Take Out Order

Chapter 1 (D)

Dylan's Point of View

My sewing machine sits in the carrier case. It's starting to grow mold. I know because I can smell it. It mixes with the smell of lost dreams and cheap fabric to create a knockout cocktail. My name is Dylan, and when I told my mother that I was leaving Addison, Michigan to become a big-time fashion designer, her face went blank. I feel like she only let me come to New York because she believes deep down that I will return home after failing miserably.

I pay my bills, sometimes, because waiting tables put a minuscule dent in the ample amounts of student loans I've somehow acquired. If it wasn't for my roommate the rent wouldn't be paid. I barely see her because she wakes up before I do and comes back to the apartment only after I've retired to bed. Her name is Rowan, and I found her on the app "Roomies," after posting that I was looking for a clean quiet roommate who was willing to pay more than their fair share of the rent. Not before long I found Rowan, who I haven't seen much since she moved in. She also makes me breakfast. While most people would consider her the dream, I honestly find her weird. She leaves the cash for the rent on our dining room table on the first of every month like clockwork, which confuses me. If you can afford to pay more than half of your rent, then why are you renting a two bedroom apartment on the upper east side instead of living comfortably on your own in like Brooklyn or Queens.

Since moving in two months ago we have only communicated by using sticky notes. Every once in a while I will find a green sticky note on my door or the dining room table saying, "please keep your music down." Or "I didn't think the person you brought home was your type, interesting."

I don't quite remember what her face looks like because it's been so long since our last face to face communication. The last time we were actually so close that we were breathing the same air I contemplated taking a picture of her just so that I could remember her features. Rowan has left a sticky note on my door asking if I wanted to go grocery shopping with her because when she goes alone she buys about 7 different kinds of tofu and I don't eat tofu. I guess she had asked so that when she went again I would actually eat what she bought. I remember the encounter because even though the grocery store with its fluorescent lights and crying children has the tendency to keep you ever present, being around Rowan was so painfully awkward that my mind kept slipping between my reality and an augmented one where Rowan actually spoke to me.

The weirdest part, however, was not the slipping between realities or the awkwardness of the situation. It was catching a glimpse of one of Rowan's friends. I figured she didn't want me to know who it was, so I pretended I didn't see anything and continued debating between Funyuns and Hot Cheetos until she came back with some lame excuse about not being able to decide between original and hot pepper hummus.

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Hey Everyone,

This is E from JandEwrite. Thank you so much for reading my chapter. Like, Comment, Share, Vote and ask questions of J and me. We are always willing to take suggestions and answer questions.

tout l'amour,

E from JandEwrite :)