Life Is (Mostly) Beautiful

1. The Bad Beginning

"So that's it? You're just leaving?" He asked in a confused tone. I brusquely pushed past him and into our--now his--closet.

"What does it look like Brik?" I responded coolly, piling clothes and shoes into a small suitcase.

"Alena, y-you can't!" he cried desperately. "Please! I need you and I'm so sorry-"

I left the room before he could finish the rest of his lies. It didn't take me long to navigate the small apartment we shared, and grab the few things I wanted: a family picture here, a sentimental trinket there, my laptop, and that was it.

"There's a heat wave out there Alena, you can't just go out like that! Where're you going to go?"

Brik was right, but I didn't care. I'd sleep naked in the park if it meant getting away from him. But rather than answer his question, I checked the notification on my phone: my Lyft driver was here.

In a matter of minutes, I was out of the only home I'd ever grown to love and, and the life I'd lovingly shared with the one man who could break my heart.

***

Five Years Ago

"Alright, we're going to stand up, go around in a circle and say our names, hometown and an interesting fact," the professor announced, to the audible displeasement of the class. "Yeah, yeah I know, but it's the only way we're going to get to know each other. We'll start on this side."

The girl closest to his left stood with an unenthusiastic demeanor and spoke, "My name is Martha, I'm from the Bay area, and my interesting fact...I don't know. I went skiing over the summer I guess."

And so began the round of introductions, ranging from bland to down-right reluctant. That is, until it was his turn.

"Hi," he said with a bright smile. That was the first thing that caught my eye about him: a bright-eyes gleam in a sea of dead-eyed faces. "My name's Brik, but you can call me Charlie. I'm from Philadelphia, and I once wrote a musical called The Nightman Cometh."

Oblivious to the few chuckles in the class, the professor seemed intrigued. "Ah, how unique."

"Yes," Brik responded. "Would you like to hear some of it?"

Those that understood the It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia reference eagerly nodded and clapped. The professor, an aging but accomplished Rhodes scholar, remained none the wiser. "By all means."

"Dayman! A-a-ahhhh," Brik sang loudly, dramatically jumping onto one of the desks. "Fighter of the Nightman! A-a-ahh-"

"Ok, I think that's enough," the professor said, warily eyeing the desk wobbling under Brik's theatrical movements. But the class had already erupted into cheers and applause. Brik made a confident leap off the desk to bow to his fans.

"Thank you, thank you," he said blowing kisses, and pushing his shaggy hair back. I knew in that moment that he was trouble.

He was disruptive and he was contagious, so of course the fun didn't end there. As we continued around the room people started to have fun with their introductions in a similar fashion.

"My name is Michael, I'm from Scranton, Pennsylvania and I work at a paper company."

"The name's Francis, but call me Frank, I live in D.C. and this past summer I tried to run for local office but was betrayed by my trusted coworkers. But as I always say, 'the road to power is paved with hypocrisy and casualties.'"

"Hi, um, I'm Bella and I'm from Washington. This summer I saved my boyfriend from getting eaten by wolves!"

Soon enough, it came around to me, but I was never one to carry a joke well.

"Hi, I'm Alena," I said nervously.

"As in Elena or Katherine?" someone asked with a giggle. I didn't get the reference, but it didn't matter.

"No," I shrugged. "Just Alena."

"'Just Alena,'" Brik said, meeting my eyes from across the room. "That's pretty cool."

***

Present Day

"Thank you," I said, stepping out of the musty car with my suitcase in hand.

The Lyft driver looked over at me expectantly. "No tip?" he asked harshly.

"Uhh," I said awkwardly. I usually reserved my tips for great service, and this guy's dirty car and funky smell were everything short of that.

He flicked his cigarette butt over at me and snarled, "Greedy bitch."

Sighing, I dragged my suitcase to the entrance way of the small motel. It wasn't much, but it was cheap and provided me space to think while I plotted my next move.

Brik was the only friend, and only person I trusted in my life. My parents lived in another state, not that it mattered since I hadn't spoken to them in years, and I had no other relatives or close friends. On top of that, I was now unemployed with no stable living arrangement.

Maybe I should've stayed to talk things out? No, he's the reason I'm in this mess in the first place.

After checking in and walking up to my room, I located the air conditioning system on the wall.

"Work," I demanded, hitting the dusty, old box a few times, but to no avail. "Dammit!"

Now I had to sleep in this suffocating heat on scratchy blankets for who knows how long. I alleviated some of my discomfort with a cold shower and sat on my bed with my laptop open.

I had to figure out a plan and fast. I only had so much money in my bank account and I still needed a place to live, work, and eat. At the thought of food, my stomach groaned. It'd been a long day, and between losing my job and fighting with Brik, I'd forgotten to eat.

There weren't any restaurants or grocery stores within walking distance--and none that I wanted to walk to at night in this neighborhood--so I settled for the vending machine in the hallway.

"$1.50 for a Poptart?" I wondered aloud. Between the Poptart and the bottle of water I bought, I'd already spent almost $4. On top of that, the damn Poptart was expired.

Ok, ok, ok. Focus. Focus.

But how could I focus when it felt like my whole world was falling apart? This was even worse than when I had to drop out of college. At that time, I had Brik beside me. Now I was alone.

Alone.

I crumpled myself into a ball on the bed, feeling everything that had happened that day wash over me. Fresh tears and fresh heartache kept me company in the otherwise bleakness of my existence. I knew something like this was bound to happen. How could I let myself be put in this position?

"Oh God, what I am going to do?" I cried aloud. But God didn't answer me. Instead, God left me alone, wailing on a scratchy bedsheet to mourn the end of any foreseeable purpose in life, and rot in an existential wasteland.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. You're nothing.

No!

Yes! Look at you, you're pathetic, your life is a mess, and no one cares about you. You were born nothing, you're going to be nothing.

No, no, no!

"No," I cried softly, squeezing my eyes shut to slow the rush of tears. That's how I fell asleep, with sweat and tears clung to my skin. When I woke up the next morning, with a crick in my neck and the sunlight pouring through the mosquito-net screens, I had only one thought.

"Fuck it, I'm going to be somebody."