This story is by Jane McGowan and was part of our 2022 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
“You will live Happily ever after”. There it was in front of me in tiny red letters. I had developed the habit of opening my fortune cookie before I ate my Thursday evening Chinese food. Despite the encouraging forecast, I was skeptical of its proclamation and rolled my eyes.
The majority of my colleagues, including myself, had been working from home for the past year and a half courtesy of the COVID-19 pandemic and I had fallen into a routine. The Thursday evening Chinese food was always the same, comforting yet predictable – kind of like the dime a dozen fortunes that accompanied it. At least it did not foresee something negative; things were already sufficiently grim. My grandmother had passed away recently. She was confined to a nursing home the last month of her life without visitation, and we were unable to administer a proper funeral for her due to medical restrictions. My older brother, the glue holding our family together, was working overseas at the time and unable to travel internationally. Unremitting gun violence, looting and protests in Philadelphia, where I was living, defined the new normal and my carefree existence was being replaced by a slow consuming misery.
So, I kept the fortune. I smoothed out the edges of the tiny piece of paper and carefully placed it on my computer keyboard for a quick pick me up. I scarfed down the rest of my dinner and settled into a mountain of textbooks. Tomorrow was going to be my first day back in person to my law school lecture. I had been taking online classes part time and we had finally been summoned to show half of our faces to resume our candid debates.
When I arrived, the vibe was awkward, bordering on eerie. Normally, you had to fight to find a spot up front or arrive ridiculously early to claim the coveted aisle seat with the outlet to charge your phone. Today, the auditorium looked like an old-fashioned Lite Brite toy missing most of its brightly colored pegs. Scattered dots of lackluster students mumbled through useless homemade masks to a plexiglass encased professor. The energy just wasn’t there. I didn’t feel the same way I did when I was accepted to law school and the passion was gone. By the end of the two hours, I was starting to even wonder if this is what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
So, I did what always helped – I called my Mom. She had taken up quilting during the lockdown and I could hear the gentle whir of her sewing machine as we spoke. I told her about my first day back and my newfound apprehension for my chosen life path. We talked briefly, but I could sense her concentration shifting to her project at hand, so I wrapped things up.
“I’m starving”, I said, to which she replied “go get something to eat. Things will look up, you have to get readjusted and everything will be fine”. She was usually right, so I hung up, gathered my belongings, and headed toward the exit.
The fresh air felt good and rejuvenated my dulled senses. I found my bike at the rack and began unlocking the wheel when I heard someone say “Wanna grab some Chinese food?” Unsure if it was even directed at me, I continued fastening my helmet. “Kung Pao chicken no green peppers”?
My head whipped around and I saw a face that I recognized, but couldn’t quite place. The voice sounded vaguely familiar but I was still uncertain. Its owner stood before me, one leg of his pants rolled up in accustomed biker fashion. He leaned over the milk carton that was attached to the front of his bike. It was filled to the brim with textbooks, one of them the required reading for the aforementioned lecture, and Chinese food delivery bags. The Smiling Panda – I knew that place!
And then the realization set in; my Thursday evening tradition had face – a very handsome face! He explained having to pick up a part-time delivery job to help supplement his tuition. “Law school isn’t cheap”, he quipped. The absence of the red uniform and ubiquitous face mask resolved the earlier confusion. “So, how about that lunch”? He nodded toward a crumpled paper bag in the basket.
“Ya know, why don’t we just get a Pizza instead”? I suggested. A slow smile spread over his face and we both burst into a laughter that had been dormant far too long. I thought to myself, I don’t know if this is “happily ever after”, but it sure is a good start.
Leave a Reply