The Normal People

This is from a writing exercise on creating character through using a character's main fear(s) and desire(s). I ran up against the 500 word limit, so it ends kind of abruptly.

When I leave my apartment, shutting the door behind me and walking into the desert night, I know that it is unlikely that I will be seen by anyone. I made sure to wait until after midnight to go outside. I know my nosy landlord always leaves by six or seven in the evening and my new neighbors are always noisy when they are around, so I know they must be out.

A great gush of air explodes out of my lungs in relief. The desert night is black and moonless.  There are no stars. There will be no prying eyes following me and wondering where I am going, who I am, why I am such a failure. No hushed voices will whisper and tell each other that I haven’t been to class in more than a week.

I am alone with the night and its blackness blankets me in warm comfort.

The twenty-four hour sandwich shop is only a few blocks away, but halfway there, the streetlamps return and there is a chance I will be seen by a few passing students up late. I slouch and pull my hat lower over my eyes and reach into my back pocket to make sure I have brought my wallet with me. A few steps later I reach in again, clutching the leather rectangle with my sweaty fingers. I must make absolutely sure it is there.  To get to the sandwich shop and order my sandwich and not be able to pay for it would be disaster. I decide to move it to my front pocket and keep my hand on it until I get there.

I can order my sandwich by number, so I won’t have to talk the person at the counter except for a few words. I count the number of words in my head. May (1) I (2) Have (3) a (4) number (5) five (6) please? (7). Seven words. All I have to say is seven words and I can have my sandwich. I can see myself saying it. I haven’t eaten anything but microwave popcorn all day. I run through the scenario a couple of times.

I have to brush aside a series of thoughts that open a series of doors that will only lead me back to my apartment without my food. It’s like an echo that I can hear in the distance even thought I try not to listen because I know it by heart.

I want things in life. Normal people things. And I see all these people, they go about their day talking about themselves and their hopes and fears and they just talk and talk and talk. And they seem to be better adjusted, betting functioning. And I can see myself joining them, ordering food, answering questions in class, expressing everything in such perfection. I will be one of them. Complete, whole.

My sweaty hand clasps the sandwich shop door and slips and I almost run into the door. I catch the lone sandwich maker watching me and I know nothing will change.