NOW
(Amelia)
I smelled like a delicious garlic pesto sauce, but there was nothing delicious about it clinging to my skin and clothes. The ends of my curly hair looked frayed to death and my reflection in the rearview mirror reminded me that I needed a hot shower and something with alcohol in it.
I’d maybe count my tips tomorrow and then figure out the rest of my money, bills and all that adult crap. It was supposed to be so much easier than this. But somewhere the idea of my dream and reality separated, and I wasn’t paying attention enough to realize it.
Even still, I could have a career anywhere doing anything I wanted.
But I hid.
That was the truth.
My plan had been to take a few months to figure things out. A few months turned into six months then six months turned into sharing an apartment with Grace. She was a life coach with an addiction to all things cats, except owning an actual cat. That was a whole other conversation though.
When I got home, I climbed the set of stairs to the second floor as though it were a mountain somewhere with below freezing temperatures, snow and wind.
I opened the squeaky door on my floor and almost instantly, the door to my right opened.
Apartment 15
“Oh, Amelia, you gave me a heart attack,” Miss Laura said.
She was short, round, had big glasses, and thought she was the security for the entire building. I swore she sat at her door with her ear pressed against it, desperate to hear a noise so she could come talk to someone.
Lucky me, I guess.
“Miss Laura,” I said. “It’s just me. Just getting home from-”
"Did you see this?” she asked and pointed to her lip.
There was a large bandage across the top corner of her lip. It was kind of impossible not to see.
“I see,” I said.
“Do you know what this is?”
“No.”
“Cancer.”
“What?” I asked. I stepped toward her. “Are you serious?”
“Well, I thought it was,” she said. “Talk about a scare.”
“A scare.”
“Yes,” she said, her brown eyes going very wide. “I had been watching that thing for months. Growing. Changing. Then I started feeling off. Different, you know? Something was very wrong here.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding, trying to plan my escape from this conversation from hell.
“So, I called Dr. Williams. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“Oh, he’s the best,” Miss Laura said. She touched my arm. “You need to call him.”
“For what?”
“Anything!”
“I feel fine. Thank you though.”
“You just call. Tell him I said to call. He’ll appreciate it.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“So, I go see Dr. Williams. He says to me, ‘Oh, Laura, you’re crazy. But you’re smart. Most people wouldn’t notice or care.’ So how about that, Amelia? A doctor thinking I’m smart?”
“That’s really something,” I said. “I mean, you are observant.”
“Oh, stop,” Miss Laura said with a laugh. “You’re just buttering me up for some of my famous oatmeal cookies.”
My stomach turned. I nodded and faked a smile. “Right.”
“Oh, look at me, missing the point of my story,” she said. “Dr. Williams said I needed to get this off my face. Fast. Like really fast. I’m talking emergency fast.”
“Jeez,” I said. “And it’s not-”
“Let me tell you about that,” she said. “Emergency? Fast? Me?” She shook her head. “I thought I was going to go.”
“Go where?”
“To my grave!” she announced loudly.
I stepped back. “Oh. Wow.”
“Just got the call though that it was nothing. So I guess I got a little plastic surgery, huh?”
Miss Laura laughed, and I kept inching back. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I’m really sorry but I have to get inside.”
“Oh, right, of course you do. You have company.”
“Company?” I asked. “You mean Grace?”
“No. I know Grace. Oh, me and Grace go way back.”
“I know you do,” I said. “But I really have to go. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, dear,” Miss Laura said. “Let’s do tea soon.”
“Yes,” I blurted out. “We will do that. I hope you feel better.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “Dr. Williams said I was going to be fine. And to call him anytime I need him.”
“Great,” I said.
I had my hand on my doorknob and I twisted it.
Miss Laura turned her head for a split second, and I made my final escape.
I opened the apartment door and rushed inside.
I was home.
At peace.
Or so I thought.
But Miss Laura was right.
There was company waiting, for me.
Grace was quick to put a glass of wine into my hand.
“What is this?” I whispered to her.
Her hair was super long and smelled like lavender. She took pride in her calming appearance and demeanor, but after getting to know her the way I had, there wasn’t much about her that was really all that calming.
“Stay with me,” she whispered and turned.
“Anabel,” Grace said. “Meet Amelia.”
I watched as a tall woman wearing small framed glasses rose up from a chair at the dining room table. Her hair was black and pulled back in a tight, yet messy, bun with a pen stuck into it.
“The last of our kind,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“True writers, huh?”
“Writers…”
I glanced at Grace and she smiled. “Let’s start at the beginning. Anabel has been close to me for, what, two years now?”
“Please, call me Bel,” Anabel said. “Casual talk.”
“Right,” Grace said. “Casual. Do you mind if I tell Amelia the story?”
“Of course not,” Bel said. “Actually, I’ll do it. It’s simple. I was smart. Lived fast. Got a great job. Made a lot of money. And I burned out fast. Ended up depressed and started to have some bad thoughts about myself. That’s when I knew I needed a change. So, I quit my job. I traveled. I decided to start my own site. A blog. Then I moved along with social media and all that fun stuff. But the point is, I wanted to capture writing the way I always wanted it to be.”
“Just like you, Amelia,” Grace said.
“I’m confused here,” I said. “What is this?”
“This is me helping you,” Grace said. “I guided Bel through the darkest of her days. I helped her find her voice. And I know what writing means to you.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I looked at some of your stuff,” Bel said.
“What stuff?”
“Forgive me,” Grace whispered.
“What did you do?” I asked Grace.
“It’s okay,” Bel said. “I like your voice. I like the way you tell stories. There’s a realness to it. And I like that realness.”