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AUGUST 29, 1959
A thump and an aggravated screech awoke me from my enlightening dream of myself winning an award for my novel, surrounded by my James Dean husband and three children. I've known I wanted to be a writer since I was in primary school, which is one of the reasons I had to move out right after graduation.
"Who in the hell decided to make stairs like these?" My newfound roommate's muffled yell entered my ears.
"Shut your bloody hole!" Another yell came from the wall next to my head. Our neighbors weren't too fond of our early morning yells and us singing to records.
"Sod off!" I yelled back at him. I rolled out of bed, putting on my mini skirt and elbow-length-sleeve shirt. I carried my socks down the stairs so I wouldn't slip.
Diana was rushing around the kitchen, trying to tie her barista apron around her waist. Right after she solidified my waitressing job at Patty & Bun, she quit because she got a better job offer at the Casbah Coffee Club from a friend of her uncle's, Mrs. Best. It was quite disappointing when I heard the news, but she got me invited to the opening tonight.
"Calm down, mate," I halted her running by putting my hands on her shoulders," you're not going to be tardy, ya have an hour."
She checked the clock on the wall. "Uh, yah. But you don't." She pushed my arms away, tossing me my shoes.
"Shite! I'm skint, what if they fire me?" I was yelling again, but I was mostly talking to myself. "Nah, they won't." Talking to myself was a habit I formed when my brother moved away. I bad my American friend farewell as I rushed out the door.
"Remember to be there at seven!" She called out the door, I lifted a thumb up in the air as I ran, utterly happy that there was no one outside to watch me foolishly run with my long legs.
🎶🎵🎶
My roller skates glided across the tiled floor, passing the red painted walls and black booths, spilling a couple fries as I turned the corner. Shit. The busboy that cleaned the floors was not too fond of me already.
"Two fish and chips, one American burger, and three Cokes," I recited, putting the tray underneath my arm. "Anything else you boys fancy?" I was informed that I'd have to say that line after every delivery. It sounded awfully flirty and I hated it.
"Depends. What's on your menu?" The rocker asked, scanning my legs. I rolled my eyes and skated away.
If it was like this everyday, my life is going to be a drag. I slumped on the shiny counter as lunch rush was dying down. One of the smartest girls in my class, and this was my life after secondary school.
