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Traffic is bearable and work starts out that way too as I check ID cards and stamp the hands of those under twenty-one. The girls all blur to look the same, their laughter and voices melding into one, while the guys’ jokes and obvious comments about them mush together as well.
Until one of them says my name.
“Corey?”
I blink twice until those brown eyes and brown hair clear away my confusion. Olivia is wearing jeans and a dark purple sweater that make her curves, legs, and breasts look perfect, especially in comparison to the girls out here in short dresses in the middle of freaking January.
“ID.” I’m a master at conversation. Noticing her friend, I quickly add, “Ladies.”
Olivia’s eyes seem a bit too watchful, too noticing, too I-see-your-soul-and-deepest-secrets kind of shit. Luckily for me, I don’t have to look at her. Only the ID. She’s twenty-one. Good to know, I guess.
I hand them back and gesture for them to walk on in.
“Go ahead. I’ll meet you in a second.”
Her friend gives me the once-over before leaving Olivia with me.
“You’re holding up the line,” I tell her.
The loud giggle of another girl in line makes her step towards me. Her voice is quiet, yet somehow very loud to my ears. “I wanted to say that it’s great you came into work tonight.”
I laugh, and my smile is real for the first time since I went to have dinner with my siblings and Grant, Lucy’s boyfriend. “You wanted to tell me ‘good job’, basically?”
She smiles and nods. “Yeah. Want me to give you a pat on the back too? You really deserve it.” Olivia is being sincere about how I deserve a pat on the back for showing up for work, which makes me laugh again.
“No, that’s okay.”
“I’ll see you later, Corey.” She starts walking away.
“Thanks, Olivia,” I call after her as the next group in line hands me their cards, my smile still in place.
When I get home, everything seems to flip. The exhaustion of smiling, even real ones like what I gave Olivia, talking, and interacting with all those damn bubbly people hits me. Living makes me tired. How ironic is that? I head straight for bed after changing and all, and decide to check my emails from school.
There is one from each of my instructors. Fuck. I’ve been dropped from all my classes for too many absences. The dread rises like a tidal wave and wipes out the last of my energy. I knew this would happen. I even said, “Fuck it.” But it doesn’t mean I wanted it to happen. What am I supposed to tell Lucy when she asks how my classes are going? I’m going to have to lie to her.
Not that I haven’t done it before, but I can’t hide how I’m now a semester behind for long. I’ll lie to my brothers too. Shit! I’m screwed. I’m always screwed no matter what. I can’t win. Why I expect for that to suddenly change is beyond me. Things won’t change. I’m stuck in this pit of despair and frustration, wandering around trying to find a way out while trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with my life.
But you know what? All of it can wait until tomorrow.
My phone beeps with a text and I frown. Who would be texting me this late? Unless something’s wrong? I pick it back up, rolling onto my stomach as I check it.
Olivia: Here’s a pat on the back. You made it through the day! :)
I smile, but this time, it’s not a genuine one. She must have put her number in here when she was taking care of me.
Me: Thanks, though I don’t deserve it.
Not now that I’ve been dropped from my classes. I’ve wasted money and time, all while disappointing my family. At least I don’t have to tell them about this for a while.
Olivia: Thought you would be up. I can’t sleep either. Why don’t you deserve it? Good listener, remember?
Should I tell her? I don’t normally talk to anyone about serious stuff. People don’t want to hear it. Even growing up, after my parents died, no one really asked how my brothers and I were doing. Everyone was focused on Lucy, rightly so, but we didn’t have anyone to talk to but each other. Still, we were more worried about Lucy and our feelings were put to the wayside. I needed to be strong for them, so I was. What I was feeling didn’t equate to being strong and I hid them the best I could. Football was where I let them go. The rage, the hurt, the pain, the sadness, it all fueled my play and provided a little relief with the physical actions as well.
Being dropped from school doesn’t exactly require talking about emotions, so I guess I’ll tell her.
Me: Got dropped from my classes. Already missed too many.
After a moment, I send another one.
