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Here lies Aly McKenzie, my tombstone will read.
She worked. She collapsed. She tried.
I’m being dramatic. I know.
Just because I haven’t heard back about the apprenticeship doesn’t mean I’m out of the running for sure. And even if I don’t advance to the final round, it doesn’t guarantee my future plans of becoming a therapist are over.
Though this traffic-cone-colored offense to the eyes isn’t making me feel any better. If I don’t get that scholarship, this is where I will be next year. The same place as last year, and the year before that. Never moving forward, never progressing.
Trapped in this endless hamster wheel of a lifestyle.
Now, I guess that’s not all fair. I can’t hate something that’s paid for Dad’s medical expenses for the last four years. Something that has seen me through my own fair share of struggles, like putting food in my belly, a roof over my head, and a little something to send to Mom to ease the stress and sadness.
And she always looks so sad lately.
Taking inventory and leading others on a quest through the risky realm of DIY projects may be someone else’s dream, but I have other plans.
Plans that include saving the world, rebuilding communities and dragging overworked people up out of the dark cloud of depression surrounding them. I want to make a difference, serve my community and help my mother out of debt before we lose my childhood home forever.
None of which I can do on a minimum-wage salary and the two years’ worth of graduate-level student loan debt I’ll accrue after this semester is over.
Unless I receive that apprenticeship.
Lyndsey’s heart-shaped face leans into the mirror over my shoulder, drawn to my complaints of an innocent color which has done nothing but alert others of danger. Her wide brown eyes assess my clothing. She cocks her head to the side, already squinting. Probably to reduce the effects of the glare from my apron.
Her pert little nose wrinkles. “I don’t think anyone can pull that look off.”
When Lyndsey presses her face to mine, she is literally crouching down. She’s over a head taller than me with a physique both slim and thick in all the right places. I, on the other hand, look like I was left in the dryer for too long. And don’t get me started on the things people say about short girls with red hair. If I hear one more joke about leprechauns, it’s going to get ugly.
“How about I do your makeup for you?” she says.
“I’m wearing makeup.”
“Oh, honey.” The sweet uplifting glint in my roommate’s face quickly turns to pity. But I can’t hold back the laughter all the same. I don’t need a ton of makeup to go into work. I can barely even afford the basics. Sometimes, it’s the best way to avoid the onslaught of testosterone I encounter each and every day. A female worker in a man’s domain. Yep. I already get my fair share of unwanted flirtations.
“The good news is Prince Charming will definitely spot you from a mile away,” Lyndsey laughs, taking my place in the mirror as I move to collect my things.
“I don’t have time for Prince Charming,” I say. Because I don’t. “Classes start next week, and I already feel completely overloaded.”
“If you don’t get the apprenticeship, can’t you just do something else?”
“Yes, but then I would have to start all over again. Research another direction to take, compile another proposal, search for grants. It’s a mess.”
Not impossible, I remind myself, just to keep myself sane. I have options. It would just require a little more work and time, which I could probably take out of my sleep schedule. I think I’m back up to five hours a night, now. So…I could probably spare some time.
“Plus this will give me a leg up from all the other candidates applying for jobs out there. Who’s going to hire me with no experience whatsoever?”
“You just need to get out of your own head,” Lyndsey says, adding a sway to her shoulders as she speaks. Her smooth, southern accent also gets thicker the more passionate she gets about something. “Try chanting the affirmation I gave you.”
“I don’t need an affirmation.”
“Say it.” Her eyes are tiny daggers piercing through the mirror. I laugh despite the terrifying look she gives me.
“I have everything I need to succeed,” I mumble in my most monotone voice. This is ridiculous. Silly chants like these might work for the daughter of two high-powered attorneys, who really does have everything she needs to succeed. But they don’t apply to someone who’s had to work paycheck-to-paycheck since the age of seventeen.
“That was horrible.”
“Well, let’s hear yours.”
