Losing Yet Winning

One

        Thunder crashed overhead. Rain splattered onto the uneven sidewalk and collected in the cracks. Lightning zigzagged across the sky, racing against the darkness. The moon shone through the clouds, though just a small sliver was visible. I walked fast, not even bothering to avoid the puddles scattered all around me. My boots sunk into muddy water as I crossed the grass to get to the front door of my apartment building. The lobby was eerily silent as I walked past the mailboxes and empty couches on my way to apartment #1C. I fumbled around in my purse for the key while my hair and coat dripped onto the marble tile under me. As soon as I heard the key click in the lock I shoved open the heavy wooden door with a grunt. Relief flooded through my body the way a hot drink does after being out in the cold for a while. I was finally home and all my worries seemed to momentarily vanish as I took in the familiar surroundings and smell.

        "Anne? Anne, are you here? We need to talk." I slid out of my soaked jacket and shook out my long auburn hair. I checked every room only to discover that Anne wasn't home yet. Wearily I looked at the time displayed on the oven in the kitchen- 1:37 a.m.

        I met Anne Roberts the first day of classes at Parsons (The New School for Design). Her curly brown hair had perfectly framed her face and her green eyes looked bright and welcoming. Deciding she looked the friendliest out of everyone in the room, I had sat down next to her. We became friends instantly; she showed me around Manhattan and took me to all her favorite restaurants and clubs. I knew everything about her and she knew everything about me. I had never been so close to anybody in my entire life. She was like the sister I never had. At the beginning of our second year at Parsons we decided to split the cost of an apartment close to campus. Apparently her family was very wealthy and in turn so was she. Her dad was a well-known lawyer who practiced all over the city and her mom was a highly praised, highly successful plastic surgeon.

        I guess you could say my family was also rich because the only family I had was my mom and she was loaded. I vividly remember my mom coming into my room one night when I was barely three. She had sat me down on her lap and said that it was just going to be the two of us from then on. And she had been right, after that I never saw my dad again. I don’t even remember what he looked like anymore. Mom got rid of any and all pictures of him. When I turned six, Mom shipped me off to a fancy boarding school in Ireland from first grade all the way to senior year of high school so she could "shop the world." From Los Angeles to France to Italy, my mom has seen it all. Last time I talked to her she was thinking about starting up her acting career again. The thing about my mom is that she doesn't know what she wants. She has a desire to do all these things until one day she doesn't anymore. I don't know how you could live like that. I'd been certain since a young age that I wanted to work in the fashion industry. In less than a month I'd be graduated from Parsons and have my degree in fashion design.

        As I crawled into bed for the night I reached out and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. My lock screen displayed a picture of me, Anne, and a few other girls we sometimes hung around with, posing outside of Parsons on the first day of senior year. I unlocked the phone and checked my recent call log. Five calls to Anne in the past three hours, and she hadn't answered any of them. I began to get worried.

        The next morning when I woke up, Anne still wasn't home. The knot in my stomach grew. She would never miss a day to work on her collection. I tried to think optimistically, something my mother had never been able to do. I thought maybe she was already at school and she had just gone to work for a while after I saw her last night and hadn’t bothered coming home. For our final project as seniors we all had to create our own original collection consisting of at least five outfits. Anne and I had been going in to school almost every day from eight in the morning until six in the evening and we still had weeks of work left ahead of us. I hastily threw on the clothes I had worn two days ago and haphazardly ran a brush through my hair. I didn't even bother with makeup, since it was a Saturday hardly any people would be out on campus. I hurriedly made some coffee and poured it into my travel mug spilling a bit on the marble countertop.