Some Days

Queen’s Journal Annual Short Fiction Contest, First-place winner

Some days, I can’t get out of my bed. I awake with a lurch and the heat of the sunrise swirls with test anxiety and the embarrassments from last weekend. Today was even worse. It was just one stupid bottle of wine, I thought to myself. And the test was only worth 20 per cent. Only.

*

I remember the last time I saw my father. He kissed me on the forehead and told me to stay beautiful. He smelled like peppermint toothpaste and Old Spice after-shave. I asked where he was going. He picked up my four-year-old body and spun me around in the air. I don’t think he even knew, he only knew he wanted to go.

*

I turned in my bed and could hear my housemate Natasha talking with her boyfriend Ben. Us girls always complained to each other that he was our seventh housemate in a house of six girls. Of course, when Natasha wasn’t around. Besides Olivia, my best friend from high school, Natasha was my closest housemate. She wouldn’t be if she knew.

*

I cried when I found out that I was going to have a single room — I wanted to have a roommate so badly. When I wasn’t around people, the thoughts started to accumulate. I tried to distract myself with Netflix and knitting.

*

Bright lights, shiny shoes. Being short was finally going to have its advantage and I was going to be in the front of the dance line. My dance friend Jessica’s hot older brother was in the audience. My dance teacher grabbed me aside before the show, telling me that Jessica and I had to switch. Jessica always outdid me — she was currently studying in the States.

*

When I was younger, I was able to get out of bed in the morning. I would go in front of the gilded mirror, suck in my stomach and rub my torso up and down. Then I would acknowledge the defeat and settle for a baggy sweater for the rest of the day.

*

I thought of my paper due in three days, on communism or Marxism. Whatever, I need more sleep. The paper bounced around in my head like a pinball.

*

I missed Happy, my horse from horseback-riding camp. I was eight years old and was a fan of solitude. I preferred spending time grooming my companion while the other girls made friendship bracelets and played M.A.S.H.

*

Fucking Ben, I thought to myself. I’d tried to be honest with Natasha, let her know what my feelings were for him. I told her that when we all met in first-year, I had fallen for him but she’s blonde and I’m brunette. She was dumb to leave me alone with Ben and Naked Grape. It was all her fault. I winced and tucked my head under the covers.

*

I always laughed when other people told me that I had the body of a dancer. I had a fold of skin that protruded over my pants. Plus, I had never been a good dancer. What’s the point of being skinny if you’re short?

*

Last Friday, I’d felt really depressed. Worse than now. I wrote the test that morning and my TA hated me. I went home when all of my housemates were out and bawled my eyes out for half an hour.

I wanted to text Olivia but she was back home for a conference. Natasha told me that she had plans all day but she’d see me at Matt’s party tonight.

Our newest housemate, Grace, came in and asked me how I was. I smiled. “Marvellous.”

*

“I’ve always thought you were the most beautiful girl,” Ben moaned in my ear. I could barely feel him on top of my body and I kept seeing red flashes. I woke up later and he was lying in his own vomit.

*

Camille stormed into my room. Why haven’t you taken out the garbage? She never understood. No one liked her, she was just a random we’d taken in. I told her to fuck off and burrowed deeper into my blankets.

*

The seventh alarm went off. I still had enough time to make myself up but I was going to be late for class. I placed my foot on the floor for 30 seconds and then the other for the same amount of time. After two minutes, I was placing foundation on my acne-scarred face. The secret to natural-looking skin.

*

I was selling raffle tickets for a bidding contest on varsity athletes. I yelled at Courtney, my lab partner from last year, across the hallway to “COME AND BUY RAFFLE TICKETS PLEASE!” She laughed and said, “Wow, you’re so loud.” I read the list of names again. There was Vince, a good friend of mine, and Ryan, who was secretly gay. My thumb covered a familiar face from Friday night. The outline of his wavy hair emanated from my thumb. We were always meant to be a part of each other, even if we couldn’t be.

Natasha came over and I swallowed the lump in my throat. She asked how many tickets I had sold. I said 47. “Not bad,” she said. I asked her how many she had sold. “63,” she said in a sheepish yet self-assured manner. She was better at pretending to like people than I was.

My neighbour Cindy also signed up. I explained how the proceeds were going to go to charity for Alzheimer’s or dementia, or something like that. “That’s awesome,” she exclaimed and gave me a toonie.

“You know something, Emma?”

“What?” I said.

“You’re the happiest person I know.”

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