This is the true story that has not happened. This is the song that has not been sung. And this, this is the whole of my heart. My name is Destiny, welcome to my love story, and his. Chance. My Chance. Our Chance.
It was just another morning for Destiny, she didn’t quite wake up, she’d just not slept, again. There wasn’t anything unusual about that. Her port window cast an orange glow on the wall. The light rain on the autumn leaves gave her just enough aesthetic air to spark a bit of a smile. Just a few more minutes until her alarm was set to go off. 5 am, work, must go to work. Beep! Beep! Beep! Chance threw his blanket off of his head, revealing his messy brown-black hair to absolutely no one. He rubbed his eyes and sighed as he looked at the clock. Too early, way too early. He reached for his mp3 player and put in his earbuds. Destiny turned on her pre-work playlist and the two, in their separate rooms, in their separate homes, in their separate lives, began to dance like idiots. It was an energetic cheesy 80’s song that one could not avoid moving to. The groggy boy spun around his room, pretending all of the pictures on his wall were his audience. The girl was moving her head around and making ridiculous gestures with her arms. Her audience was her favorite singers, and her sketches scattered all over the wall along with her small accomplishments represented by papers. Toward the end of the song, Chance got on his knees and started serenading the vintage poster on his door of an adorned male singer from the early days. Without warning, the door opened, and standing there was his mother. He pulled out his earbuds and quickly stood up, awkwardly shifting from one leg to the other. His mom, Stephanie, put a hand on her hip, giving him a suspicious and amused expression.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Nothing, I uh, thought I dropped...lost...something,” the boy replied with a bit of a crack in his voice and a smile that admitted defeat.
“Uh-huh, yeah, me too, breakfast, five minutes,” Stephanie countered with an almost laughing grin before closing the door.
Chance shook his head and spun around just a little bit embarrassed, but he knew this was the kind of thing his mom was used to with him.
Used to. Could I ever get used to you? Could I ever be granted the opportunity to take you for granted? It’s strange the way we get used to oxygen when we know damn well that it is the reason we live. How privileged are we to be allowed the luxury of getting used to breath, knowing someday it will stop, knowing many are deprived of it. Could I get used to you? I suppose we get used to many things because the thought, the reality that it might someday not be there, is too much to carry, and could stop us from living at all. With the eternity our love holds, I don’t think I will get used to you. Not because you will fall away from our bond, but because we are everything, ever-changing, and yet steady, like a waterfall that never runs dry but changes intensity and direction ever so often, always beautiful. I could get used to not getting used to you.
Destiny frantically scrambled to check off everything on her work checklist, it seemed like she was always forgetting something. She made lists for her lists, a list for her list of lists, and an extra one on her phone in case she lost those. On these lists, you could find the most ridiculous things numbered.
1. Pen
2. Pen in case the other pen stops working
3. Pen in case the other two pens stop working
She always over-prepared for everything and yet always seemed to forget something. When she’d attempt to be a bit less paranoid that something would go wrong, she’d get adventurous and bring only one, which really would stop working. Then it happened, she spilled coffee on herself, right on her shirt and pants. This was a very Destiny thing to do, clumsy and untimely, sounds about right. With no time to wash her pants and them being the only ones she had for work, she made a desperate attempt at dignity and tried to blow dry them. She came out of the bathroom and looked at her mom, Ann, who’d watched the whole thing happen.
“Can you tell?” she asked knowing the answer already, but hoping she was just being hyper-aware as usual.
“No, I don’t think anybody will be paying attention anyway,” Ann replied with a compassionate almost pitying look that she’d most probably hoped Destiny didn’t intercept.
The girl sighed, there was nothing she could do about it at this point, she was already going to be a few minutes late due to spending more time on writing letters than actually getting ready. On the way there her chest would feel gradually tighter, and the sinking feeling in her stomach would get deeper. She was in a constant state of being used to feeling the way she did. Heart attack? No, just anxiety. Am I dying? Nope, anxiety again. After so many years of being chained to the beast, she’d become accustomed to accepting this was just the way it was, and might always be. It’s just a feeling, it’s just being exhausted all of the time, because you see it feels like you have to run, and scream, and die, but you can only stand there, and pretend you’re fine because to do anything else would be to frighten or disturb those around you. But this, this was just pre-anxiety as she called it. It was just the rolling of thunder before the storm hit. It was like being spotted by a tiger, and you’re frozen until you have to count to 10 and run for your life and hope it doesn’t catch you, but instead, there isn’t any running, you’re just frozen while it comes closer and closer. Until it will either devour you or by some miracle walks away to snack on you later.
When she arrived at the hotel where she was working at the front desk
yes a little bit late
she finally was able to take a more eased breath. Here, she played the role of a character she had made up for herself who was far more confident than she. See, anytime new things would arise in her life that she struggled to handle, or old things that lingered too painfully, she’d imagine,
and I wouldn’t recommend doing so
that a new version of herself, who was usually a more magnified version of a portion of who she already was, took the reins of her life and killed the one from before. The one from before, however, wouldn’t truly die, but rather go into the world of her mind, to be remembered, almost as a passed relative, someone entirely separate from who she was now. She’d become whoever she had to be to survive her pain, reinventing as many times as she must, bettering until she’d reach her limit for a time. Sometimes it was every few months, sometimes a year apart. That day though, this was who she had to be. Her intense tendency to self-deprecate was nothing more than an attempt to hide the fact that she was incredibly shy, by projecting that she might think she was funnier than she was. By faking confidence, she survived most conversation, though just barely.
The staff she worked with almost every day gathered for the daily routine standup meeting.
“You got something on your shirt,” her boss said innocently.
“Oh, that’s just literally my life, a stain on the fabric of society,” Destiny laughed it off.
Chance rode his bicycle to work, a wonderful little music shop that someone else his age might find boring, but he adored. He burst through the door and was greeted by Gonzo, his boss, who was rolling his eyes as soon as he saw him.
“You’re late again!” Gonzo whined, though lightheartedly.
Chance tossed his hat on the counter and tried his best to straighten his face.
“Am I fired?” he asked in a tone that implied he knew very well that this was a ridiculous question with an obvious answer. They both laughed, of course, he wasn’t fired. Chance picked up a box of CDs and began to sort them into sections to put with the others when one caught his attention and he smiled. He grabbed it and looked at Gonzo with begging eyes.
“No, no not another one, kid I gotta make buck here!” replied the man, looking over his glasses and shaking his head.
Chance half-covered his face with the CD and attempted to cry.
“But, I’ve been looking for this one, no one will appreciate it like I would.”
Within a few seconds, Gonzo’s glance weakened, giving in.
“You’re killin me here.”
Chance brightened up with a big smile and put it in his locker and said, “I’ll pay you back one of these days I swear.”
“Yeah yeah,” replied the defeated Gonzo.
As the young man turned the corner to return to sorting CDs, he saw a beautiful young woman come into the store. He watched as she looked around until their eyes met for a few seconds. He smiled and quickly looked away. The girl walked to him.
“Hi, I’m Sammy, do you work here?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure do, name’s Chance, what can I help you with?”
