Have you ever heard the saying ‘never ask a girl with perfectly winged eyeliner why she's late’ well I really hope everyone keeps that in mind as I run from Ballard station to fifty fourth street, praying that my perfectly winged eyeliner stays in tact. Little beads of sweat began to form on my face “arrr” I wish it were true that girls never sweat, how good life would be. Panting like a pup without it’s bowl and sweeping my sleeve across my forehead I soldier on. That’s just what I had to do, I’m a girl on a mission. A mission that quite frankly felt too complex. This is no sex and the city moment rather than being Carrie Bradshaw who effortlessly races through the city of Manhattan with 4 inch heels on I was me, Girl who can’t wear 4 inch heals for five minutes without getting blisters and staggers like a ball of mess through the city of Manhattan. I dragged my ball of mess self up to the swan white double doors that read ‘Terrington Design and Publishers’ on it. Before you start flipping out, no I'm not about to go for an interview at some classy Manhattan magazine company. I submitted a short story, I saw the competition advertised in an instagram ad. It was a little meeting or party i’m not sure which yet, that the company is holding for the top thirty entries. We have to bring the first story we sent in and a new one into the meeting, from that they will pick finalists. I’m not doing it for a job or even to be able to brag that I have my story in a magazine, but I am doing it to be able to see if i’m any good at this whole writing thing.
I take a deep breath, trying to gather myself together, this time actually embracing my inner Carrie Bradshaw. I stick my hand out reaching for the golden door handle imaging some aspiring yet dramatic music playing as I do so. I begin to pull it towards me, finally I notice the door isn't moving. What the heck is this thing made out of!! I start using both hands and dig my $40.00 black boots into the concrete for grip. Oh and guess what? it’s still not open. I smile and silently chuckle at people walking past who just shake their heads in complete disapproval. All I can keep thinking is why isn’t anyone helping me, can they tell I found these boots in a bargain bin. Suddenly the door actually moves towards me, I knew those arm workouts weren’t a total waste. Now the door was coming too fast and directly towards my face. All I see is white floral carved wood that was now attacking me at full force. Ouch, my hand was covered in little pebbles and my head was spinning like a turntable. My eyes finally regained sight. I know what you're all thinking there he was future Mr right who was about to give me his hand and point me in the correct direction. What did I say earlier this isn’t some modern adaptation of cinderella although I do love Hilary Duff in ‘A Cinderella story’. This is my life a somewhat drastic attempt for that fairytale story that just happened to be my aspiration and fear in life, i’ll explain more on that later. “Are you here for the short story competition” a man with a black and white suit, grey beard and obscure shaped glasses asked me in a tone that was actually a little rude. “Um yes actually I am, sorry I’m L” without a chance to finish my sentence, which i said nicely by the way he interrupted me “Hurry up then, what do you think this is, get in there, we are waiting on the last person to arrive which is you so get up, lying on the ground makes you look quite foolish”. Foolish yip there’s your evidence he was no prince of mine at least I would like someone born in the same century as me. “Well actually I didn’t mean to be on the floor you” “I didn’t ask for your life story I asked you to hurry up, this way” and without even holding the door open for me as I enter, which is something I thought someone of his age would understand I was rushed into a little room. The room is on the first floor of what looks like a million story building.
Twenty nine beady little eyes judged me from head to toe as I walked into the room. It’s situations like this i wish it was still acceptable for my mum could get me out of. I held the strap of my backpack like it was my best friend and made my way to towards the last seat in the room. Yes, yes it is the farthest away, just my luck. “Excuse me” I said more times than I can count, I also heard a lot of “Arrrghs” in response more times than I can count. Finally I made it to my seat that feels like it has a shining halo around it, congratulating me for making it to the finish line. “Name Miss Girl that is late,” said the woman at the front of the room. I swear she watched me since the moment I arrived, guess my subtle entrance was never actually going to be subtle. “My names Alex Reed” I hear whispers and heads turn as people chatter amongst themselves. Nope I don’t like this kind of attention what exactly could be so fascinating about my name. “Alex Reed more like Alex Weed “ Some boy shouts out of nowhere. Like a school choir everyone laughs, there's even a girl laughing in falsetto Finally i’m in a room full of like minded writers my own age with brains that still haven't left the kindergarten playground yet. The girl next to me, wait pause, no she doesn't become my future best friend who sticks up for me, or the bitchy girl that plots to destroy me, she's just some chick I never speak to again. “Guess your not exactly ‘killing it today” she laughs, I tried to think quick for a response “What up T-shirt reference” I said to her raising an eyebrow that definitely made her shut up. I decided to wear my new white t-shirt with the words ‘Killing it’ on the front with some black ripped skinny jeans and a trench coat, I was hoping it would say classy but casual, put together but not over the top. The inner anxiety was screaming at me to sink as low as i possibly can into my seat and put my head down making no further eye contact with anyone and absolutely no talking. The fierce “I Don't give a damn' queen that I know is inside me somewhere was pushing for a more direct response. “Right, everyone quite” Said the lady, that at this rate I will never know the name of. “Now that we are all here” she sent piercing eyes in my direction “We can move forward with the introduction as to why you are all finalists and the next stage”. The next half an hour the woman gave a speech about what being a successful writer meant and how to make it in the world if we chose to continue with our writing. She used a lot of “Not to scare you” and “not that we don’t want you to keep writing” by the end of it I felt myself a little unsure whether I had entered a short story competition or a how to get your life on track seminar. The next day I got a sad looking email congratulating me on entering the competition, yet informing me I hadn’t won anything. I guess that’s life even when you think you got it in the bag life kicks you down a notch just to remind you that it ain't ever that easy. I didn’t win the short story competition, however remember the girl I said I would never speak to again? looks like she won with her story about a talking whale. I wonder what was wrong with my story about a depressed girl getting drunk and destroying her life, guess some people don’t want to accept life's hard truths. It wasn’t as horrific as it sounds, I was trying to shed light on teenage drinking culture, by telling the story from a town members perspective looking back on the tragic girls life. I thought it had everything they were looking for, I even got poetic describing the beach as “waves that detonate on the foreshore” and “kids chasing dandelion fairies”, if that isn’t good storytelling I don't know what is. I closed the lid of my laptop and just stared in the black space where the screen would have been. Life's few disappointments always take me that extra bit of time to understand.
That night I hardly slept, letting one small disappointment allow me to re consider my whole path and life's purpose, this is something I constantly find my mind doing. That morning as I was getting ready to go out job hunting I found myself cursing into my makeup mirror. One eyeliner wing was the perfect size and flicked up on the right angle, the other was fat and stuck straight out. Bloody hell their meant to be sisters and they barley look like distant cousins. After trying about five times and correcting all the black smudges with more foundation I decided they would have to just be distant cousins for the day, I mean who really notices bad makeup right? Who am I kidding I always noticed the girls in high school with caterpillar eyebrows this is my karma i guess........
Thanks for reading the first part to my new story series following an anxious girl trying to take on adulthood and life's small disappointments. I'm keeping the segments small so people can stay interested and not get overwhelmed with the amount of words. Leave a comment if you wish for a longer post otherwise stay tuned for the next segment! - Jess Gill
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