Chasing the Story

First Days Are Always Rough

“You almost look too snazzy to be a journalist. Shouldn’t you have a coffee stain on your shirt or something?” She frowned.

I rolled my eyes, but stepped away. Knowing her, she’d probably purposefully stain my new silk shirt for “artistic effect.”

 She smiled at my retreat. “Never mind. Knowing you, there will be all kinds of stains on your shirt by the end of the day.” 

“Hey!” I protested, pretending to be offended, but I let it slide, because, well it was true. I was just about the biggest klutz on the planet.

I looked back at Auntie Kay, who was staring at me thoughtfully, her eyes glazing over as if she were somewhere else. “Auntie Kay?” I asked quietly, wondering what was wrong.

She closed her eyes for a moment as if she were fighting back tears. “It’s just,” she paused and let out a shaky breath. “You look so much like her right now. It’s crazy.”

I felt myself tense up, knowing exactly who she was talking about, but didn’t say anything. The grainy pattern of the wooden floor was suddenly fascinating.

“I’m sorry,” Auntie Kay said hurriedly. “I know you don’t like talking about her. It’s just, moments like these, I really wish she was here to see you.”

“It’s fine.” I smiled gently at her, letting her know I was okay. There was an awkward moment of silence before I stole a glance at the clock. It was five to nine.

“Well, I’d probably better get going,” I said, moving to the front door.

Auntie Kay finally snapped out of her trance and gave me a cheeky grin. “Don’t be silly. No real journalist shows up on time. If you show up on time AND without a coffee stain, no one’s going to take you seriously.”

I laughed and pecked her on the cheek. “I’m sure I’ll have some kind of stain on my shirt by the time I get there. Don’t you worry.” She pulled me into a hug and gave me a tight squeeze, before pushing me out the door with a slap on the butt.

“Hey! Watch it!” I winked. She winked back and I let out a giggle as I bounded down the stairs.

New York Times. Here I come!

Just kidding. More like giant puddle of rain water, here I come.

"Are you okay, miss?" A man, about forty years old, asked worriedly, peering down at me as I lay sprawled out across the sidewalk.

Ugh. I knew I couldn’t pull off heels.

“Yeah, thanks.” I mumbled, blushing bright red and allowing him to help me up.

“You be more careful, okay?” He said slowly, as if he were talking to someone really dense before giving me a pat on the head like I was a little kid.

I gave him a weak smile as he turned away, before letting out a huff, and blowing the wisps of hair that had fallen into my face out of my eyes. So much for being a grown-up.

I hurried down into the Subway station and was waiting in line to put my ticket through when I heard the thundering noise of my train’s arrival.

“Oh nooo!” I cried, glancing, panicked, at the five or so people who were ahead of me in line. There was no way I was going to make it. Sure enough, I listened with dread as my train pulled away, the squeals of its wheels echoing back through the tunnel as if they were mocking me. The next one wouldn’t be here for fifteen minutes. I was so going to be late.

“At least, now you’re a real journalist,” I muttered bitterly to myself as I pushed my ticket into the slot and walked out onto the platform.