It was one of those days. One of those days when a glass bottle falls onto your hand as you open the fridge door and spreads tartare sauce all over the floor while you are trying to drain the pasta, before it gets all mushy. One of those days where you had just one thing to do but you wrote down the time wrong, so all your plans are crashing down fast. One of those days, or better months.
She was trying to ignore the neighbors’ voices downstairs to concentrate on the cooking without stepping into the mess she made. Meanwhile her hand was hurting and slowly getting a nice red color, forcing her to go get the ice pack. Great she thought Apparently being almost late wasn’t enough. Now I have to bolt with one hand. She tried to ignore the light burnt note in her food knowing that she never should have left the pot on the stove while showering. Better focus on the things left to do. How could I have mistaken 2.30 pm with 7.30? She sighed. I could stay here and just forget about the EEG but the 20€ for the study are not that bad… I could buy new books, which reminds me I have ordered one from the university library and I still have not gotten around to pick it up. She looked at her watch I really have to get going and after chowing down the rest of the food and taking a quick glance at the mirror hanging in the bathroom, she was on her way out.
Damn, I can’t possibly ride my bike with the stupid hand, but it doesn’t look that bad She pressed warily her hand Nope. No bike material. Why did I have to get a bike with back brakes on the left side? That’s just stupid She shook her head walking. I hope I have cash in my wallet. I should have gotten that stupid bus ticket for the whole year. Why did I think that I could get far with my bike alone? I mean we have ten sunny days a year in this damn city. What was I thinking? Wait, did I change pants?
Looking down at herself, she assessed her clothing status, happy to report that it was presentable. Black jeans with a leather belt, black t-shirt, and a squared orange shirt on top. The last few months had been rough on her, especially the last few days. It was good to see her getting out of her small studio, even if it was just to take part of a university study.
She got to the ticket machine, payed with debit card just in time to get the bus. And there they were: people. Lots of them. It made her feel strange, standing in that small space with lots of people. Children screaming, old men drinking beer, tourists taking pictures of everything they passed and people looking at her. She would have never cut her hair that short if she had known how many people would stare at her. She thought about taking the book out of her bag, but she didn’t like reading while standing. It seemes like people stare even more when someone is reading an actual book in the bus, besides the rain jacket she was holding would not make it easy.
The bus stopped and an old woman with a walking stick made it in just in time before the doors closed behind her. She looked like she was going to fall over any moment. Slightly bent down holding on to as many bars as possible with her walking stick still in her hand and a plastic bag hanging down her wrist. Another old woman stood up and walked to a young boy, told him to stand up to make the poor lady sit and got off the bus. So, her seat was now empty, and the poor boy was too afraid of sitting down again. People can be so complicated, but J enjoyed observing the gears of society spinning silently before her eyes. Too bad, she never found a spot to fit in permanently.
She shook her head wondering if it was possible to get her headphones from her bag without too much trouble. The bus was stuck in traffic which made her wonder if her life was going to get better any time soon. The stress and worries were nagging on her mind too much and her shortly found need of loneliness combined with her wish to find someone like her were not helping her sort things out.
Where was her Mr. Darcy? Her Mr. Rochester? She sank her eyes catching a glimpse of her watch. Shit. Five minutes left and I don’t even know where the room is. She sighed and positioned herself in front of the door. She hated being late. Oh well. At least I’m not five hours late. It’s a good thing I checked the email again. Quickly she scanned the directions on her phone again and wished the lady had given her the room number instead of this strange route description which sounded more like some bad Bond-movie joke. Finally, the bus stopped, and J was out of there before the doors were fully open.
She hurried into the university building
Third floor. Follow the instructions on the wall – there were none – cross the big room, turn left, turn right, and stop in front of the coffee machine. The stairs are behind the door.
Photo by Suzy Hazelwood from Pexels
Story will continue next week
Aromatic deception 