Second Chance At Forever

Walking throughout the city of Detroit in summer is close to treading the path of righteousness without faith__it's hard that way. What's harder is getting a job as a college student. It's always like a dream that could never come through. The hardest part is that I have been sitting in the lobby of this art gallery for over two hours now, waiting to break the sarcasm of life, oblivious to everything going on, but attentive to my thoughts. The only fascinating thing about this place is the amazing paintings sitting right on the wall of each corner.

A particular painting caught my attention and I could not decipher the meaning the artist was trying to pass. It was of an elephant with its trunk standing out in a quite narrow doorway which it obviously could not fit. "Could you please, drop this over there?" a young lady who has been calling our numbers in, probably in her late twenties or early thirties who seem to be the secretary handed me a face-wipe with a red lipstick stain standing out like that time of the month. I didn't respond at first which caused her to repeat herself. "Of course," I answered with a fake smile, dumping it in the waste bin. Humans are quite disrespectful and I choose to remain an introvert! I thought. "Number 50," the young lady who I later found out was indeed the secretary called out and I looked around me and saw no one. No one but me. "Miss Twain," she called out my name like she was stressed out and the least she needed was me acting dumb. "You seem to me to be the last candidate," she said stylishly in a low but harsh tone. I looked at the number tag hung around my neck and immediately stood up, apologizing intensely. I walked into the office which seem colder than its outside. A young lady was sitting with glasses hung on the bridge of her nose. Her head was bent, seriously working on something which was concerning the job interview. The interior decoration of this place was done by a respectable artist, no doubt. The details were incredible with different art and subtle meanings etched into each. It was a great view of the sight. I took in all the incredible paintings, getting shrewd inspiration from each. "Your file," she suddenly said without raising her head, and to say I wasn't startled will be a lie. "Uhm...yeah," I fumbled for words, bringing out my file from the file jacket and handing it over to her. "Kindly introduce yourself," still not raising her head. I mean, it doesn't hurt to see the interviewer's face. I postured myself well like I was about to take a polaroid shot and began. "I'm Caroline Twain, a 20-year-old college student. I'm in my third year in college but I need a job to continue the funding of my studies. I have been an artist since I was in high school. Growing from presenting a piece for my school's art exhibition to submitting art to a museum. I have been an intern in a fine art gallery for six months now and I have 3 paintings which are yet to receive the appalling literal recognition but..." I was cut short and then, she raised her head. Not the face I was expecting though. I was expecting a quite strict face but was graced with a calm yet serious face that made her brunette look impeccably gorgeous. "Why do you think your three paintings didn't receive the recognition it needed?" "With no doubt, I believe to be an expert in what I do which is meant to be crowned with..." "Miss..." she looked down at my file on the table before she continued. "Miss Caroline Twain. A straightforward answer, please," she said, yet calmly and I was starting to get terrified. The fear that this whole interview could end up like the ones in the past gripped me. "Uhm... I think..." "You think or you're certain? Speak with some certainty, Miss Twain," now, her face was back to my file. "I am certain that most artists hit the verge of a dead rock only to fly back high like a catapult," I don't know how I got that phrase but I guess it caught her mind. "Talk about the originality of your work," she retorted. Now, she's facing her laptop with her well-manicured hand placed on her mouse. "One thing an avid artist like myself proves is the originality of my work. I put in my all with every painting inspiring inner peace. I paint from my imagination which gives my work its sense of originality," "Can I see any of your work, Miss Twain?" she asked and I rushed out to retrieve it. I took off the covering and she stood to check it out more. She traced the painting with her eyes closed. I wasn't sure what she was doing but I didn't interrupt her either. She opened her eyes and smiled at me before walking back to her seat. Everything seem to be going pretty well and yet again, the phrase I dreaded the most was said. She adjusted her glasses well before speaking and I knew instantly what those fine lips were about to spit out. "We'll reach out to you, Miss Twain," she said with a slight smile, handing over my files, and immediately she went back to what she was doing like I was never even in the room. They never do. I thought I did well. I thought the fact that I was a young lady should stand me out but I was denied any form of exhibiting my skills. I looked around the office one last time before picking my painting off the ground and exiting the room. I wasn't even surprised anymore. I wasn't even disappointed but no doubt, I was going to give up schooling or seek a job.

Getting a job would have eased my parent's stress of paying tuition fees. It was starting to seem like they could not afford me anymore. At that moment, I lost all hope and was not open to any form of motivation because I wasn't ready to be inspired by anything. Right now, it's 10:09 am and all I crave is a medium size box of pizza and a cup of cappuccino while I read through my favorite book "love works wonder" The thought of it dropped a bunch of butterflies inside me and a wide smile crawled up my face. I hurried out of the lobby to make my present cravings come true, causing me to smile so hard like I had gotten the job. A few minutes later, I was curling under my duvet with the book I was engrossed with sitting uncomfortably between my thumb and my ring finger, with my index finger and my middle finger holding it well to my face. My eyes scanned through the lines word by word, enjoying every bit of it. I raised my head a bit from my pillow and took a huge bite of the pizza I had ordered a few minutes back, washing it down with a sip of my coffee. This was like a dream come true, I thought and smiled to myself. A description of nature caught my attention in the book and I immediately sat upright as multiple inspirations flow through me. An idea for a painting struck my mind and I got up immediately. I laid out my painting palette and set aside the paint and brushes. I held down the drawing paper pads with masking tape to outline the drawing. I sketched out a daisy attached with a rose. The background illustrated thorns. I stared at the drawing for a while and still couldn't get a hold of what to portray but my thoughts were disrupted by a knock. The knock sounded again. "Who's there?" I asked but no one answered. I walked to the door and opened it but I found an unfamiliar face. "Hi," she said with an extremely beautiful smile. "Hi," I answered with a questioning look. "May I come in?" she asked and I was immediately taken back. The audacity was beyond me but still, I let her in. Her smile was really beautiful. She had this fun demeanor demonstrated in every of her act. Though, she looked a little stylish and girly. She had nerdy glasses attached to her eyes and a pixel-cut hairstyle tinted in pink. She's probably around 5,5 or 5'6, a little taller than I was and a little slimmer. She wore a pink crop top revealing a reasonable amount of her lower belly. She complemented it with cargo pants and pink crocs. She looked like she knew a few right things about fashion. "You have a nice apartment," she complimented after looking around like she had been in my room before now and was looking for a thing she had lost. "Uhmm... Thanks but who are..." I was cut short by her scream. "OMG! You paint? This is a very beautiful piece. What does this illustrate?" she pointed to the paint I had shown at my job interview. "Hold on. Who are you again?" I finally asked. "Oh my... Pardon my courtesy," she said like such a nonchalant attitude could be pardoned. "I'm Clara, Clara Jones. I just moved in. I am your next-door neighbor. I never knew I could get apartments off-campus. I have lived all my life in the dorm," she explained with a scowl and I still could not point out how I should be affected. "I'm Caroline Twain," I replied, trying so hard to play nice to the stranger. "Now that we've gotten past the introductory part. Could you explain to me what this painting means, Carol?" she said and I immediately disliked her. Who enters a person's apartment unannounced and calls them Carol? I scoffed and walked past her, packing my stuff back to its compartment. "Did I say anything wrong, Carol?" she asked. Still never learned her lesson. "You can stop calling my name if at all you need to call me," I said with a little frown and she smiled. "Carol? That's what this is about?" she asked. "Come on! Everyone knows Caroline is Carol. You shouldn't have opted in for a long name if you wouldn't like it shortened, Carol," she said, sitting on my bed and opening the box of pizza. She took out a slice and bit on it before smiling at me. Okay, that's it! "You seem to be in a good mood. You could probably use that mood to unpack," I said, taking the pizza away from her. I am beyond astounded by her act. I have met no one as free-spirited; if I must be nice with my words __as her. "OMG! You're reading "love works wonder"? She asked, closing up the page where I stopped. Oh, God! I snatched the book from her, trying to open through the pages to get back to where I was but I couldn't. Damn! We met a few minutes ago and she's already a pain in the ass. "Get up!" I half screamed. "But why..." I shut her up by pulling her towards the door. "You seem to be in a bad mood today. I'd come back tomorrow to get the meaning to the painting," she said with the most annoying smile I had ever seen anyone labeled on their lips. I shut the door and almost immediately, I heard a knock again and I opened it. "What?" "Do you really think Pauline should make atonement for her revenge? I don't think she should. But I kind of felt happy after Sir Oswald's death, don't you?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Can you not drop a spoiler, for heaven's sake?!" I screamed at her before slamming the door. Heaven knows I haven't in my 20 years of living met anyone as annoying as she was.