The morning is hard for a twenty-three-year-old adult, I thought, as I lay on the bed with white sheets over me. Bright light streamed through the window, illuminating the dust floating around the room.
Unraveling myself, I sat on the bed and glanced at the clock beside me: 7:59… I waited, and then… 8:00.
"Ding… Ding."
"Aaa," I muttered, a word meaningless to anyone else. I picked up my phone and hit the off switch on the clock.
The screen lit up. Notifications flooded the display, but I ignored them, swiping most away. One image remained: a lady and a man standing side by side. The woman looked at him with a radiant smile, her blond hair and blue eyes bringing light to the photo.
Mother.
I stared at the photo. A smile could have been noticed by anyone nearby.
A few seconds passed, and my stomach growled.
"Well now… what should I eat today? Eggs with bacon, or maybe go out? No, I shouldn't waste the eggs I got three days ago."
After a shower and my small facial routine to at least look presentable, I opted for simplicity: a white short-sleeved shirt and black jeans.
As usual, I cooked my meal with my phone at full volume, letting the robotic voice announce all notifications.
Click…
"Hello, this is Paul from Car Fix. Your car, the 2012 Honda, is taking a little longer than expected. Call me back if you have any problems."
"Hey, this is Annie. Ash, why didn't you go to the party…? Well, I know it's the early one, not the end-of-year party, but geez—you missed out. Call or text as soon as possible, or I won't invite you again… Got that? Well… bye."
"Bro, Ash, this is Todd. I heard you're good at helping…"
"Skip," I said, not wanting to hear it—for multiple reasons, mainly because I didn't like the guy.
"Hi Ash, this is Nave. It's been a while. Jordan and I are hanging out and want you to be here. I know it's a long drive to the coast, but please come—for us, and for yourself."
"I got your text back, Ash. We can't keep doing this. I already told you we're done. You need to find a way to let go. I know it's hard, but… well, bye." —Mila
Mila… the last message left from her. I wondered if living alone in the apartment had pushed me to send "a bunch of cry-for-love texts." Dang it.
Looking over the late-night messages I had sent, I realized how desperate I must have been. I hit my forehead with my palm, but the scent of eggs and bacon made the embarrassment fade.
Leaving my apartment, I thought about how lucky I was to live so close to the school. My black boots hit the pavement, and I double-checked my crossbody bag—notes: check, water: check, laptop: check. Let's go.
The walk to the subway station was calm. There weren't many people—just the usual office men and women in suits. I felt uncomfortable. A few months ago, I had turned twenty-three, and the thought of ending up like these soulless office workers annoyed me to no end.
Going down the tunnels, the darkness felt suffocating. Mornings were easier than nights, I reminded myself, scanning the flickering lights of the subway. Swiping my card and approaching the rails, I saw a familiar face.
Max.
In his gray suit and white tie, he looked like a polished businessman—but he was not. The suit might fool elders or crack addicts, but not ordinary people. Thirty pounds heavier than it should be, grease-streaked hair, a suit straining at the neck… maybe it had something to do with hedge fund employees, I thought.
"Hey Ash, seems we see each other more and more… almost graduating from colleague to… endgame," he said. Little did I know, one interaction would lead to many of these so-called "friendships."
"Yeah, but is… 'endgame' really the right term for life?" I asked, watching him reach for his pocket—probably a snack.
"Yeah, you're right, 'endgame' sounds a little crazy… maybe it should be the beginning of the game… nah, that's not right…" I watched him eat a chocolate chip cookie that smelled delicious. This guy had spent most of his life playing games until his dad paid for him to become an assistant for life.
"So you think that term suits you…" he asked, expecting a profound answer. I didn't catch a word of what he said.
"Sure," I said, smiling, pretending I understood.
Time passed like a dog trying to talk to a cat—me, the cat, saying nothing. Socially it was good for me, but damn, this guy would not stop talking.
Usually, these encounters lasted seven or ten minutes, but today it felt longer. I should ask if he had some power to stop time.
On the train, discomfort grew. The smell of Versace Covla on my clothes was tolerable, but the stench of sweat and urine from the train made it ten times worse.
Mostly, it was the result of my bad sleep. I wished I were still in bed.
The ride was under ten minutes, and I finally left Max at the station. Out into the street, the five-block walk to school lightened my mood and cleared my mind.
…
The college I attend is B.N.Y.U.—Bright-New-York University. Never heard of it? It's not popular. The name gives it away: for bright students, educated kids with promising futures.
The campus consists of several three-story buildings merged into one. The structure had once been a private high school. After the fifty-seventh president enacted a bill to reduce school sizes and improve education, the building transitioned into a specialized university.
I was lucky to attend. Entry required either an invitation or a difficult test—luckily, I was a competent test-taker.
Approaching the front entrance, the white cement of the building reflected the sunlight, the blue-tinted windows wrapping around the square-shaped building. Students could be seen walking about, giving life to the campus.