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1
Ronda
I jerk my head up off the pillow and push the thick curtain of hair out of my face. I'm in a daze. Half asleep. Half awake. Unaware and confused. I hang like this for a moment, yawning, and trying to fully open my eyes. They barely want to open. My lashes stick together, and they feel so heavy.
My brain is still shut off. There are no thoughts, no words, just a blank chalk board. All I can do is move slowly, twisting my head against the pillow.
You know this feeling I'm talking about. The one where you feel like you're still floating in a dream, but you’re conscious enough to feel reality sinking in. This is me right now. My mind still spinning with flickering and fading images of a blurry dream. I can't even remember what the dream is about. All I can still see is the outline of some stranger’s face, and the faint image of a room I've never seen before.
As I slowly become more alert, I roll over onto my back, and stare blankly at the ceiling. I drag my fingers over my face and yawn.
The sun is creeping inside my room through the blinds, creating bright stripes on the wall beside me. It's morning. That I know for sure. I blink a few more times, my brows scrunching up as I try to make out the numbers on the clock beside my bed.
What time is it? I focus on the clock, the numbers all blurry and distorted. Squinting harder, they slowly begin to form. Eight-thirty. . . I think to myself casually as I start lower my head back to the pillow.
My eyes pop open wide like I've been splashed in the face with ice cold water. Eight-thirty! Shit, I'm going to be late!
“Damn it,” I huff out to myself as I bolt upright in bed, tossing the blankets off like they're on fire. “Damn, damn, damn.” The words fly off my tongue as I jump out of bed and dart to my closet.
I overslept. I overslept, and now I'm going to be late for work. This isn't how I want to start my day. This is the last thing I need to happen with this job. I've only been at Reeves and Company for a few weeks, not nearly long enough to be excused. Showing up late looks terrible, especially if you're a new employee. And I really need this job.
I rip a silk blouse and black pencil skirt off a hanger, and pull them on as quickly as possible. My foot tangles in the skirt, almost sending me to the floor, but I grab the wall and keep my balance. I tuck the blouse into the waist of my skirt, and quickly slip my feet into the red heels beside the closet door. There's no time to do anything with my hair; all I can do is brush it out and leave it down. Static makes the tips start to rise, so I run some cold water over my hands, and wipe it down.
After I give myself one fast look in the mirror, I grab my purse, and I'm out the door. I feel panicked. I hate being late to anything, but especially when it's something important like work. People depend on me, and I hate the thought of letting anyone down in any way.
The subway is packed, but I'm able to push and shove my way through, barely squeezing into the car just as the doors close. I'm shoulder to shoulder with other passengers. The air is hot and thick. I can smell the mingling scents of cologne, perfume, coffee, cigarettes, and that musty stench of a damp basement.
Sweat begins to build on the back of my neck. I wipe it off as the subway car pulls away from the platform. I can't move much deeper into the car. I turn sideways, and squeeze between the standing bar and the first row of seats. This is the busiest hour of the day, next to rush hour when everyone is racing to get home.
The subway car bounces on the track, causing me to wrap my arm tightly around the pole, hanging on to keep upright. I hope I don't look like complete shit right now. I fumble with my purse, pulling out a small, round compact of foundation. I pat it across my nose and over my forehead, dulling the shine caused by the hot subway. A little lip gloss makes my lips come to life. It's hard to hold steady as the car takes a turn, causing me to shift to one side, but I manage to keep the tip of the gloss against my lips.
Taking one last look in the tiny mirror, I think to myself, good enough.
My body gets jostled from side to side. I bump into the shoulder of the woman beside me, and then stumble back, hitting the legs of an older man in one of the seats.
