The Faults that Follow

“Are you even listening?” Gina huffed. She slumped over her half melted milkshake, a heavy head cradled in her palm, and her other hand aimlessly stirred the contents of her glass until the dark chocolate sludge un-whipped the remaining cream. The cherry and its bent stem sank to the bottom. She sighed and sat up, pushing the dessert away. Her stormy grey eyes scanned me from across the table before finally deciding to stick to the complaint. “Do you even care, Laura?” 

I slowly turned my attention from the chaos outside, which was only a loose brown dog running free in the parking lot as a heavy set man panted after it. A round silhouette waddled behind him. It was a pale yellow and faceless. It’s a common one. 

I tried to look past the shadow that sat perfectly still next to Gina, it shimmered like a mist over stagnant water. A green so faded it looked nearly gray. I could feel the stare from the empty craters where eyes are supposed to be. It made me uneasy. I’ve seen these things all my life, but the lack of facial features always tormented me.  

“I do care,” I said, trying my best to sound convincing. Based on her grimace and the tension of her freshly plucked eyebrows, she didn’t believe me. My breath escaped loose lips as I fell back into the booth. Air hissed out of the overly plush cushion as it deflated against my weight. “It’s just…” I shook my head, “I’ve heard this all before. I ran out of things to say.” 

 Gina dropped her head in defeat. “I just don’t know what to do.” 

“Yes you do,” I say, almost angrily, “You limit yourself because you are scared to fail. You have so much potential and drive, but when it comes down to it, you freak out and ruin your chances before you can even try. I wish you could just stop doubting yourself.” My eyes darted to the lump of sick cloud that shared our booth. The air was thick with a melancholy haze that only I was aware of. 

Gina was quiet for a moment. I opened my mouth to continue my lecture, but the waitress, an older woman with a sad smile and a pitcher of ice water, stopped at our table. 

“You gals need anything else?” she asked as she refilled my water. Gina whispered a reply that neither of us could hear, so I shook my head to dismiss her. A short, bright green creature limped after her. It was aged with a crooked gait, and judging by the height of the hump on its back, that waitress has been financially stressed for most of her life.

Gina finally spoke. Her words felt pointed, and her eyes were turned away from me. Apparently, the spilled drops of water next to my glass was a better anchor than the truth. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“It has to do with everything,” my words were stressed, but controlled. It’s the same conversation, different topic. This time, it was the possibility of a promotion at her job. A job she also doubted she was even qualified for, even though she was hired on the spot. A fact that always seemed to slip her mind. 

I didn’t know much about marketing but when sculpting didn’t pan out for Gina, I was able to convince her to use her creative mind for a career that would be more financially stable. A position in management recently opened up, and in an effort to make things fair and fun, four candidates were selected to compete for the title. I had to remind her about alphabetical order when she pointed out that her name, Regina Young, was last on the list.

“Ben has been there the longest, and everyone thinks Karen is hilarious,” Gina rolled her eyes, “And Kyle is the youngest, he can relate the most with the next generation.”

I threw daggers at Gina’s insecurity. There was no reaction. It shimmered and appeared to take a deep breath. Strange though, seeing how it didn’t have a nose. 

I looked back at Gina. I half expected her to continue with the unnecessary comparisons. She couldn’t see through my eyes. The masks that people hide behind. The anxiety, depression and mental punishments that society thrives in. I seemed to be the only one with the ability to see the manifestations of all the world’s insecurities. All but my own. 

I met both Ben and Karen at the company’s holiday party as Gina’s plus one. I wondered if Gina would feel better knowing that Ben valued his worth based on his audience. The large wind-up key protruding from the middle of his back never stopped turning. Karen walked around with too wide of a smile and big eyes to prove to everyone how easy going and fun she was. In reality, it was the purple snake wrapped around her chest, ready to bite anyone that got too close. Gina whispered petty insults as she passed that only Karen’s snake could hear. It tensed and darkened its shade, securing its prize. As Gina and I were leaving, Kyle walked in with a friendly smile and a raging tornado following behind. 

I excused myself before the silence expired at our table and awkwardly shimmied sideways out of the booth. I rubbed the sweat from my palms against the front of my jeans as I made my way to the far right corner of the restaurant. 

The gritty texture of the bathroom door reminded me of sandpaper. At the same moment I started to push, the door swung open to reveal a surprised teenager with loose french braids, thick glasses, and a sunburned forehead dotted with mature pimples. She muttered a ‘sorry’ before slipping past me. I politely stepped out of the way to let her and the swirling storm cloud that trailed behind her through. I called after her, “I like your shirt.” The girl, suddenly bashful, turned back to face me and tugged at the hem of her neon pink shirt. ‘Unicorns are real,’ was written across the top in bubble print and a cartoonish rhinoceros proudly posed underneath. The deep rumbles from her cloud softened as she looked back in my direction. 

“Thank you,” she beamed, relieving a mouthful of metal and rubber bands. The lightning dulled to nothing more than the flash of a camera and the thunder whispered a small threat. 

The door to the larger of the two stalls was closed and I could see the tapping of two plain loafers under the door. It made me feel alone enough; even as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. There wasn’t much to look at. The blurry shapes of my figure and the spotty discoloration of my hair and clothing often gave me a headache. Despite constantly passing every eye exam with flying colors, testing each prescription level of contacts and different frames of glasses. My eyesight was impeccable, unless it came to mirrors and photographs. 

Growing up, I was able to put pieces and clues together about my appearance. My hairstylist kept my silky black hair short to make it easier for me to manage. Boys fell for my deep blue eyes and my thick lips. My mother told me I had her button nose, but my squared, dimpled chin was courtesy of my dad. I was so focused on what I couldn’t see in my reflection, that I didn’t hear the flush of the far toilet which was meant to be a warning. I jumped with the sudden tap of my shoulder. 

“Are you alright there, deary?” an old woman asked. She raised an eyebrow in curiosity as she made her way to the sink. I nervously chuckled and gave her space. 

“Uh,” I stammered as my eyes rolled around in my sockets. “Yeah.” I felt my face tighten with confusion as I scanned the area around her. For a moment, I was taken aback. There was nothing around her.

“Are you sure about that?” the woman chuckled to herself. I looked past the woman and toward the now open door of the larger stall. She caught me and giggled. “Might want to give that a minute.” 

My attention snapped back to the woman. “Huh?” I asked. She gestured toward the toilet. “Oh, no,” I tried to recover from my newfound embarrassment. “I was just…surprised, I guess.” 

The old lady turned off the water to the sink and faced me. I doubled back from where she came, but there was nothing. 

“There shouldn’t be anything to be surprised about,” the woman said, her bubbly laugh now gone. “You’re old enough to know what goes on in a bathroom.” 

“It’s not that,” I said, seemingly more to myself than to her. She ignored me and pulled on the slip of brown paper hanging out of the dispenser like a tongue. “I just can’t see your insecurity.” I bit my lip. I spoke without thinking and now this woman was glaring at me. 

“And who says I have any insecurities?”  

“No one!” I said helplessly. I sighed. “I just don’t understand why I can’t…”

The woman patted her hands dry. She was waiting for me to finish my thought, but when I fell silent, she spoke. “You don’t understand what?”

“It’s just-” I looked her over to be sure of it before I could accept it. There was no shadow, no blob or shape. No mist or object sticking out from her body. The only thing she carried was her magenta purse. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you!” I said with a little too much enthusiasm for her liking. 

“Well, of course not,” she sounded slightly offended, “Why would there be?” 

Freshly humiliated, I mumbled an apology and held the door open for her. “Well,” she said with an unsure smile, “I hope you find whatever it is you were looking for.”

I waited for her to leave before replying. “I hope I don’t.”

I flopped back into my seat. Gina looked up from her endless scrolling. Her cheekbones seemed to sink into her freckled skin. The tight corners of her thin, pale lips tilted down and her chin quivered, but only slightly. She was waiting for me to speak. Hoping that I would save her with one of my numerous enlightening declarations of her character. It would do no good. Even if I stood on top of the table, poised like Hamlet, skull in hand, and recited a soliloquy that resonated long after I stopped speaking. Gina gives strength to her doubt. 

“Ben just submitted his project,” Gina sniffed loudly as she blinked back tears before they could fall. “We have until Friday, but he’s already done.”

“What about you?” I asked, completely ignoring the useless fact.

She shrugged. “What about me?”

“They choose four people, right?” Gina nodded with uncertainty. I went on, “They see something in you. Just like Ben, and Karen and…that other guy.”

“Kyle,” Gina said. 

“Yeah, him,” I shook my head in agitation. I reached for her hands to ground us both. I squeezed her fingertips with cautious reassurance. “If they didn’t think you could handle it, they wouldn’t have picked you.” 

“But Ben…and they didn’t-” Gina tried. 

I stopped her with a stern look. “They did. You have a chance to show them, and everyone else in that company, what you are capable of. And you, my dearest Gina,” I leaned closer to her, digging my elbows in the sticky spot of the table for stability. I shot her a sly smile when I saw the insecurity shadow flickering in the corner of my eye. “Are capable of anything.”

A tear slid along the length of her nose. Her nostrils flared as she took a moment to collect herself. “What if I don’t make it?” 

I allowed my forehead to relax and my eyes to soften. With a twist of my wrists, I wrapped my hands around hers until my knuckles rested on the table. In response, her fingers curled around my thumbs, which made me tighten my grip.

“But what if you do?” A smile flashed over Gina’s lips as she visualized the possibility. She turned away to hide her flushed cheeks and failed to silence her happy noise, which sounded exactly like the squeak of a dog toy. I took the moment to challenge Gina’s self doubt, but it struggled to compete. It was nearly transparent. Its outline, blurred and messy. It shrunk and doubled over, sprawled out over the empty dishes and wasted napkins. I smiled and returned my attention to Gina. 

“Yeah,” she nodded in agreement. “What if I do?”