Pulling out my sketch book, prompt for my final project and a pencil I get to work. This time, my professor said I have to draw a random person in public doing something, and give it to them. I really don't ,want to do it, interacting with people not sounding like my cup of tea. I stare at the blank page, tapping the end of my pencil on the paper.
One last project , Magz. Then you'll get your bachelors and be able to focus on
YouTube full time, like you want; right?
Peering back up at my surroundings, I see what in front of me. Trees, walking people, and that's about it. My scarf slipped down, but at that point I didn't even give a shit. I had to get this done, get my video edited and posted all by tonight.
"Fuck." I muttered as I sketched the busy people and naked trees in the Brooklyn winter.
5:46 p.m.
I slammed my apartment door shut, shaking off the loose snowflakes onto my floor while muttering obscenities. Taking off my scarf, jacket, and shoes I threw them to the side. I tossed my bag on to my bed, and quickly restocked my fridge. Then shuffling back into my room, and swung open my backdoor curtains while simultaneously pulling out my camera and tripod. Setting it up in front of the backdoor, I walked over to the mirror to freshen up. My grey asian eyes and prominent dark eyebrows were usually my most noticable features, but now it was a reddened once tan face from the cool air earlier. I sighed, rubbing on some concealer and calling it a day. I stepped in front of the camera, and of course right as I was ready to start recording, my phone rang.
"Son of a bitch." I grunted, reaching over and fishing my phone out of my bag lying on my bed.
Tía lit up the screen, and a small smile gave way on my face. I answered, joining my bag on my bed.
"Hola tía. ¿Todo bien?" I asked, and I heard her hum a yes in response.
"Sí, sí Margo" she sweetly replied through the phone.
12:56 a.m. , Saturday
I jolted awake, shooting up panting. Looking on my lap, I saw my phone almost dead and my bag with it's contents strewed everywhere. I checked my phone log, and saw I talked to my Tiá for almost three hours. Then I assumed I fell asleep and took a nice four hour nap. Great, less time to film now. I rolled off my bed, quickly shuffling to my vanity, touching up my makeup and hair. Standing in front of the camera, I ever so carefully rubbed my eyes before pressing the record button.
"Konnichiwa fellow pendejos!" I shouted way too loud considering my condition, because soon after I started coughing. Once I caught my breath, I heard the weird noises coming from next door again. It sounded like someone was dying, and it got on my nerves. The I heard the muffled sixty year old smoker voice shout,
"Pink Guy what's wrong?" I scoffed, shaking my head before turning towards the camera while pointing at the wall.
"You see guys, this is the shit I have to deal with." Then, the most awful screeching noise flooded my apartment, making me jump about three feet. I shook my head, pausing recording and muttering;
"Not today hakujin." I walked over to a blank space on my wall, pounding on it and yelling at about the volume the person was before;
"Hey can you kindly shut the fuck up?!"
It went silent.
"Sorry." A smooth deep voice shouted in response, taking me aback. I've lived in this apartment for almost a year, and I've only heard the smoker voice from that apartment. I grabbed a hairtie, pulling my waist length waving obsidian hair into a ponytail, making the stupid decision to step out onto my balcony in only shorts and a cropped tee; in the middle of a Brooklyn winter. I needed to see who this dude was.
As soon as placed a foot into the balcony outside, chills rushed through my body, I slid the door shut, crossing my arms before walking to my neighbors backdoor. I tapped on it softly, recrossing my arms as tightly as I could, and looking over my shoulder to the view. The bright city lights lit up the horizon like artificial stars, making me forget my coldness and what I was doing. But, I was unfortunately soon snapped out of it when I heard the pop of a sliding glass door open. I stun around to see my neighbor in the flesh and blood, but the exact opposite of who I expected.
