I knock on the door of Apt. 201. I had found a letter addressed to Stephanie Lovett under a chair in the lobby - it must've been dropped by Bea at some point earlier in the day.
I knock again.
Then, the door comes flying open, accompanied by a "Can I help you?"
"Uh." I stutter. "I found this letter addressed to you in the lobby, I think that maybe you dropped it? I don't know ... I just wanted to return it to you."
The look in her eyes is strange, definitely fearful, possibly suspicious. I watch as she looks me up and down, perhaps trying to judge how threatening I am.
"Ok, well ... thanks, um.", she obviously searches for my name, trying to pretend like she would know who I am.
"Ren. I live on the 8th floor. Don't make it down here that much." I try to crack a smile but at this point I'm sure I just look anxious.
"Oh, okay. Well I'm Stephanie. Nice to meet you." She glances down at my ravaged hangnails. Despite the previous universal intervention, I have not let up on my nail biting. Instead it's only grown worse. I can't seem to control it anymore.
I shove my hands in my pockets and she mutters a "Thank you." before slamming the door again.
Walking towards the elevator I glance in one of the hallway mirrors and remember my recent emergency haircut.
A shoddy buzzcut and bloody fingers, what a great first impression.
Later in the day, I decide to go out to the circus, hopefully to redeem myself from my previous failed attempt to be social. I buy some kettle corn and meander to different attractions. I want to enjoy it, want to lose myself in the excitement of it. But I can't. Every man I see, I jump back to the plaid coat. Every loud conversation in my periphary begs me to remember exactly what was harshly whispered that night. I've realized now that it's impossible for me to enjoy my day-to-day life with these questions unsolved.
It reminds me of my childhood, when my dad first left. I couldn't play on the playground because every time I saw a car drive by, I wondered if it was his. It stunted me. This time, I won't let that happen. I'll get to the bottom of this before it ruins me.
I walk to what seems like an empty cage, only to see a tiger huddled in the back corner. It looks at me, with sad eyes, and then turns away. It's staring at the forest, probably yearning to run through those trees - escape from these people. It's depressing to see an animal with so much supposed power and freedom, trapped here for no good reason. I'm transfixed by this image until I hear a voice in my ear, Bret's.
"We're meeting again, tonight at 11. Meet me at the bridge and we'll walk to the spot."
I turn to look at him, but he's already gone. We wouldn't be meeting if it wasn't an emergency.
“I try to crack a smile but at this point I'm sure I just look anxious.”
ReplyDeleteWhat is your family like? Your father left when you were a kid but do you have any siblings, were your grandparents a big part of your life? Stuff like that.
Is the character a worrisome character? Sometimes the character comes off as a very anxious, stressed person, but other times it doesn’t really work out that way.
What was the point of the kettle corn?
Could be interesting to develop the anxiety and compulsive element explored in this blog post.