Words: Paige Tasin (she/her)
She tapped her foot on the floor, leaving a continuous drill of impatience in the silent room. The sound pounded along with her heart. Her purpose was certain. What do you want to be when you grow up? Her answer had always been clear. Work and toil had led to this room, this opportunity. The description of her previous endeavours echoed in her head, ringing with the promise of fulfilment. She was patiently waiting for someone to call her name, to begin the interview that she was confident would start the rest of her life.
A soft buzz sounded in her pocket. She felt agitated and frustrated that she had forgotten to mute all distractions. Yet in her hand sat a message. ‘I need you, Sylvia,’ glared up at her. She turned the brightness down and silenced her messages. She crossed one leg over the other, putting a stop to her incessant tapping. Her pulse quickened and there was a sharp pang of anxiety in her stomach. Tears welled in her eyes. She forced them back. Today was not the day the world would reach her, the day he would reach her. Her eyes closed as she took a breath. The present moment surrounded her. The past was banished again. She checked the time on her phone. In the background was a picture of her in a cap and gown. The ceremony had always seemed preposterous to her, until they had called her name and she had walked to meet her fate. A fate that led her here. She had been given flowers by her family. Flowers of red and pink and…Another buzz.
Her frustration increased. ‘Sylvia, please,’ continued to glare up at her. She could not figure out how this message had made its way through her phone. It had pushed and fought against the technological wards she had placed for her protection. Yet here it was, screaming for her to hear. An air of betrayal and neglect filled the room. A clock ticked slowly as the second hand made its way around its circle, imprisoned and doomed to run slowly onwards, nowhere new to go.
She rifled through her handbag and retrieved a folder. It was burgundy; she had forgotten that that was her favourite colour. Leafing through the pages, she found an individual sheet. As she stumbled upon it, she realised what she had been looking for. In bold, confident letters, the name “Sylvia” was spelt out. Below were activities and characteristics. Looking at this page felt strange. Did she know French? Vague words filled her brain. Yes, she supposed she might know if she tried to form a sentence. She shifted in her seat and stared up at the beige ceiling. Jumbles of words congregated before she formed je pense donc je suis…Another buzz…Non.
‘Sylvia, listen to me, just one more time.’ The girl could not figure out what this meant. This person seemed to care quite a lot. The girl searched for any emotions to match this passionate display, but could not discover any. Her heart was still, her nerves were calm, nothing seemed to indicate distress or passion. She wondered if maybe this phone belonged to someone else. Yes, the person on her wallpaper looked familiar… maybe a friend of hers. She had grabbed her phone by mistake. Her poor friend must be going through so much. If only she could understand what it was.
The girl looked down at her lap to find a piece of paper with the name “Sylvia” on it. There was something familiar about this name. The paper listed many accomplishments. This girl ought to be quite proud of her past. She thought that whoever this name belonged to had a promising future, if she continued on her current path. A buzz rang out from a phone in the girl’s lap. How had this device been entrusted to her? Surely the rightful owner had urgent matters to discuss as the message read, ‘Sylvia, just give me one more chance.’
The name “Sylvia” was called by a figure on the girl’s left. The girl had recognised something in this. What it was, she could not tell. The girl rose and walked out the door, to a man waiting, calling an unfamiliar name.
