The Fuzzy End of the Lollipop

The Fuzzy End of the Lollipop: Chapter Two.

Back in Cornwall, Sally had worked countless waitressing jobs either in family-run tea rooms over the summer or in chain coffee shops through the winter. She was confident in the profession but as she pulled on her new black jeans and crisp white shirt a sinking sensation overwhelmed her.

All she was expected to do in the tea rooms back home was wrap a pinny around her waist and smile broadly at tourists who demanded more jam for their cream teas. It was casual and mistakes were tolerated, but this new uniform sparked visions of a tyrannical, hard-eyed maître d' who demanded Michelin star excellence. After all, the pub was in the City, and its high-rise reputation thrived off entitlement and precision.

Sally cursed herself for exaggerating her experience in the interview. She didn't even know how to carry two plates at once, let alone work to the standard that those types of people were used to.

As she looked in the mirror Sally instinctively sucked in her stomach, placing two hands over her tummy and pushing it in until her torso resembled the letter C. A thousand voices rumbled behind her ears: how could she have left her family? What was wrong with her? Everything was going to turn bad again and it would all be her fault. They criticised and cursed her, becoming louder and louder until she thoughtlessly pinched the side of her torso and silenced them. This is going to be good; it has to be good. But her reflection told a different story.

She had tried a little too hard to do her makeup this morning. Her first draft had resulted in two majorly opposing eyebrows which had been removed leaving a 5 o'clock shadow looming across her forehead. This was wiped clean, causing an ever-so-flattering two-tone effect. The lower half of her face had an orange shimmery glow while the top part was a wintry grey. Exasperated and crawling closer to being late on her first day, Sally ripped out a baby wipe and took the whole thing off, briskly applied mascara to each eye, brushed her hair, and left the house without a second glance in the mirror.

London was busier than Berlin and a thousand times busier than anywhere in Cornwall. Sometimes it was hard to walk down the street. Sally had to weave between the crowds, dodging strategically in and out of the currents of pedestrians.She had learnt on her trips to the city never to stop or dawdle. That was a sign of weakness. If she continued at a relatively fast pace, stony-faced with a determined look in her eye, she was more or less granted a free path. But if she hesitated she would be dodging and weaving like a prizefighter.

Tempers escalated quickly in London. She had seen many adults shouting at each other, veins popping, all because someone had dared walk in their way. Sally always thought these people would be more suited to the Cotswolds – there, they could zig-zag freely down the street without a care in the world. Perhaps that's why they're so angry: they knew greener pastures existed but were unable to access them either due to greed or necessity. Sally did not know which one best related to her situation; all she knew was that the city gave her a different kind of energy. Her movements became sharp and purposeful, scanning the streets obsessively, reading each face for signs of potential harm. Her music pumped through her ears, hyping her into a frenzy, imagining all the ways these fleeting faces could hurt her - as well all the ways she would fight back. She karate-kicked them in the balls, elbowed them in the face, turning it into a game. Sometimes it was fun, giving her an invincible swagger. Other times she was too aware of how absurd it was to enjoy the cartoon fistfights playing out in her head. It was unnecessary, especially in broad daylight, when all her potential attackers were regular people on their way to work. But this was how it always was. In times of great need, her imagination stepped in, granting her sanctuary in the rafters of her psyche, giving her distance to dream of something better. It had protected her in her childhood, it had protected her when she was with Him and now, it was protecting her again. Filtering her anxiety through her imagination until they molded into something else, something more glamorous, something less real.