Song: Everywhere I Go by Sleeping at Last
***
One week later
I've officially survived in Seattle for one week. I pretty much live out of my car, and all of my meals consist of those nasty pre-packaged meals that are usually rock hard, the kind where you worry about chipping a tooth.
My interview to be a waitress fell through so I still don't have a job, but I'm fairing just fine without one. I spent most of my money from Nadia on a twenty-four hour gym membership, so as I have a place to shower and even sleep, when it gets cold outside. That way, the only thing I have to really worry about is food.
My car is taking me to the gym when I hear a rattling noise I haven't noticed before, from deep inside the glovebox. I carefully open it up, peering beneath my registration and a few old gum wrappers to spot a large oxygen mask. I roll my eyes and slam the glovebox shut.
When the overpopulation talks first began, many politicians swore that our oxygen levels on earth would begin to run out. Scientists proved this to be false numerous times, but people still bought into it; even a majority of celebrities truly believed that our oxygen was running out due to overpopulation.
Overpopulation became the hot topic of debates. People began selling oxygen masks in nearly every store, and famous fashion designers even created their own line of oxygen masks. The act made billions of dollars.
There are a few of us who know better, however. My father worked in politics and tried to show the world that overpopulation would not cause oxygen deprivation. He had the statistics and facts all in line when suddenly, one day, he left without a trace. No one knows why. But because of him, I have always known that I never have to worry about not being able to breathe, no matter how many people around me wear those silly masks. I know that it's all just a money making facade, thanks to my father.
I hope to try and track him down in my spare time, if I have any. But I'm also trying not to get my hopes up.
My car pulls into the gym parking lot and stops. I glance around, grateful to note that I'm the only one in the parking lot. I pull the hood of my black hoodie up over my head and hurry into the building, bypassing the body scanner as quickly as possible.
"Afternoon, Brooklyn," the owner of the gym, Jen, calls out to me. I smile and wave, pulling my hood down.
I come to the gym every day to work out and shower. I try to come at a different time every day, in hopes of preventing being followed. So far so good, although it's only been a week. Honestly, I was surprised when Jen didn't call the police department when I came in on the first day.
***
I wipe the sweat away from my forehead and stand up, taking a few deep breaths. My usual workout is quite rigorous and a part of me hates it, even if I know deep down that it's doing me quite well.
I gather my hoodie and sweatpants and make my way to the showers in the back of the building. There's still no one in the gym, as usual. This isn't the most popular gym in Seattle, after all - and that's precisely why I came here, to avoid people.
The door to the bathroom squeaks as I push it open. The lights flicker occasionally, but overall I'm pleased with how clean the room is. I take the first shower on the left, setting my things on the bench as I warm the water up.
The water never gets truly warm, but at this point I'm grateful to even have clean water.
They say you never know what you have until it's gone, and I never realized how true that statement is until this past week. In just a week I've lost my mother, the one person who was always there for me and loved me no matter what. I may never see my best friend again. I've lost my home, and basically everything I've ever owned. I've even lost myself a little bit. I've had to give everything up in order to survive and start a new life, and at times like this I find myself wondering if it was all worth it. I keep telling myself that one day it will all be worth it. That one day, I'll see the light in all this darkness; and I can only hope that that day comes soon.
The lukewarm water drips down my back as I run my fingers through my now short hair, which I'm still growing used to. I have no shampoo, I don't even have any soap; I only have the clothes on my back, which are currently on the bench.
I watch as the water drips off the end of my hair in one long stream, splashing to the bottom of the shower. I take a moment to scrub my body, removing every inch of sweat, dirt, and grime. I may be technically homeless, but that doesn't mean I have to smell.
I hear the squeaky bathroom door open and isntinctively jump; there's actually another woman in this god-forsaken gym. I laugh through my nose and shake my head, wondering what poor bum ended up here like me. I shouldn't be so quick to judge, I suppose, but I can't really help it. I'm just so used to being the only person here aside from Jen.
The only problem with there being another person here: I now have to wait to leave until they get in a shower or leave themselves. I'd rather not show my face, if I can avoid it. Thus, I sigh and toss my head back, enjoying the water; I could be here a while.
I hear no noise from anywhere in the bathroom, and I begin to suspect that my new gym mate has left. I shrug and grip the knob to turn off the shower. As I begin to step out of the shower, I hear a phrase that sends chills down my spine, despite the warm water:
"I know you're in here, Dasher! Come on out!"
***
