She woke up to the loud sound of drilling next to her.

She shot up in bed, rubbed her forehead. The mirror across from her on the wall revealed her dreary eyes and rat’s nest hair. She shuddered at the image and got up. Her baggy t-shirt smelled like old, rotten tea and ferret food.

She walked to the window and investigated the drilling. Her landlord didn’t tell her that they’d be working on the old brick this early in the morning on her day off.

She angrily closed her drapes and walked to her ferret, Bernie. He was happily greeting her in his playpen, his toys scattered around him. Whenever she saw Bernie, she thought of Tom Hanks in the movie “Cast Away”. She was Tom Hanks, Bernie, his volleyball. She picked up Bernie and cradled him like a baby, and said, “You’re my only friend on this island.” She then proceeded to laugh at her own misfortune – the misfortune of being a nobody who’s only friend was a ferret.

She put Bernie down and decided to go outside. It seemed like a pleasant enough morning. She barely left her apartment – she was only really required to show up to work once a month since she did it all over the computer. She edited English textbooks for a publishing company, and she liked what she did. Working from home meant she could keep her porcelain skin porcelain, her ugly clothes ugly, and her face makeup free.

But for some unknown reason, she wanted to go outside today. Maybe it was because she felt obligated to go outside once in a while. Like it was reassuring herself that the world kept turning, even though it never saw her.

So she showered. Put on fresh clothes – hell, she even dried her hair. The world had better noticed her for doing all of that (not that she wanted it too). She put on her fluffy coat and boots and she headed down her stairs.

She walked down her sidewalk in anxious anticipation. Would someone try and talk to her? She would most likely pass out if that happened.

She decided to sit on a little park bench a little ways down the street – that way she could watch the street and the sidewalk. Watching: that was one thing that she was not afraid of. So she watched the world around her turn. She was good at it.

Dads walking dogs strolled by, parents holding babies, too. Teenage couples holding hands, college kids sludged on home from the previous night’s chaos. Things happened all around her, but she would never make it happen. She was the human version of the passive voice. She always corrected the passive voice in her textbooks, but she could never really correct herself.

She would love to have it all, make it all happen. Be an active voice. She would adore to clean her apartment, ditch Bernie, to watch crappy movies with her circle of girlfriends while munching on wine and cheese. She loved to pretend to chat with them, laugh with them, gossip with them. She loved to pretend that a beautiful Prince Charming was there. She then laughed out loud at the thought. An old man jogging by stared, and she looked away.

She never would clean her apartment, though. She would never watch those crappy movies with girlfriends, never eat cheese and drink wine. Never let anyone too close. What would happen to her then? Anyone who came near her would just tear her apart. Point out every single flaw. And why would she want that? Would friendship be worth being betrayed and abandoned? Would love be worth being rejected and hated?
“Laura?”
She shot out of her own head and looked at whoever spoke her name. It was a familiar looking guy, around her age. Maybe he worked in the office? Maybe at the CVS down the road?
He raised dark eyebrows over his kind, brown eyes. “Are you alright?”
She cleared her throat. “Uh..er…can I help you?”
He giggled a little bit. “You don’t recognize me?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. It wouldn’t go down. “I-I’m sorry, I-I don’t-“
“Jeffrey!” he said enthusiastically, a huge smile on her face. “Jeffrey Holmes! We sat next to each other in our Ecology class sophomore year at college? We were in the same study group.”
She shuddered at the word college. She’d hated it. She’d worked so, so hard to get in to Fordham, and it wasn’t even worth it. She hated sharing a room. Studying with other people. Having to discuss in class, even give presentations. She’d hated it, but not as much as she’d hated the possibility of moving back in home with her mother in Albany. So she’d stayed.
She looked at Jeffrey, now placing his face and name in the seat next to her in her Ecology class.
She cleared her throat. She wondered why it was suddenly hot out. She couldn’t stop sweating, and she needed a glass of water. Or hard liquor. Or an injection of potassium chloride.
“Ri-right. H-how are you?” she stuttered.
Jeffrey smiled. “Good! Just got married this past summer.”
She bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood. She missed Bernie. “Co-congratulations.”
“Thanks, Laura. What have you been up to?”
She internally laughed at herself. “I work at home. I edit textbooks.”

She felt like a programmed robot when she was spoken to. She said any of the above: Can I help you? How are you? I work at home. I edit textbooks. I live in the city. Next to the park.
“You still live in the city! That’s great. My wife and I are having a dinner party next weekend, a few buddies from Fordham are comin’ if you wanna catch up? We’d love to have you. My wife’s new to the city, she can use a friend.”

Was Jeffrey listening to her thoughts this entire time? Maybe he was some kind of Heroes mind reader, or Dr. X. She wanted to desperately tell him that she would love to go. She could go, and wear something nice, even get her hair done. Bring them a bottle of wine, laugh with Jeffrey’s wife, shake hands with their friends. Call them up in a few days, go out for some coffee. Have friends.

But she couldn’t. So she told him she was extremely busy, that she had deadlines to reach that day. Jeffrey smiled and nodded, handed her his card in case she changed her mind. She smiled, looked at her invisible watch, told Jeffrey she was late for something. She bolted down the street, ducked into the park.

She didn’t even realize how dark it was getting. She’d been out all afternoon. She loved winter: darkness gave her an excuse to stay inside.

She pushed out all of the regret, all of the thoughts. All of the daydreams she’d written in her brain that day, gone.

She unlocked her apartment door, took off her coat. She walked over to her window.

Maybe she was never meant for the city. Maybe she was never meant to be here. Maybe this city was making her issues bigger and bolder than they ever were. Maybe all she needed was a change.

She stared at her closed drapes. She could just picture the world outside: the sky was dark, the city was bright. She lived in a world of contradictions, didn’t she? She smiled to herself. She hadn’t even comforted the crying Bernie in his playpen. She decided to give him away in the morning, and focused on the image of the sky once more.

Laura opened the drapes and saw that she was correct.