popcorn girl

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Our story begins with a girl, woman really, in her early thirties. Average height, not tall, not short, not that remarkable, long-ish dark blonde hair. The only thing that most people think about are her seaweed eyes or the bags under said globes of green. We follow her as she walks into the building, holding the door as people exit, smiling as they pass gratefully. She's a kind soul, if I am allowed to say so about myself.

"What's your name?" asks the cranky half blonde lady behind the counter. She is hutched forward kniting something, a scarf maybe? I don't know. That doesn't matter, point is she is knitting while talking, not once did she bother to look up at the brunette's face. For that I am grateful.

"Em. Emma." There's an awkward pause as the blonde shuffles some papers in front of her. Not sure if the receptionist knew who she was, because she certaintly didn't know her, Em gave her full name instead, less known around the building, but it should be in the files. "Emmaline-Brelle Fahrrow, ma'am."

"Quite a mouthful. What's that?" She vaguely points to the messenger bag over my shoulder with one of her knitting needle. The bag belonged to my mother. It is covered in pins of all shapes and sizes. My favorite is of a bucket of popcorn that my mom had brought while at the circus in '78. A worldwide traveler, head of her generation, life of the party, queen of the screen, and of course the biggest role model for mothers everywhere. 

You would think one of those is definitely a lie, right? The image everyone sees.

Under the receptionist's arm, I make out the words on her badge. Harriet Price. "Yes. I suppose it is, Mrs. Price. There are just some things for everyone in here," Em plays with the strap a bit. "May I ask where Mrs. Garner is?"

"Well, you did already, Miss Faharrow. She's in her room. You must be here to read to her?" 

"That is correct ma'am."

"Alright then, left hall, turn left twice, then stop at door K3, knock before you enter or Mrs. Garner gets extremely cross."

"Of course, I wouldn't dare to make her mad. Thank you for your hospitality."

Emma scurries off down the hall. You see, she has been to the center thousands of times before and knew exactly where she was going and to knock. I knew almost all the residents of Greenlard Retirement and most of the staff, except a few like Harriet Price, who works weekends. I usually visited on weekdays after work, that day was one of the few exceptions.

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so this is a story that i wrote a few years ago, im kinda rewriting it as i go along, it gets confusing ik with the pov sometimes sorry abt that, i'll probably change it tbh, idk, im going to try finish this at some point :) - pluto