Appearances

1988

It was a misty April day when a young woman stood at a bus stop, biting the inside of her cheek. She wasn't completely sure of what she was doing, only that she was bound to screw up whatever life she had previously made for herself. But then again, was that life all that great? Was she actually afraid to leave it behind? She thought about how she had once, not so long ago, disembarked form a bus at the same stop, naive and ready for success. And now, here she was, completing the exact opposite action and feeling the inverse of what she had before. Her thoughts were interrupted by the loud has of a diesel engine, followed by the nauseating stench of fuel fumes, indicating to her that the aforementioned bus had arrived. She picked up her Gucci suitcase from the bench next to her and slowly walked towards the bus doors. The heels of her shoes clicked on the concrete sidewalk, and maybe it was just her nerves, maybe it was her over dramatic nature, but at that moment the whole city seemed to go silent. Her surroundings disappeared and the only things that existed were the double doors of the bus, the authoritative click of her shoes, and - herself. She clenched tightly to the handle of her suitcase, feeling her long manicured fingernails dig into her palms. She wasn't going to turn back now. She carefully tethered up the plastic stairs of the bus and handed the driver her ticket. He was a tired looking old man, and he seemed to be much the same as any other stereotypical bus driver - a guy who had done blue collar work his entire life until one day he realized it had all been a waste. He probably only worked this lame job to get whatever insurance benefits that went along with it. The old man punched her ticket and he glances up at her for a second, then did a double take. She had anticipated this, and had already turned away before he could say the usual "haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

Of course he had seen her! She had been on the cover of every damn fashion magazine published!

She clicked her way down the aisle and sat down in a seat somewhere in the middle of the bus. She imagined she must've looked pretty comical just then - walking down the aisle of a stuffy old bus with cracked vinyl seats as if it were some kind of fashion runway. She would really have to get rid of that stupid, poised, "look at me" strut she had been taught to master. After all, she wasn't going to be anyone's stupid model anymore.

She pulled out her wallet and jammed her bus ticket stub into the pocket next to her identification card.
The name on the ID was Andra Everston, and Andrea Everston was heading back home.

The bus released another loud hiss as the driver shifted gears, and Andrea sighed. She nestled her suitcase into the seat next to her and turned to look out the grimy window and slip into her own thoughts.
"The city is where you make it break it. Isn't that the way the saying goes?" Andrea thought to herself. "What if you do both? What if you make it, whatever 'it' is and then voluntarily break it because it wasn't what you thought? That's what I did."
She watched the concrete scenery of the city go by. The view was always the same - different pigments of drab gray buildings, the only variations being found in the graffiti on the walls and the shifty-eyed junkies on the streets. Why had she ever thought that being in the city would do her any good? It seems like a good idea at the time, but then again, Andrea's definition of the word 'good' had changed since then. Five years ago, the word 'good' to Andrea meant making money and being famous. And if you look at it in that light, the city did do her 'good'; it had given her just what she had wanted then and there: money and fame. But now that she had lived it, now that she could see life without rose tinted glasses, her meaning of 'good' had changed. Drastically. It had altered so much that Andrea was willing to leave everything that she had made for herself in the city.
All in all, that public figure lifestyle wasn't what she thought. This new, jaded version of herself didn't think that 'good' meant starving herself and getting plastic surgery to be the image of what some fat slob in a modeling agency thought she should be. She clenched her jaw as she thought of the ever so delicate insinuations that she "wasn't quite the image the public wanted yet".
When those words were said, something inside Andrea cracked. She knew she had to get out of that damn agency, and she had to get out of that death trap of a city.