She twirled a lock of her hair between her nimble fingers.
Soft to the touch, and deeply jet black. Almost blue like topaz in the right gleaming light. She walked around like a rain cloud was above her at all times. Washed away by it, walking out drenched and not saying a word behind a character making half-smile. Just the curl of the end of her lips. A trait sought out over men, and complimented by women. What a stick of lip liner could do.
She was distraught one day. It was work and there was another emergency that wasn’t her business, but she dealt with it appropriately. She was in marketing but minored in english lit and had a typewriter on her desk. Dusty, no ribbon, and broken glass keys. She couldn’t remember what letters had stopped working. She didn’t care. Another dream, another virtue.
She started making Japanese food. Mastering curry, tempura, and her favorite okonomiyaki. Another passion but sought out after lost time and lost tongues. Her taste buds diffused by coffee and cigarettes… a reuben could’ve been better. You could get them anywhere in the city but around here only chains with meats have them. Still tasty; and lots of sauerkraut, no sauce.
She could knit a couple stripes of a blanket and maybe a granny square, and crochet amigurumi. She gave the amigurumi and socks as presents to old friends. Almost 10 years ago.
She was 25, on the verge of being 26. Just able to grasp working and being in school at the same time a few years ago and onto her 20s ending and her 30s approaching. What a vile time, she thought. She always dreamed of being old, but the growing into part didn’t seem her fashion.
She was a rebellious teenager. Dyed hair, piercings, drugs, and drink. A blackout everyday due to the selfishness of her behavior and wanting to disassociate, but it was all so dreamy.
Medicated since she was a child.
There was numerous offers on the bid to her market presentation the day before and now she had the day off. What to do, another thought.
Get high and drink coffee seemed the obvious choice so she got to work.
She was always embarrassed she was a smoker connoisseur. Cigarettes, vape, weed, weed vape; whatever you could think of, but she hadn’t tried cigars yet. They seemed too fancy and for the rich, and her leftist ways thought elsewise. Then again, Tony smokes cigars in The Sopranos, so there must be a pass.
Imagine, people that don’t smoke cigarettes because they’re bad for you but they smoke cigars. I remember people in the lowcountry doing percocet and coke but not weed because it’s bad for you. Her past reckoned her for a moment.
Claire set to getting the coffee ready.
Just a moka pot for the studio apartment she lived in, with a cat named Ozzie.
He was getting older. Claire rescued him from a tree when he was an abandoned kitten and she became a cat parent at 17. Same year she had her first boyfriend, her first of firsts.
Whatever it was, was purely set up for failure but lasted long enough. School was finishing up and she had much to do.
Her dad moved states when she was 13, and her mother became a nanny at 14. They moved out the house and she raised her twin, the same way her older brother raised her younger brother. A simply dysfunctional family with a dark past and many raging alcoholics, yet prestige at the same time.
She held the the name of a family that once had a House and many titles, a couple popes, everything you could expect of an Italian and Spanish family that had run off to the Philippines looking for the El Dorado of the East during the market crash of 29’.
She didn’t know which history was richer, the fact that she held the name and it had only been Filipino for a century or the fact that her research to find home after finding a family secret and all the secrets just to research ancestry led to thinking of family in centuries. Relying on 6 years of Italian-Spanish, raised in the Philippines could go.
Her Grandfather taught her the Old World languages of Rome and Milan. Though she looked Asian on sight because of her Chinese heritage as well as the Filipino.
Always something to explain with Claire.
The worst for first dates and information that autistically feels like it needs to be fed. Mixed.
The moka pot was steaming and the espresso was done. Nice velvety, thick coffee. Almost airy and decadent but hot and steaming at the same time. She hit her weed pen for a little bit. Ozzie came to the kitchen counter. She tried to leave salt and pepper shakers on the counter, but he just tosses them off the counter. His throne. At least he respects the placemats.
She thought an english muffin with butter and salt would be a good breakfast but decided against it. Just coffee for now.
She received a call. On the other line, was her boss.
“I have some news Claire.” Herman said.
“Simply to put it, the company is going under and you’re being laid off. I’m sure as you didn’t have your own office, need not worrying about bringing your things home.” Claire was reeling, and flush came to her cheeks. “The rent has gone sky high in this damn city, They’re demolishing the building that holds the office in a week. Everything has gone down the shitter.” Claire paused. “Look Claire, I’m sorry to come off so harsh but I’m having a bad day and you don’t know what it’s like to be third generation of this firm and feel this type of failure. You were only here for 4 years, it’s okay. You’ll find work elsewhere. Besides, you minored in English Lit and you’re so well-spoken that I’d say you could charm anyone in an interview; but besides the point, I’ll make it clear. It’s over.” Herman finished.
Claire stifled and took a sip of her espresso. :”So just like that… over? Over!! This is an outrage, but I also appreciate your comments on finding work elsewhere.” She caught her breath.
“You know what Herman, I’m going to make my espresso into white russian and enjoy today and understand that my life has changed and this will be a new chapter. Thank you for calling me, I suppose I won’t be showing up to the office anymore?” Claire asked. “I suppose not. Goodbye, Claire.”
Claire hung up the phone.
Fuck. She thought.
She went straight to the back counters and grabbed the bottle of the cheap vodka she’s secretly afraid to admit she likes better than the expensive, and the coffee liqueur and half and half. White Russians always made her think of The Big Lebowski. What a cool movie. She thought maybe she’d watch that and get the spins.
She finished making the drink in her signature lowball drinking glass and went to sit on the couch, Ozzie joined her.
She opened the drawer to the coffee table and grabbed out her tray. Grabbed a small nug to put in her bong. She pinched it into the glass bowl she finally found. Keeping her first bong alive but the bowls always break from getting too hot or too clogged. Go oversize, what a solution it’s been, Claire speculated on.
I wonder what I’m going to do today. Maybe buy sushi. It always cheers me up. Claire thought to herself.
She got to smoking the bowl. Each inhale relaxing her frozen body, stuck on sight. Her fingers felt so pale, but the weed made her feel better. She had had a med card since she was of age to get one in her state. Everything on the legal side, but she had seen everything as a teenager. Dipping toes into snow and percs and yummy mother’s helper. She had been everywhere. She wasn’t much for sex though. Besides her own queerness in sexuality and gender identity, she didn’t want to give it up to anyone but 17. Maybe Stevie Nicks was right.
She took a sip of the white russian and finished her bowl and decided to roll a joint.
Now joints, she felt passionate about. It was the first thing she learned to roll and it took so much effort. She lost her touch in blunts, different crowds and different price worthiness. Plus lungs had a lot to do with it.
I don’t want to go anywhere. What am I going to do for work? For money? Will I keep my apartment? Will I move? Where will I go?
Claire thought and thought and thought about all the if’s possible after being laid off.
Why would he mention my Minor in English Lit? Did he think there was anything good of my writing and presentations that I could produce something further? Should I write?
And so she did. She went to her bookshelf and opened a clean spare she always keeps and grabbed her favorite gel pen and got to work.
A cleanse, a journal entry.
All was good again and well.
“ I’ve been thunderstruck. I’ve lost my job and I don’t know what to do besides spend it in a bender at the end of a bottle and smoke the rest of the weed I got and enrich myself in the most luxurious foods and drink just to cheer myself up. How terrible. How callous!!
I’ve got about ten thousand saved up, that should cover my months rent for years, it’s only 1972… but live without a job? Could I really do it? Finally put ribbon in the typewriter? Maybe I’m cheating myself. He said it himself I could find work anywhere and mentioned the minor in English Lit. Perhaps, I need to weigh the options.
I think I want to do it solo. Take it all alone and see if I meet anyone on the way, but I will write, and i will try.”
Claire put the gel pen down and took a gander at her work.
One page staring her in the face. One page to define all the torment of a day that should be so explosive but at the same time… Claire decides to title the one page “Journal Entry: I Am Relieved.” Could you believe it? Claire thought.
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