Searching for a Perfect Day

Day 1

Chapter One: Wednesday/Day One

The seat holds little comfort, even though it's spacious, heated, and leather. She shifts, looking again at the wide expanse of clouds in her peripherals. The sun's colors are just beginning to bleed in her surroundings, painting the sky in colors of a fading bruise. Sunset. Setting, disappearing faster than usual because of her trajectory.

2500 miles. That's how far she's traveling…rounded up. Of course she's not one to ever estimate or round anything up. 2448.3 miles. Four hours and fifteen minutes according to her itinerary. Again, a timeframe that's probably rounded up. Checking on her wristwatch, she finds that only an hour has elapsed, and she could control the shaking of her legs and the trembling of her heart about as much as she can control where this plane is taking her.

"Can I interest you on a drink?"

The voice forces her attention to the aisle, hazel eyes looking back at her in question. There is no warmth there; she can see past the professional courtesy wrapped in a too wide smile. An infinitesimal shake of the head later and her attention's back to the outside world, now painted in splotches of ink, indigo, and deep purple. Stars have just become prevalent, twinkling innocently on as her mind continues its never ending assault on her fatigued body. With nothing to do and confined in a flying death trap, what else can her overworked mind do but think while staring listlessly at her surroundings.

Has it really just been two hours since that dreaded phone call?

She sometimes wished that life, fate, whatever, could give an indication for when her world would implode. She wished it would give a fair warning, like an earthquake or a massive blackout…a thunderstorm…or, better yet, a snowstorm…in the middle of May in the heart of downtown LA. No. Instead it was a day like every other one that had bled before it. The sun had risen in the east, the smog already so thick and noticeable it was hardly worth noting. She had breakfast: a cup of Greek yogurt and a bowl of oatmeal topped with blueberries. She went to class. Had little to no social interaction because, hey, it really was shaping up to be an otherwise normal day. At the conclusion of class, with no plans and nowhere to really go, she had driven home. Again, this was normal. The first indication that it wouldn't be another average day was the constant, red bleats of her answering machine that greeted her upon her arrival.

"You have three new messages."

She doesn't carry a cellphone. She has one, but she doesn't carry it. No one knows the number to it, save two people…and she doesn't get calls or messages from them so often that it facilitates carrying said device. Whenever she has to jot a number down for some official looking paper, she'd always give her landline. If she wasn't home and it was important, they can always leave a message. Upon retrospect, she finds that it literally is only two people that know her cellphone number—even she has no clue what it is off the top of her head. In this day and age, she knows that's not normal…but then again, she's never met anyone who's ever been in self-imposed exile either. It seems there are many things about her that's archaic.

"This message is for Elsa Andersen. This is Jacob Greene of Populous. We've looked into your portfolio and we like what we see. We were hoping to schedule an interview for an internship here with possible hiring at its culmination. Give me a call at 415-653-3620 extension 3744. Thanks, and we look forward to speaking with you."

Beep.

"Hello, I'm Tom Schexneider of AECOM. Upon high recommendations from Professor Clemmens, we'd like to invite an Elsa Andersen for an interview in our internship program. I can't stress enough that this offer is rare and fleeting, so an answer is required within a small time frame. Please call me back at your earliest convenience and with an answer."