Craving: A Kylo Ren Tale

One

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, where are my knives??"

Running around the apartment like a mad woman, I'm definitely going to be late for work. As I search room to room, I'm also throwing my hair into a bun, pulling hairpins from between my teeth as I continue yelling at my poor roommate.

"I can't be late again!"

"That's three times this week!" Rose calls from the living room.

"Fuck! Jesus Christ okay here they are. Gotta run, wish me luck," I say while throwing the roll-up full of knives into my backpack and grabbing a coat.

I sprint down the three stories of our building and my feet hit the Philadelphia streets. Running toward the bus stop, I can already tell it's a lost cause. But I run anyway, passing by the beautiful brownstone row-homes, autumn leaves crunching under my shoes.

Rose and I can't really afford to live in this neighborhood, but we somehow lucked into a tiny two bedroom in a walk-up. I don't mind the stairs everyday or the small bathroom we share- it's worth it to be in this historic, and wealthy, area. We like to take walks arm in arm around Old City and pretend we're rich like our neighbors. But then we scrounge money for takeout ramen and thrift store clothes.

The location really came in handy after I finished culinary school three years ago and started applying to high end restaurants. There are so many close by that serve the well-to-do of the city. Would have been nice to actually land a job at one of them...

Instead, right now I'm busting my ass to make it to a middle grade Italian restaurant in South Philly.

I've only been there a few months, and I hate it.

I have the skills to be a sous chef, or maybe even an executive chef, I know it. But the best I could find was a generic Italian-American place that needed a demi chef. So instead of writing menus, creating recipes, or making main courses, I'm tasked with preparing boring side dishes and cleaning up work stations.

Maybe that's why I'm always late. My body hates the idea of being there. This job fucking sucks. But rent money is rent money, I guess.

The bus finally comes and drives me south, and I'm watching every minute tick past 2 o'clock as I ride. The sights outside my window begin to blur together, my mind lost in thought. So lost that I almost miss my stop.

When I finally make it into Maziano's, sweating and short of breath, I'm 28 minutes late this time. Better than Tuesday when I actually did miss my bus stop, I think to myself.

But my relief is short lived when the owner stops me before I can even reach the kitchen.

"You're late, again," says Cassian.

"I know, I'm sorry!" I hope he can hear that I do mean my apology. Coming across as unprofessional isn't my favorite feeling. "It won't happen again, I promise."

"No, no it won't," he says with a sigh. "I'm sorry too. You're fired."

I can't say that I'm completely shocked, and honestly I deserve this. I haven't been pulling my weight here, instead I've been moping around for months feeling like I don't belong. Someone else would better suit the position, I know he's right. But it still stings.

"Oh. It's okay, I... I get it. Thank you for the opportunity here at Maz's, I'm sorry for letting you down."

Fuck. Back to square one, applying to restaurant after restaurant.

I decide to walk home, it isn't too terribly far, plus I'm dreading returning to Rose so early. On a regular shift I wouldn't be home until close to midnight. Can't stall that long, but I can drag out the inevitable conversation a little.

Strolling through the Italian Market, I grab a few groceries and throw them in my backpack. I shouldn't be treating myself to nice bread and cheese now that I'm unemployed, but I fully intend on eating my feelings as soon as I get home. Carbs and cheese can cure a lot of heartbreaks.

Eventually my feet find their way to our neighborhood, and I'm still not ready to face reality so I stop by a newspaper stand.

"Camel Blues and a paper, please," I tell the man. I hand over some cash, he hands back the cigarettes, newspaper, and change.

I stop at the park to smoke and read the classifieds. A crisp breeze is swirling the orange and brown leaves, and I grab a seat on a bench. Might as well start the job search now, seeing as my schedule today has been completely cleared. Digging in my backpack I find a pen, and start circling things that sound interesting while lazily smoking with my other hand.

One listing for executive chef. A few more for sous. One for a live-in personal assistant/chef in New York City, which I'll never apply to but the salary sounds nice so I circle it anyway. A couple catering options. A ton of line cook positions, which would be a step down but I'm desperate so I'll take what I can get.

I'm on my third cigarette when I hear my name being called from across the park. It's Rose. Fuck.

"Hey! I was just on my way over to Finn's and-" she stops herself, realizing I shouldn't be here, I should be at work until late tonight. She scans the scene and sees my newspaper and open pack of smokes. "Oh no. What happened?"

"Cassian wasn't mean about it, but I definitely got fired," I confess with hunched shoulders.

We sit for a few minutes and pore over the newspaper together, and she helps me narrow down different listings. I skim past the one in NYC, but she stops me.

"No I think you should apply to that one anyway! It sounds so fun. You've always wanted to live there!"

"Our lease isn't up for over two months though, I figured I'd just apply here in Philly."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that..." she says nervously. "I've been debating moving back to my parents' in New Jersey and starting my masters at the beginning of term in January. Am I insane? I think I must be, but I keep putting it off and now we're both at a crossroads in life ya know? Like maybe we both need to make some new moves?"

I can tell from the look on her face that she's been feeling this way for a while but hasn't found the right opportunity to bring it up. Losing my job and my roommate back to back wasn't how I planned to spend today, Jesus.

"Rose I think that's amazing. You're so smart, and you're gonna crush those Engineering bros. I fully support you going back to school!" I try my best to mask my disappointment with my very real pride.

"Really? I didn't know how to bring it up before, we're in such a groove here in Philly. But now you can apply to jobs anywhere and everywhere, that's super exciting."

And she's right, I'm suddenly not tethered down by a job or roommate, and I currently have no romantic interests. Sort of floating in the wind waiting for whatever my next chapter is.

"Okay. You're right. I'll put in some applications here and some in New York, and see what happens. I've got a few months to work it out."

I hope my tone is convincing, but I'm more terrified than exhilarated at this point.

Rose leaves to visit our friend in the Gayborhood, and I go back to chain smoking and looking at what I've circled in the paper.

My eyes linger on the live-in NYC position. That would kill a lot of birds with one stone... New job, new apartment, new city...

I grab my phone and start writing an email to the listed address: phasma@kren.arts.com